Day 55. I should be terrified for my life, I know. Yet all I can think about is Cassandra. Elimine, please let her be safe.

Mark came awake slowly, blissfully. His awareness crept outward from his body to the rustle of the sheets, the light playing across his face, and the warmth of the woman beside him. His eyes blinked open to find Cassandra's looking into them; she was lying face down, chin resting on her fist, and a smile crossed her features as his eyes focused. "Good morning," he murmured.

"Good morning," she replied.

And then she was upon him. His body came fully awake as she smothered it with her own; her lips pressed to his, her hands gripped his wrists, her hips pushed down onto him. He wrested his arms free from her grasp and wrapped them around her, pulling her even tighter against him. For a brief, blissful moment, he forgot who he was, where he was, and what he had to do.

Then reality seeped in, and he pressed on Cassandra's shoulders. She pulled away reluctantly, looking down at him. "I know," she whispered. "I know, and I'm sorry."

"Last night, you…" Mark looked over at the tousled blankets on the floor, where Cassandra had slept—or tried to sleep—the night before.

She reached down and stroked his cheek. "You're right. But the more I thought about it, the less sense it made. Mark, if things don't go well—"

"Don't talk like that."

"If things don't go well, I might never see you again. And—" She ground her hips into him, and he struggled not to groan. "I don't want either of us to have any regrets."

He looked up at her, at those golden eyes, once a source of fear for him, now pooled with love and sorrow. "Which would we regret more?"

Cassandra shook her head. "I won't claim to know. But there's only one way to be sure."

She leaned down to kiss him again, and he rose to meet her.

The door shook with a rapid knock. Mark's heart felt like it would flee his chest. Cassandra jerked upright, glaring at the door. "The next person who knocks on that is going to lose their hands," she growled. She straightened, calling to be heard through the wood. "Not now! I'll be out in a minute!"

When there was no reply, she relaxed, looking back down at Mark. "Well," she cooed, "maybe more than one minute."

Then the door shook again, this time from a tremendous blow. In an instant, Cassandra was on her feet, holding a blade she'd seemingly produced from thin air. Mark scrambled to his feet, grateful that Cassandra hadn't gotten around to undressing him this time. "What's going on?" he asked hurriedly.

"Stay back," she hissed, advancing toward the door. "Who's there?" she called. "Identify yourself, or I'll—"

The blow came again, this time splintering the door partway off its hinges. Cassandra leapt back, positioning herself between the entryway and Mark. One more strike, and the whole thing came free, falling into the room with a crash. Behind it, Durran stood, holding a miniature battering ram in his oversized hands. At his side, hands folded piously and head held high, was Peleus. Moriel stood behind the two of them, standing unusually still, not so much as glancing at Durran.

Peleus entered first, stepping over the ruined door and nodding politely at Cassandra. "I apologize for the damage, but it was imperative I see you right away." He looked around the room, his gaze falling briefly on Mark. His brow wrinkled. "Hmm. I see what had you so preoccupied."

"What's going on?" Cassandra said, stepping back and eyeing Durran. She kept a hand on her blade. "What's he doing out of the infirmary?" She glanced at Peleus. "And what's he doing with a weapon?"

Peleus eyed her a moment, then lowered his eyes. "It pains me to do this, Cassandra," he said. "Really, it does. You were just doing what you thought was right. In your position—alone, confused, unable to achieve what I was meant to—I might even have done the same thing."

Mark's poor heart, already in shock from moments before, started to hammer. Cassandra's knuckled whitened on the hilt of her blade. "What," she growled, "are you saying?"

Peleus folded his hands behind his back. "I think you know. But I shall make it explicit, for the human's sake." He straightened. "I gave Durran the weapon. I also gave him his purpose—the purpose you took from him. You call it reversion, but in truth it's restoration. I returned him to his original state, how he was meant to—"

Cassandra screamed in outrage, rushing forward. "You bastard, I'll—"

Peleus motioned with his left hand, and Moriel sprang forward. Too late, Mark realized the glint had gone from her golden eyes; she was just as far gone as Durran. Moriel lifted her lance across her chest, blocking the blow before it even came close to Peleus. Cassandra's eyes widened. "No," she whispered.

Every fiber of Mark's being wished to run to Cassandra's rescue, but he had just enough sense left to know that was a terrible idea. He was outnumbered and seriously outmatched; the only thing he'd do was get in her way. He needed to find a way out, to get help. He began inching toward the door, circling around Cassandra and Moriel, hoping to slip past Peleus's notice.

He did not succeed. A bright flash and the faint scent of sulfur were his only warnings, and Mark managed to barely twist out of the way as a fire spell roared to life beneath him. "Stay where you are, human," Peleus warned. "I am not as convinced of your worth as the others."

Cassandra shot him a worried look, taking her eyes off Moriel for a split second. The pegasus knight tried to take advantage of the brief distraction, shoving on their locked weapons. Cassandra was ready, though; her eyes snapped back to her opponent as she let her sword slip along the lance's haft, then quickly swung about, coming in under Moriel's guard. She slammed her shoulder into the pegasus knight's chest, eliciting a huff—the first sound to escape Moriel's lips since their arrival. As Moriel staggered backward, Cassandra took up her stance again. "Stand down!" she ordered. "Don't make me do this!"

Peleus shook his head. "You know she won't obey. She follows my orders, now." He motioned. "Durran?"

The guard clanked forward to assist Moriel—no. He's coming straight for me, Mark realized with a start. The tactician didn't wait to see what happened next, but turned and made for the window. It wasn't much of a plan B, but if he survived the fall mostly intact, he could find some morphs Peleus hadn't yet turned and—

A spear materialized in front of his legs, and he spilled to the ground, chin cracking painfully against the stone floor. Hands grabbed him from behind—not Durran's gauntlets, but Moriel's slender fingers. He heard Cassandra's cry, and craned his neck around, ignoring the pain as his arms twisted in a way they weren't meant to. It was Moriel who'd grabbed him, but she'd turned her back to her foe. Cassandra was rushing her now, blade drawn—

And Durran stood over Cassandra, bringing his gauntleted fist down at the precise moment—

She made no sound. No cry of pain, no huff of surprise. She simply crumpled, falling to the floor in a heap at Mark's side. Her eyes did not open. She did not move.

Mark's chest turned to ice. No.

Moriel hauled him to his feet, but his eyes remained fixed on Cassandra the whole time. Durran picked her up and brought her to Peleus, like a cat presenting its kill. Peleus eyed her unmoving form. "Hmm. Perhaps a bit much, yes?" He tapped Cassandra's nose, eliciting no response. "Well, no matter. Tie her hands while I work."

Mark swallowed past the heart in his throat. As Durran quickly tied Cassandra's hands behind her back, Peleus lifted his staff, and the room was filled with a gentle glow.

Cassandra's eyes flickered open, and Mark found himself breathing once more. He hadn't truly realized he'd stopped. Tears threatened his eyes—but he dared not spill them now.

Moriel continued to hold him fast as Durran tightened Cassandra's bonds. The leader's head lolled groggily, her eyes focusing and unfocusing. "Where… what..." She at last seemed to gain some clarity, and looked at Peleus. "You," she hissed, eyes narrowing.

His shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry we had to hurt you," he said softly. "But do you not see how much better this is?" He motioned to Durran and Moriel. "These two would not have been able to defeat you before today. Even outnumbered, you could've overpowered Moriel and outlasted Durran to secure a victory. Worse, you could have used her feelings for Durran against her."

Moriel should have blushed at that. They both should have. Neither gave any indication they'd even heard.

"But now?" Peleus spread his arms. "Now, they are working together. As a unit. As they were meant to. Moving under the direction of a single mind, not engaging in"—he glanced at Mark—"foolish dalliances."

Heat shot through Mark's veins, but Cassandra's glare remained icy as ever. "What," she growled, "did you do?"

Peleus lowered his arms slowly. "You're angry. I hoped you wouldn't be, but… well." He went to the door, and called outside. "We're ready. Bring him in."

A moment later, three more morphs entered. Two of them were riders, and their golden eyes had the same vacancy as Moriel's. But between them was—

"Luther," Peleus said, smiling for the first time that day. "Thank you for joining us."

Luther blinked in confusion—they still have their senses, Mark realized. "Did I have a choice?" Luther looked at the guards at their sides as they spoke.

"No," Peleus replied cheerfully. "But thank you all the same." He motioned to one of the guards, who held out a bag—Luther's bag, which they'd arrived with weeks ago. Peleus took the bag, digging around in it briefly before retrieving a book.

A very old leather-bound book. One that, except for its blue-dyed cover, was almost identical to the one sitting on Cassandra's desk.

"Where did you get that?" she gasped.

Peleus turned to Luther. "I believe you can answer her question, can't you?"

"It's mine," Luther replied, still confused. "Before I came here, I was a courier. I was entrusted with that book, transporting it from Valor to Nabata. But when I arrived, the outpost was empty, and I didn't know what else to do. So, I kept the book and kept hidden. Then the humans found me, I ran away, I got thirsty, and the next thing I knew, I was here."

Moriel still had a fast hold of Mark's hands. Perhaps if I can distract her, cause her to underestimate my strength… But no, he was thinking like she was a human. Now that her mind was back to its original state, there was no way she'd loosen her grip, even for an instant.

"Here," Cassandra echoed. She looked at Peleus. "Where you treated them."

Peleus nodded gravely. "I was the first healer there. While our riders dug around in their pack long enough to find their empty canteen, I was the first to find the book—and to realize its significance." He opened the tome, turning carefully through the pages. "You've kept the first book to yourself, Cassandra, but finding this one finally gave me the opportunity to correct your mistakes."

"Then it's—"

"Another of Nergal's notebooks, yes." He turned the book, showing her pages. The scrawl was nearly identical to the code in Cassandra's own volume. The handwriting was slightly different—but then, Nergal had hundreds of years for his writing hand to tire. "It took me a few weeks before I was ready," he went on. "Then, as you saw with Denning, my early attempts gave… incomplete results."

Mark felt his teeth clench. "You experimented on him?" Cassandra hissed.

Peleus shrugged. "He was always loitering about the infirmary, checking on Grace. Working on him while she slept was easy. I just had to ensure he didn't remember what I'd done."

Cassandra pulled against her bonds. Durran placed a hand on her shoulder, and she froze.

"I knew I couldn't just return them to how they were; I had to ensure my work couldn't be undone. Ultimately, I wasn't able to stop you, but I could at least slow you down, preventing from fully corrupting Denning until I was ready to try again. I caught Durran alone on his way to meet Moriel, and when he returned to his original purpose of guarding—not playing at being a dancer or an engineer, but doing what he was meant to do—I knew I was on the right track. By the end of the day, I'd practiced on a few others, and was ready to begin in earnest." Peleus turned to Mark. "Last night, while you two were… otherwise occupied, my compatriots and I successfully restored half the population of the fort."

Mark's jaw fell open. "No," he whispered.

"It's not possible," Cassandra breathed.

Peleus rubbed his eyes with his free hand. "I can't begin to tell you how exhausted I am. But it was worth it. The look in their eyes, when they once more become who they were meant to be..." Mark was sickened by the warmth in Peleus's smile. "There's no other feeling like it, I'll tell you."

"You're taking their freedom!" Cassandra's voice was weak, but there was still venom in it.

"I'm giving them purpose!" Peleus snapped, the smile vanishing from his face. "Purpose that you stole!"

"I freed them," she rasped.

He strode over to here, staring her right in the face. "Freed them from what? Rather—freed them to what?" He crossed his arms. "Do you know what I felt when you 'freed' me? Confusion. Loss. Horror. Suddenly, everything I knew—everything I was—had been snatched away."

"Everyone felt like that," Cassandra hissed. "I felt like that. But in time—"

"No." He almost snarled the word. "You don't get to tell us how we felt. I was content to live out our days as I was. You took that decision from me. All because of your selfishness. Your loneliness." He crossed his arms over his chest. "You took away my identity. You took it from every morph in these walls. As I said, I can sympathize—but you couldn't possibly believe you'd simply get away with it."

Cassandra looked at the ground, shaking her head. "I helped them," she whispered. "Nobody said they didn't..."

"Nobody dared," Peleus sneered. "Oh, I'm sure some were truly grateful to you. But those who weren't were too afraid to speak up. They might have fled, had there been anywhere to go. Instead, we were all stuck here, kowtowing to you, and watching you subject every new morph through the same horror we'd endured."

Cassandra raised her eyes, the gold in them turned to steel. "It's not true."

"No?" He turned away, focusing his attention on their guest. "Luther. Have you been listening to all of this?"

"Yes," they replied.

"And?"

"...And?"

Peleus let out a sigh. "How did you feel when Cassandra took your purpose from you?"

"Just as you say," Luther replied. "I was frightened and confused." They looked uncertainly at Cassandra. "I still am, in many ways. It was easier when Nergal's voice told me what to do."

She looked stricken; Peleus lifted his chin. "And would you not like that purpose back?"

"I..." Luther faltered, gaze shifting from Cassandra to Peleus and back again.

Some of the triumph faded from the healer's face. "Well?"

Luther glanced at Mark, and their jaw set. "No," they said. "No, I would not. I was frightened of this freedom—but that doesn't mean I would trade it. Not for anything."

Mark let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Cassandra actually laughed. "Luther," she whispered. "Oh, gods, thank you."

Peleus let out a sigh; he folded the blue book under one arm, and rubbed his temples. "Disappointing," he said. "I had hoped you'd join us willingly."

"You should free her," Luther said, stepping forward. "If people want to join you, they can, but otherwise…"

Peleus looked up at them, smiling sadly. "If only it were that simple." He motioned to the two riders. "Hold them."

Realization hit all of them too late. Cassandra roared in fury; Mark surged forward, only to be yanked back by Moriel's surprising strength. Luther blinked in surprise, then turned and dove for the door; but the riders, just as nimble as they, seized them before they made it halfway. They struggled fiercely as they were dragged over to Cassandra's desk. "Let me go! I don't want to—"

"Dammit, Peleus!" Cassandra roared. "They just told you their decision! You can't do this!"

"I think you'll find I can," Peleus replied wearily.

Mark spun in Moriel's grasp, lurching toward the window. "Help!" he shouted. "Somebody, help us!"

Moriel quickly placed a hand over his mouth, turning him back toward the group; Peleus shook his head at her. "No need for that. None who can hear will heed him."

Her hand slid away, and further cries died in Mark's throat as he watched the scene. Durran cleared off Cassandra's desk with a single sweep of his massive arm, sending its contents crashing to the floor—including the red book. Cassandra turned toward it, and for an instant, Mark thought she might be able to secret it away while everyone else was focused on Luther—but before she could kick it under the bed, Peleus scooped it up, sliding it into the bag. He cast an admonishing look at Cassandra, who only glared back.

The three morphs slammed Luther onto the table; the riders held their arms, and Durran had both their feet pinned. Peleus opened the blue book, and began circling the table as he read. The whole thing was like a twisted reflection of the tableau Mark had seen in his own quarters when Cassandra had first freed Luther; Peleus was reading the same type of code, though the specific words were different, and Luther reacted just as violently as they had then. Their shouts morphed into wordless screams; Cassandra and Mark both struggled against their bonds, Cassandra actually getting up and rushing the table before Durran shoved her away. Peleus read louder to be heard over all the shouting, Luther arched their back in agony—

And all went still.

Luther collapsed to the desk. Mark and Cassandra both fell silent, their shouts catching in their throats. Peleus slowly closed the blue book and walked to the end of the desk, gently touching Luther's forehead. "What is your name?" he asked gently.

"Luther," the morph replied. Their voice was neutral, steady—perhaps, even, unfeeling.

Peleus drew a breath. "And what is your purpose?"

"I am a courier."

Mark's blood chilled; Cassandra fell to her knees. "No," she whispered. "No..."

Peleus turned to her, smiling wearily. "You have now seen my work firsthand," he said. "Is there any doubt left in your mind that this is—"

She sprung up, rushing him, slamming her head into his nose. There was a loud crack, and Peleus cried out in pain, stumbling backward as blood poured from his nose. Cassandra lowered her shoulder, charging again—

Durran grabbed her, lifting her off the ground. "Let me go!" she shrieked. "He has to pay for—"

Peleus stepped forward, holding a sleeve to his nose to staunch the blood, and waved at Durran. "Gently," he said as clearly as he could with a broken nose. "Her anger is understandable. We need not punish her for it."

"I'll show you punishment!" Cassandra roared. "Luther told you they didn't want this, and you did it anyway? You damned hypocrite, you dare call me selfish?"

Peleus held out one hand, the other still clutching his nose. "Everything I do, I do for our people."

"And when they're all reverted?"

"Restored."

She snorted. "What happens to you then, you bastard?"

He smiled behind his hand. "You underestimate us. I've been able to teach other morphs to perform the restoration. It's easy, when they've had their true nature restored. Once all of us are united in purpose, I'll have them restore me, and we can finally be as we were meant to—together."

Mark's jaw fell open. If other morphs could perform the reversion, that "half the fort" Peleus had mentioned earlier was probably at least three-quarters by now. Before long, there wouldn't be a single free morph left. Cassandra would be alone, again. And as for him...

Cassandra lifted her chin. "And when exactly will that happen?"

His smile flickered. "There is much to do," he demurred. "Ostia must be dealt with, and this baby… it will be some time before I can—"

"Just what I thought," she said with a smirk.

He looked offended. "I am willing to sacrifice my purpose for the others' sake if I must."

Cassandra barked out a laugh. "Oh, 'sacrifice your purpose,' will you? You power-drunk worm. I can't believe I never saw your true colors until now."

"You never saw anyone's true colors," he spat. "You painted them over with what you wanted them to be. I am restoring them to—"

"Save it," she growled. "You don't care about them; you just want them under your thumb."

Peleus might have been frowning behind his sleeve. One of the riders approached him, carrying a staff, and held it aloft; one glowing second later, Peleus lowered his arm, gingerly touching his now-healed nose. He sighed, and began wiping the blood from his face. "You don't know how it pains me to hear you say that," he murmured. "I had hoped you would stand by me for this. Foolish of me, perhaps, and yet." He reached out and gently touched her face; Mark felt his blood begin to boil. "You've done a wonderful job leading us, Cassandra, and I'd have you continue to do so at my side. I know it seems horrible now, but once you join the rest of us—"

She spat at his feet. "I won't be 'joining' anything, you monster. You want to 'restore' me to how I was? This is how I was."

"I'm aware," he sighed. "We won't be restoring you, Cassandra. We'll be repairing you."

She went still; Mark felt his heart stop for what felt like the third time that morning. "What?" Cassandra croaked.

"It won't be as simple as restoring the others was, I'm afraid. It may take a long time—and it may be quite painful." He smiled at her. "But we will persevere. We have Nergal's notebooks, and we have each other. We'll find a way to remove your defect, and return you to how you were meant to be—restore the purpose you were denied all along."

Mark had never seen Cassandra look so afraid. "You can't," she whispered. "You can't do that."

Peleus laid a hand on her shoulder. "Have faith, child," he said. "We'll find a way to help you. He stepped back, looking up at Durran. "Take her to the infirmary and give her something to help her sleep. We'll start on her as soon as we're done with the others."

"No," Cassandra said again. She began struggling as Durran yanked her toward the door. "No!" She thrashed about, looking at Peleus with desperate eyes. "Don't do this! I'll do whatever you want, I'll throw myself on my sword, just—don't do this!"

"Cassandra!" Mark cried, struggling in vain. "Cassandra, I—"

The two riders stepped out after Durran as Cassandra's cries vanished down the hallway. Mark was left with silence choking his throat. Peleus sighed, shaking his head. "Such fire in that woman. I can see why you took to her—though I can't imagine why she chose you."

It took Mark a long moment to realize Peleus was talking to him. "You can't do this to her," he whispered.

The healer shot him an annoyed look. "As I said before, I think you'll find I can." He turned to the door, and almost immediately stumbled, barely catching himself on Cassandra's table.

In a moment, Moriel's grip on Mark's hands had vanished; she was instead at Peleus's side, helping him up. "You need rest," she said flatly.

"I suppose I do," he said with a grimace. "I wish to get started on Cassandra immediately… but I won't be any good to her like this." He motioned toward the door, and Moriel began helping him.

Mark stepped forward, flexing his now-free hands. "Peleus, please! Consider the facts."

To his shock, the morphs actually stopped. Peleus turned a furrowed brow toward Mark. "What facts? I was able to restore the morphs, something she thought impossible. Why wouldn't I be able to find a way to help her?"

Mark forced himself to speak calmly. "It's completely different. You said so yourself. You don't know what will happen when you start tinkering with her mind. You might drive her to madness. You might kill her."

Peleus lowered his eyes. "I wish I could say you're wrong," he sighed. "But all those are possibilities, yes." He shrugged. "Still, Cassandra has always been willing to give her life for us. I must believe that, were she in her right mind, this is what she'd want."

"She is in her right—" Mark bit back the statement; true as it was, Peleus wasn't going to listen.

The healer touched his arm. "Try to be happy for her," he said. "If you truly care for her, then know that she'll never feel pain again after this. She'll never be sad, or angry, or lonely ever again."

Mark wanted to bite the man's nose off. He swallowed his anger and feigned supplication. "Please," he whispered. "You said you respect her. Please, don't hurt her."

Peleus appeared to consider his words for a minute. He let go of Mark's arm and stepped back, eyeing him. "Luther?" he asked at length.

The rider, who'd been lying quietly on the desk, finally rose. "Yes?"

"You tried to kill this human last month, correct?"

Oh, no.

Luther simply nodded.

"Had you succeeded, Ostia would have attacked us," Peleus went on. "The morphs would have been drawn into battle."

He glanced at Moriel, who tossed her sword to Luther. They caught it by the scabbard and unsheathed the blade in a single swift motion.

"It's time you finished the job," Peleus said quietly.

He and Moriel were out of the room a heartbeat later. Mark had just enough sense to dash after them—too late. Luther was on their feet and had moved between Mark and the exit, standing on the splintered ruins of the door itself. Mark hissed out a curse as Luther started advancing, and turned to the window once more. With Moriel gone, maybe he could—

The room darkened briefly as the window was filled by a figure. Someone wearing a cloak leapt through, landing softly on the floor with a knife drawn. Mark stumbled to a halt, and glanced over his shoulder at Luther. The morph was almost upon him. He was out of time, out of exits—and Cassandra was going to be tortured by a madman, until either her mind was his to command, or her mind was gone altogether.

There was a flash of metal; something whizzed past Mark's leg and embedded itself in Luther's. The morph went down with a grunt, dropping the blade and glaring past the tactician.

Mark snapped his head forward. "What—"

The figure pulled down its hood and Gavin stood there, already drawing a second knife as he looked Mark over. "Come on," he grunted. "We need to go, now."

Florina kissed Heath deeply, enjoying the feeling of his arms around her as much as she enjoyed the feel of his lips. After all this time, she hardly felt embarrassed by the show of affection—despite the cooing and gagging coming from her sisters. They parted at last, her husband looking down at her with those soft blue eyes of his. His green hair still had that white tuft, but had cut it far shorter than in their days fighting Nergal. He somehow seemed to think it made him look knightlier. Not that she was complaining.

"Take care of yourself," Heath said, rubbing her cheek.

She smiled up at him. "Don't worry, I will." She glanced over her shoulder. "And I'll take care of them, too."

Heath followed her gaze to where her sisters stood. Fiora waved; Farina was still pretending to vomit. "Good," he said with a smile. "I'll see all three of you soon."

He turned and left; Florina followed suit, crossing over to where her sisters waited. Fiora tilted her head. "You sure you don't want him to accompany us?"

"Oh, I'd love for him to," Florina sighed, "but he has to help Kent coordinate the rest of the knights. Besides, it doesn't take four people to get a letter."

"It doesn't take three people to get a letter, either," Farina pointed out.

Florina rolled her eyes. "Either way, I haven't seen Heath in weeks; I haven't seen you two in almost a year." She seized both her sisters in an embrace.

Fiora returned the hug even as Farina struggled. "Hey, hey!" she complained. "Come on, we've got a reputation as hardened mercenaries to maintain!"

"Speak for yourself," Fiora replied as they parted. "I'm just happy to see my little sister again." She smiled at Florina. "Sorry we haven't had much time to catch up."

"We can talk on the way to the fort," Florina replied cheerily. "The winds shouldn't be too bad today, so we'll be able to hear each other."

The three of them turned down the hall. They'd met outside her temporary quarters, right next to Lyn's chambers, which placed them on the second floor of the castle. They began making their way to the staircase, rounding a corner to find Raven standing outside a door. The mercenary was grumbling something under his breath; he raised his hand and rapped on the door, the look on his face indicating it was not the first time he'd done so.

Florina stopped short at the sight of him. Even being married to Heath for three years hadn't fully removed her fear of men, and Raven was intimidating even when he was trying to be nice. Still, she'd worked with him before, and—

"Hey!" Farina shouted, startling her. "Raven, right?" She brushed past Florina, waving to the mercenary. "How's it going?"

He looked over at them, and quickly hid his scowl. "Dame Florina," he said, nodding to her. "And your... sisters?"

Florina nodded, pleased to find herself hardly nervous at all. "That's right," she squeaked.

Well, maybe a little nervous.

She cleared her throat, and motioned to her sides. "You remember Fiora," she said, pleased to find her voice mostly under control, "and Farina."

Raven nodded. "Nice to see you again. Wish it was under better circumstances."

"I'm not complaining," Farina replied, eyeing him.

Florina coughed again before motioning to the door. "Did you need Sister Serra for something?"

Raven's shoulders slumped. "Yeah. This arrived today." He held out his hand, and for the first time, Florina noticed the letter he held.

She peered closely at the scroll, and her eyes widened. "From Lucius?"

He nodded. "I was just going to open it, but I figured she'd want to read it with me," he admitted. He shot a glare at the door. "She's not answering the door, though. Probably pretending she can't hear me so she can get her 'beauty sleep' or something."

Florina furrowed her brow. "She might be in the chapel."

Raven glanced at her. "Why would she be there?"

"She's… a cleric?"

He stared at her a moment, then sighed. "Oh. I forgot that."

Florina couldn't help but smile. "Honestly, sometimes, I think she forgets that, too."

He laughed despite himself, then quickly chased the smile from his face. "Well, thanks. Sorry to bother you." He turned back the way he came—

"The chapel's actually this way," Florina said, pointing over her shoulder.

He grimaced. "Of course." He turned, watching the three of them. "Er… I hate to ask, but…"

"I'll be happy to show you to the chapel," Farina said with a smile.

Fiora nudged her. "You don't know where the chapel is, either."

"Shush."

Florina stepped forward, trying not to shake her head. "I can show you the way, Raven." She looked back at her sisters. "I'll meet you two in the stables."

Farina pouted, but Fiora took her arm and dragged her away before she could protest. Florina briefly glanced up at Raven, trying to determine how he was responding to Farina's flirting, before leading him down the hallway. She kept a good distance between them, which he seemed fine with.

"So, the stables?" Raven asked, breaking the silence. "Going for a flight?"

Florina managed not to start at his voice. She looked up at him, noticing the trepidation in his eyes. He's trying to make small talk, she realized. Priscilla and Lucius must be making progress getting him to open up.

"Oh—yes," she explained. "Lord Hector needed someone to get Mark's letter this week, and I volunteered." She smiled a little. "My sisters arrived with the group from Ilia yesterday. I thought it would be fun to all go together."

He nodded. "That does sound nice. Spending time with siblings, I mean." He paused a moment. "You said I'd met your sisters before?"

She looked up at him in surprise; he'd seemed to recognize them earlier, but maybe he was faking it. "That's right. They fought against Nergal, remember?" She hesitated. "Farina picked you up when you were surrounded in the swamp?"

He blinked in recognition. "Oh! Right." He turned down his eyes. "Sorry."

"It's all right." She coughed. "You did seem a little… distracted back then."

Raven smiled. "That's a polite way of saying I was behaving like an ass."

"N-no!" she stammered quickly. "That is… I mean..."

He chuckled. "Don't worry about it. I am trying to be a little more… sociable, though."

She swallowed back her embarrassment, and managed to smile up at him. "I think you're succeeding."

He was silent a moment. "Thanks," he said softly.

They reached the staircase and started down.

"Speaking of sisters," Florina began, "how is yours?"

"She's doing as well as can be expected, considering she's growing a human being inside her belly." He sighed. "I can't begin to imagine her discomfort, yet still she seems possessed of infinite patience."

"She does seem to be handling it well," Florina agreed. "Though she's lucky. She has you and Hector taking care of her."

Raven flinched at the name. He rubbed his thumb over the seal on the letter. "That's kind of you to say," he muttered.

She seemed to pick up on his mood, and pulled away a little. They reached the bottom of the stairs. "Growing up with two sisters," she said softly, "I sometimes wondered what it would be like to have a brother."

He looked down at the letter.

She considered saying more, but was saved from having to. "Ah. We're here."

Raven stopped short, looking up in surprise. As if it was possible to miss the giant wooden doors leading to the castle chapel. "Oh," he said. "I—see."

Florina pushed open the doors to the chapel. Serra was there, visible through the pews; she actually looked pious, kneeling before the statue of Saint Elimine, head bowed and eyes shut, fingers interlaced before her. Raven went to tap her shoulder, but Florina stopped him with a touch. "If she is praying, better to let her finish," she whispered.

Raven looked down at her hand, surprised, but nodded his agreement. "Sorry," he whispered again.

Always apologizing. Like me. It's better than glowering at everything, in any case.

Serra rose at last, turned, and nearly walked into the two of them before looking up. "Raven!" she gasped, flinching back. "Florina! What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you," Raven said. He held up the letter. "This arrived. It's just addressed to the castle, but Hector gave it to me, and..." He frowned. "It just… didn't feel right, opening it without you."

Serra blinked, then looked closer at the letter. She gasped. "Lucius?"

He nodded.

She snatched the letter from him, breaking the seal and unrolling it immediately. She turned and held the paper so he could read it as well. Florina started to turn away, feeling like she was intruding, but before she could make it to the door, Serra gasped in delight. "Florina!" the cleric squealed.

Florina looked back. "What?"

Serra held up the letter, grinning like a schoolgirl. "He's coming back," she breathed. "Lucius is coming back."

"That's not all," Raven added, nearly snatching the letter back from her. He pointed to a line further down the page. "He achieved his objective. Renault is coming with him."