"Is it possible to use Evil to do Good? Of course not. The thought is preposterous. There is Good and there is Evil. Pretences like 'I must sacrifice one person to Evil if by doing so I might slay a dark god' is the kind of stupidity perpetrated by people who have by expediency and equivocation reasoned themselves into sin. If you want to slay a dark god, stop wasting time and just go out and do it. It's not that hard."

Karina de la Vallière



White flakes drifted down from the leaden skies over Amstreldamme. They blended with the soot from the many chimneys of the city, turning the snow grey and gritty as it settled on the city. Still, the children of commoners played out in the slush, using carrots and cabbages to make anatomically correct snowmen and women and generally displaying the various markers of the alleged innocence of children.

Eyes narrowed, the body of the Madame de Montespan turned away from the window, twitching the curtains closed behind her.

"I'm sorry," she said to the Archbishop of Amstreldamme, "but there's really no two ways about it. I know it's a tradition for the grand celebrations of the Silver Pentecost to be held in the Great Hall of the university, but the entire hall is being repaired. The forces of Evil caused so much damage in their recent incursion, you know."

They certainly had. She'd called up those demons herself, and they'd known damn well to wreck the place if they knew what was bad for them.

"It is such a tragedy," the querulous old man said, running a hand through his wispy white hair. "But this is not the first time that the sacred festival has been interrupted by the forces of darkness. I shall conduct it myself in the university grounds."

"I couldn't possibly allow that," Baelogi said, her face a smiling mask. "Your health is too fragile for the cold! It's snowing!"

"Don't treat me like I'm in my dotage!" the hundred-and-nine-year-old said stubbornly. "I have given the Silver Pentecost benediction here every year for fifty years, no matter how often demons, witches, warlocks, overlords, dark angels, succubae, incubi, and the other profane beings of the Abyss try to stop it!"

"Your faith does you credit," she said kindly. "If you are sure…"

"I am!"

"Then I shall make the arrangements." She smiled at him. "Take care on your way home. There's ice everywhere, and I long to hear your homilies."

After small talk, the archbishop made his leave. Returning to her window, face scowling now, she watched the old man limp his way down across the university grounds, heading for his coach. He paused to pet a white bird and feed it some bread, and animals followed in his wake. Even though cats and mice were in close proximity, none raised a paw against another.

Raising her wand, Baelogi muttered a curse, and the snow on the pavement beneath the holy man's feet transmuted to ice. Down he went, with a snap that was audible even from this distance.

That cheered her up a lot. That sounded like both hips, and probably his wrists too. "Hah! Show me your smug self-righteous pontification now!" she muttered. Holier-than-thou Good sorts like him made her physically sick.

Now, his replacement would be much less amenable to giving a four-hour speech outside in the freezing cold. And that would ensure that everything would go pretty much according to plan.

Oh, Jean-Jacques would be so proud of her! He'd wrap his warm, strong arms around her and whisper tenderly into her ear and she'd just melt from pleasure and his presence, so sweet and soft in this bitter winter and…

Wait. Bless it all! Baelogi ground her palms into her forehead. That stupid woman was getting into her head! She was like… she was like a bad smell! Her crazed obsessive love clung to you when you'd just been going about your perfectly normal business trying to tear knowledge out of her soul for a certain pet project of yours.

Sometimes Baelogi suspected she should just devour Francoise-Athenais' soul. But there was no one who knew as much about wards as she did. She'd lose all of that – on top of not having her around to pass off her disguise. So, she would just have tolerate the mental filth. Filth like the Madame de Montespan's ceaseless desire to be impregnated by Jean-Jacques de Wardes.

How repugnant! The very idea made her feel queasy! To have a parasite growing inside you, feeding off you and twisting your body – well, the rest of Heaven had shunned her back when she had invented parasitic wasps and that fungus that mind-controlled ants, so why was it acceptable when it was a so-called baby?

Urgh. No. Not a chance!

Although, Baelogi thought grimly as she swept downstairs heading into her workshop, at least she had been able to productively repurpose the urge to procreate. This building had once belonged to the theology department, and thus when she moved the remaining Good members to a new purpose-built campus-slash-prison-slash-torture-chamber it had proved a very useful facility for her. Given the history of Amstreldamme, it was already consecrated to most major dark gods and filled with dark energy.

The dark, fleshy shape hung down from the vaulted ceiling. Cultists in full plague-doctor suits carefully tended to her growing project. The shape of wings could be seen in its cocoon. Sometimes it thrashed and twisted, forcing its attendants to jab it with windstone-tipped rods until it stopped moving.

Francoise-Athenais moaned and gibbered and whining about all sorts of meaningless things, but Baelogi ignored her. Soon. Soon. Her grand creation was nearly ready.

And then, when she was done, no one would be able to stop her. No one at all.



"Ladies." Louise leant on the table, her mailed fists squeaking on the wood. "We are almost ready. The Madame de Montespan and the dark spirit within her stand no chance against us! We will stop whatever they are planning, and defeat them utterly! Amstreldamme will be ours!"

The dark cult stared back at her. Their black robes cast long shadows over their faces in the candlelight. There was a general awkward silence, as everyone waited for some poor sap to ask the question that they were all thinking.

Fortunately, Jacqueline van Rien obliged. "I have a question," she said, raising her hand and accidentally knocking her sinister midnight hood back. A nervous, worried expression was revealed underneath it. "Is it really… right for us to be doing this? By which I mean, is it wrong for us to be doing this?"

Standing beside Louise, Magdalene directed her attention towards the other woman, her eyes narrowed. "Please, Jacqueline. Don't dance around your point."

"Well, Mag, we do pray to the Forces of Darkness. Isn't it against our religion to be hanging up Brimiric decorations in the University? Won't the dark gods get angry at us?"

Magdalene leant in and patted Jacqueline on the hand. "Don't worry about that," she said. "I'm handling all of that. But just to be sure, we'll make sure to sacrifice a few extra black cockerels to them and offer libations."

"I do like coq-au-vin," Jacqueline said thoughtfully. "But I mean… we're a dark sisterhood of cultists."

"Yes," said Louise.

"Well… um, a dark sisterhood of cultists shouldn't take our relatives and gather in the Great Hall of the University, decorate it with Brimiric festival thingies, and sing wholesome family carols, I think?" Jacqueline said, confusion in her voice.

Louise folded her arms with a clanking of steel. "Why not? You're a cult. Gathering to sing songs to gods is what you do."

"But only dark gods," one of the other cultists mumbled.

"What if the forces of darkness get mad at us?"

"They very much will! Athe gets really snooty about religious decorations!"

"Friends, friends," Magdalene said, spreading her hands. "There's nothing to fear from Athe. Our contract with him expired and I'm not renewing it. He was going to move us onto a much higher rate, and none of us want to offer more to the forces of the Abyss than we possibly can. We've broken cleanly from Athe, and also from Anark who's split from Femin and," she sniffed, "well, I very much don't approve of his principles. We're instead worshiping Soshall the Heart-Red God now!"

"Wait, we're still worshipping Femin?" Jacqueline said, clearly getting even more confused.

"Don't worry, I managed to extract a rather improved new contract with her," Magdalene said smugly. "She seems rather desperate for influence in the mortal world – and of course, she has a soft spot for all-female sects. I managed to leverage that into an excellent going rate."

"Ahem," Louise said, raising one hand. She focussed her attention on Jacqueline. "Consider it this way," she said. "Yes, you're evil cultists, yes? But what you're doing here and now will be pretending to be good wholesome followers of Brimir to distract the people who'd want to hurt you because of your beliefs."

Jacqueline nodded slowly. "So… you're saying we'd be a black sisterhood pretending to be good women so we could conduct an evil scheme to overthrow someone who's secretly possessed by a different kind of evil than the kind of evil we're in favour of."

"That's right," Louise said kindly.

"But what if people think that we're secretly good pretending to be evil pretending to be good so we can conduct a good plan that's pretending to be evil to overthrow the forces of darkness?" Jacqueline asked innocently.

Louise froze up. She forced out a nervous laugh. "That's so silly and complicated," she said. "Who on earth would do something like that."

There was laughter from the black sisterhood.

"Well, that sounds like something that Eleanore de la Vall—" began one of the women.

"She's in jail! She's not involved in this!" Louise blurted out.

"But when has her being in jail ever stopped her from—"

"She's not involved in this!" Louise said firmly, hands on her hips. "I'm the Overlady of the North, remember? You can trust me when I say that for years I have thwarted her efforts and caused her much grief and grievance – and no matter how hard she tried, she's never managed to seriously thwart me." At least, when you excluded getting me sent to my room without dinner, she added silently.



"You are an awful liar."

It was warm and quiet in the hidden library full of dark tomes. Louise and Magdalene were putting the final touches to the plans for the Silver Pentacle celebrations, away from the rather inept cult.

"Why, thank you," Louise said, trying her best to quell the churning in her stomach.

"I wasn't using evil vocabulary. You're just not very good at it."

Um. "I don't know what you mean," Louise said, sweating.

"That's exactly what I mean," Magdalene said. The light caught her glasses, covering her eyes. "I know who you are."

Double um. "Do you?"

"Oh, do you really want me to go through the whole rigmarole?" Magdalene said wearily. "I'm not playing Eleanore's favourite 'imply that I know something about you and then letting you blurt it out' game. I've met you before. You must have been… what, four or five at the time. And a complete little brat, I might add."

Louise paled. "Err…"

Madgalene smiled at her with mock sweetness. "I'm not from the main line – unlike you – but don't ever make the mistake of considering me stupid," she informed Louise. "I put a few things together – why I find myself obeying you without question, why I hadn't heard of you before the summer before last, the mysterious vanishing of the youngest de la Vallière daughter, the fact that you're petite, pink-haired, and have the temper of an Eleanore…"

"I do not!"

"You do. She used to be even more of a hothead when she was a teenager," Magdalene informed her. "You're a lot like her. Well, apart from being pink-haired and not needing glasses. And being somewhat nicer. You're maybe at seven tenths of an Eleanore."

Louise slumped down. "That was cruel, hurtful and uncalled for," she complained.

"Why? It's the truth. And I'm allowed to be mean. We are related, after all." Magdalene pursed her lips. "And I suppose that means that Carmine is… well, it's a small mercy she doesn't call herself Ayelttac."

"… I had to stop her doing so," Louise mumbled.

"Ah, vampires. So cunning, so powerful, and yet so very, very stupid in certain ways." Magdalene's eyebrows fluted up. "She's certainly filled out since I saw her last."

"I try to keep her on a diet."

"Yes, she has developed very… specific tastes, hasn't she? Very fond of le sang des femmes, or however you'd snidely imply that in Gallian."

"A taste for the blood of women? Part of being a vampire. She has to drink blood."

Magdalene stared at her. "Yes, that is what I meant," she said eventually.

Slumping down, Louise considered her next move. "What does this change between us?" she asked artlessly.

"In all honesty? Not very much," Magdalene said, eyes narrowed. "You got my pig of a husband out of the way, and… hmm, from your pattern of behaviour, I assume you wish to install Princess Henrietta upon the throne after you've suitably brainwashed her? Being an eminence gris appeals to me. And you're clearly not a slave to any dark gods."

Louise squared her jaw. "Of course not! There are such things as standards!"

"Quite so," Magdalene agreed. "As far as I'm concerned, running cults is purely a business transaction. Certain offerings are made to the forces of Evil. In return, they do things for me. If they ask too much, well, that's not acceptable. They think they deserve to be worshipped," she sniffed, "just because they're jumped- up fallen angels or demons. What rot. And many of them are so dreadfully ill-mannered – and I thought that even before you told me that they consider it entertainment!"

Wincing, Louise sat up. "I haven't heard of such a mercenary attitude applied to cults," she admitted.

The other woman ran her hands through her hair with a laugh. "I like money," she said, resting her hand on her swollen abdomen. "And I like power and influence and control. I'd rather not end my life forcing some demon-god's spawn out. A human child is quite bad enough. Demonic babies have horns, which," she winced. "Ouch."

Louise sucked in breath through her teeth. "Ouch," she agreed.

"I suppose I'm just applying my talents from when I was one of the Three Witches to something more profitable."

"The Three Witches?"

Magdalene adjusted her glasses, blinking. "Sorry? Oh, right. That was what they used to call me, Françoise- Athénaïs and Eleanore."

"You used to be called the Three Witches?" Louise asked dubiously.

Magdalene snorted. "Well, only in polite company. Other people had a subtly different name for us. But yes."

Louise winced. That was over two Eleanores of mean in a small space. She felt sorry for their classmates. "That must have been… an experience," she said diplomatically.

"Honestly, if you can believe it, I was rather a shrinking violet back then," Magdalene said. "Eleanore was quite a… bombastic and assertive personality, and I rather followed in her shadow. Of course, none of us were quite the classically popular sorts. Eleanore was a de la Vallière, my father had tried to usurp the Grand Duchy of Gunneldorf and was in jail, and Marzipan was… well, she really, really hated orcs. They killed her brother. She was obsessed with getting stronger and didn't really socialise. So we wound up falling into each other's company, and I suppose we were just prickly in self-defence."

Louise knew for a fact that Eleanore was very fond of self-defence. In fact, she liked to get her self-defence in pre-emptively. "Mmm," she said.

"And then there was Jean-Jacques," Magdalene added. "He was tall, handsome, brooding and him and Eleanore used to get on really well. I suppose the fact that their lands bordered and they were childhood best friends helped matters."

"I see," Louise said, bitterly. That dog! He'd clearly been flirting with her sister when they were young! Just to get his hands on her tracts of land! Curiosity ensnared her. "What was it like back then?" she asked.

Magdalene sat back, steepling her fingers. "Why do you want to know?" she asked.

"Honestly?" Louise said. "I can vaguely remember Eleanore coming back with lots of treasures, but I was tiny at the time."

"And a little brat."

"And allegedly a little brat," Louise added with clenched teeth.

Sweeping her long straight black hair back, Magdalene chuckled. "Well, perhaps. Your father made sure I saw a lot of Eleanore after my father was arrested for high treason. I think he might have been trying to expose me to what he thought was a good influence or something."

"But… Eleanore…"

"I know! Although, in truth, as I said I was quite a shrinking violet. She was very much the dominant personality – and not all of that was because of the bloodline curse laid on my branch of the family by the Bloody Duke. I suspect I'd have always done what she said even without that. Even before we went to the Academy she was dragging me out to hunt down goblins." She snorted. "We killed our first minotaur when we were nine. I iced over the ground and then Eleanore did a nasty little Air-Fire spell to set the air inside its lungs on fire."

"Gosh," Louise said, vaguely horrified and also impressed. She wondered if she could do that.

"And then… well, Jean-Jacques was a childhood friend of Eleanore's, and Françoise-Athénaïs is a relative on your mother's side and—"

"She's what?" Louise blurted out.

"You didn't know? She's a third cousin once removed or something, I think."

Louise groaned, slumping down to the ticking of the clock. "That must be why people say she looks like me," she complained. "Not that I do!"

"Keep on telling yourself that," Magdalene said smugly. "Anyway, the four of sort of inevitably fell into the heroing. Eleanore wanted your mother's approval and just felt it was expected of her, Jean-Jacques was a wind-mage prodigy and your mother was tutoring him, I was going to basically do anything Eleanore wanted to do – and I was very aware of how tight money was – and Marzipan… well, she really wanted to kill orcs."

Shaking her head, Louise glanced out the window. "I can't believe that you had a group basically held together by Eleanore," she said, shaking her head. "How on earth could you stand her?"

Adjusting her glasses, Magdalene leaned forwards. "I don't think you understand. Or maybe you just don't remember. Eleanore was a bit mean, yes, but when she was younger she was a good friend. She only went after people who deserved it, or who went after her. And she was… and probably still is… the most intelligent person I know. She's brilliant, even if she makes enemies with how vitriolic she can be. She's never tolerated fools, but when she was younger…" she pursed her blood-red lips, "… when she had friends, I suppose, she could be very charming. She's still charismatic, but she only uses it as a weapon."

She looked directly at Louise. "You're more like how she used to be than you think. Though she was a better liar. God, she lied all the time to keep me out of trouble."

Louise's mind whirred. "And then she changed. When you were sixteen, yes? Perhaps after the summer holidays?"

"You remember that?" Magdalene's glasses caught the light. "Or have you realised something? Or both?"

"I think it's linked to how Jean-Jacques ended up engaged to me," Louise said slowly.

"Hmm. Really? I thought she was the only one of us who didn't have feelings for him." Magdalene smiled rather unpleasantly. "Of course, you're going after him with all the rage of a jilted lover. Or should I say, a spurned fiancée? So perhaps you know more than I had assumed about the feeling of having him choose someone else?"

Surprisingly, Louise found that she wasn't blushing. Instead, ice tinkled from each syllable as her heart froze. "The fact that he didn't even wait a season after his fiancée went missing before all-but publicly consorting with his mistress is something I am extremely displeased with, yes," she said.

It did not produce the desired reaction. "Oh, that's adorable! For once, you're managing to sound very arch! Do you practice that voice in front of a mirror?"

"Be quiet."

"He is very handsome, though," the other woman continued mercilessly, displaying the full and loathsome depths of her de la Vallière cruelty. "Do you want him to swoon when you address him in that tone of voice over the top of your fan? Or perhaps you've obtained a very lewd dungeon in whatever desolate location you set up base in, where you will do terrible things to him. If so, can I watch?"

"… just shut up, Magdalene."

"Pitch perfect. You really are sounding like Eleanore at the same age."

"I said shut up!"



Gnarl the Gnarled, alleged trusted lieutenant and Advisor to Overpersonages, shuffled the paperwork in front of him with the honest enthusiasm which only came from doing something you loved. The reports made quite repugnantly malicious reading. Hordes of demons and monsters were running rampant over Albion, led by the queen of the Dark Elves and a number of exceptionally evil small children.

What a time to be alive! Far worse than that last century he spent stuck in a cage! He'd made sure the ashes of that vampire had been put at the bottom of the minions' latrine. Even if he managed to revive some way, the trauma should linger. As should the smell.

That was always the thing about vampires, Gnarl considered. Vampires were immortal, so always put things off until another day. Humans, by contrast, were always in such a frantic rush to get things done before their own death. Of course, minions were not afflicted with the lethargy of ever-lasting life, but that was because minions were the ultimate lifeform in his quite considered opinion. It was probably because minions weren't immortal, but just treated death as a form of sleep; something to be fixed by kicking the individual in question and telling them to stop being lazy.

He entered his overlady's office. She was behind her desk, sulking.

"Gnarl," Louise asked him. "You don't think I sound like my sister, do you?"

Gnarl considered this. "No, your wickedness," he said.

Louise perked up. "I thought not! After all—"

"For one, you don't sometimes lisp when your fangs get in the way."

She slumped back down. "I meant my other sister," she muttered.

"Ah. Rather vague there, your obfuscated majesty. In that case, I wouldn't know. I missed the period when she was rampaging around like a pubescent terror killing perfectly innocent practitioners of black magic and slaughtering stupid little naïve goblins." Gnarl stroked his goatee. "I do wonder what would have happened if she had found this tower twelve or so years ago," he said thoughtfully. "I believe she could have had a most malign fall into darkness. I would have been positively ecstatic to serve someone like her back then. Oh, imagine the dark reign that someone so infamously mean would have imposed on Tristain!"

That was about when Louise threw a shoe at him. Of course, Gnarl was entirely used to being used as an attempted target for fireballs, lumps of ice and not infrequently their jester, so easily avoided it and made a swift retreat.

Tail twitching, Pallas stalked up the corridor towards him. The cat's eyes were narrowed and her ears were flat as she glared at Gnarl.

"Ah, young overladies. They're always so volatile," Gnarl said happily.

Pallas hissed at him, keeping well away from the foul-smelling minion.

"Come closer, pussy, and you'll find yourself splattered," he said happily, ambling off with the aid of his walking cane. He made his way to the place which was, at least on paper, Princess Henrietta's jail cell. In practice, of course, the lock on the door was only used from the inside. As it was now.

"Princess!" he called out, hammering on the door with his stick. "Princess!"

"Is Louise-Françoise with you?" Henrietta called out.

"No, she's sulking in her study."

Henrietta opened the door. Gnarl looked up the alleged-captive alleged-innocent princess, whose chalk-whitened face and charcoal-blackened eyes rather resembled a skull. "Ah, your highness," Gnarl said. "It is malign to see that you are continuing your private investigations into necromancy."

"Come in," Henrietta said quietly, looking up and down the corridor for Louise. Her quarters were comfortably lavish and entirely suitable for a royal captive being held by a wicked overlady. However, a false bookcase – installed while Louise was away – was open, revealing a secret room. That one was done up in a rather more morbid fashion, with extensive use of bone for all manner of furnishings.

Gnarl cheerfully sat down in a gravestone-backed chair, resting his hands on the skull-headed arm rests. "Ah, nothing quite like an orthopaedic chair for my tired old bones," he said, leaning back against the cold stone. "When you get to my age, the old spine aches now and again. Now, then, princess."

"What do you want, Gnarl?" Princess Henrietta said, gesturing towards a small altar she'd set up where currently a large rat was tied spread-eagle. The stone was blood-stained and chipped. Next to the rat there was a wax doll, a selection of needles, and a raw sausage. "I am always willing to make time for you, but I am in the middle of something."

"Oh, how malicious, an exercise in making enervating curses which," Gnarl squinted, "seem aimed at the male anatomy. Who is the intended victim?"

Henrietta blushed pinkly, although it was hard to tell under the chalk-white make-up. "Ah, that would be… um, Cardinal Richelieu. I am of the opinion that… ah, as a man of the cloth, it's not like he should be using it anyway, so if it happened to stop working…"

"Quite admirably vicious, your highness," Gnarl said. "However, such poetic irony is, all things considered, seldom more effective than just blighting their lives in more direct ways. Have you considered gangrene?"

"Yes, but that's not until later chapters," Henrietta said with a pout.

"Oh, most malevolent. However," Gnarl said gravely, folding his hands over the top of his walking stick, "I must request that you put a stop to this pet project. The overlady needs your help, and she won't receive it if you're locked up in here."

Henrietta squared her jaw. "But I need to master life and death and…"

"Later, your highness, later," Gnarl said, his voice as thick as honey. "The overlady needs you there to help her. She's already acting erratically. So you need to be there to comfort and encourage her, as she prepares to destroy the Madame de Montespan. You want revenge on her, don't you?"

"Well… I suppose. Yes." Henrietta sighed. "Very well. I will go clean off my face." She paused. "Am I doing it right?" she asked, a trifle nervously. "The books said this is what you should wear for necromancy."

"Of course, your highness," Gnarl said wisely. "As a necromancer it is proper to look Evil. Skulls and pale makeup and dark eyeshadow are all part of the look. And if you make sure the overlady succeeds there… well, I do know certain people in Albion."

Henrietta's eyes widened. "I'm listening," she said eagerly.



The sound of pounding hammers greeted Louise as she made her way down into the depths of Jessica's workroom. Tragically too did the smell of minions. Emerging down into the red-lit depths, she found rows of minions, hammering away at spear-points and sets of crude armour.

"Oh, heya Lou!" called out Jessica, who was sitting on a balcony overlooking the workshop floor. She had her feet up and was scrying on dark scenes of blood and horror on her crystal ball. "Come on up! I'm just waiting for something to cool."

"You've been busy," Louise observed after she clanked her way up the stairs and sat down with a sigh of relief.

"Well, yeah, after a year some of the ideas are actually sinking into their thick heads," Jessica said. "I mean, while you were away I got them to attack some forges and stuff like that and steal the clothes of the smiths, and that really helped matters. I reckon that by early next year, I'll have your legion of doom in matching uniforms."

"Until they go and stick a pumpkin on their head," Louise pointed out.

"Hey, pumpkins are scary," said the half-demon.

"Really?"

"No, they're just plants. Or, like, fruit. What is a pumpkin? Is it a fruit or a nut or a berry or… like, whatever, I don't care. So, what's down?"

Louise cleared her throat. And then winced. "I believe we should take this to some place where things are a little quieter," she said.

The meeting was moved to one of Jessica's side rooms, which did thankfully seem to be both well-insulated and entirely absent of minions. The leather chairs were suitably imposing, and the demon-masked mannequins would have been utterly terrifying were they not being used for work-in-progress dressmaking.

"This is much better," Louise said thankfully. "Now, to business. I've been thinking about the Cabal Awards."

"You have? Wicked! You've got that speech in front of everyone!"

"I know," Louise said, feeling queasy just thinking about it. "Believe me, I know."

Leaning forwards, Jessica squeezed her hand. "Trust me, it's going to go terribly," she said earnestly, but not entirely usefully. "It's all part of your giant masterplan, right? There's nothing to be scared of. And me and Henri are here to help you get through this. We're going to make you practice your speech so much you could give it in your sleep."

Louise smiled weakly. "Thank you. But it's not actually about that. It's about… it's about what I'm going to wear."

Jessica grimaced and then tried to hide it. "Can we have that fight later? I mean, sure, I can polish up your armour, but you've been wearing it for ages and—"

"I know! I know!" Louise took a deep breath. "That's what I… I was going to ask you for. Everyone's going to be watching me. I need this speech to go perfectly. I need to look my most impressive. Jessica. Um. Can you make me something really, really beautiful?"

Jessica's dark eyes widened. "Do you mean it?" she said softly.

"Yes. I… I need the best weapon I can get my hands on for this. But my weapon here is my words and my speech. And that means I need to look beautiful and pretty." Louise paused. "But in a scary and intimidating and majestic way," she added quickly.

She found herself grabbed and pulled into a warm, faintly sulphurous hug. "Oh, Lou," Jessica said. "That's awesome. I won't let you down, I promise! Every eye in the place will be on you!"

"And you'll upstage your cousins?" Louise asked with a faint smile, returning the hug.

"Fuck yeah. I'll up-stage them so hard they'll find themselves in a theatre in Heaven."

"Just remember," Louise warned her, "I still need to cover my identity. And I need the Gauntlet."

"Oh, no worries there. The steel and scarlet and military aesthetics are part of your image now. People wouldn't recognise you if you showed up in a little Stygian night dress." Jessica let go, nudging Louise in the ribs with her elbow. "Plus, you don't have a build that can pull off the kind of thing Henri or Catt or me might wear. You've got your own look. You have to own that look, girl! Constantly getting upset about the fact you're not very busty is such a little girl thing." Jessica paused. "Plus, do you know how many people I'd kill for your waistline?" she added. "You could wear a sheer dress and it'd look dark and terrible. If I did, I'd look like a badly wrapped present."

Louise considered it, and smiled wryly. "I'll let you live. For now," she said, suitably flattered.

"Oh, what a joker. Everyone knows Dad'd do horrible things to you if you executed me," Jessica said, getting up to pick up a tape measure.

"… yes. Yes, he would."

"Well!" Jessica uncoiled the measure, with the manner of an assassin preparing their garrotte. "Clothes off! I'll make sure the Dark Emperor of Cathay goes weak at the knees when he sees you!"

"It's not just about that!" Louise blurted out, blushing. Even though the idea of Emperor Lee admiring her made her feel all warm and tingly.

"Not 'just'?"

"It's not about that! I mean, it's not about that!"

Jessica's cocked eyebrow was somehow lewd, salacious, and entirely demonic. "Then maybe you're wearing it for Henrietta?"

Louise froze. "Of c-c-course n-not," she muttered. Maybe if she just set herself on fire, it would be quick if not painless. She already felt like she was burning up.

She felt a warm one-armed hug wrap itself around her shoulders. "Oh, Lou," Jessica said sympathetically. "Yeah, I know. Getting crushes on your friends totally sucks. I went all through high school with a massive crush on a boy who was one of my friends. And I never said anything to him, because… well, puberty was pretty fucked up for me."

"How d-do you know?" she whispered. "Does she know?"

"Nah. Let's be honest, she isn't looking for it. As for how I know?" Jessica shrugged. "Half-incubus, remember?" Louise relaxed slightly. "Plus, you do get all stammer and blushy around her just like you do when I rib you about Emperor Lee."

"I d-don't want to feel like this," Louise whispered, wrapping her arms around herself. "She's my friend."

"She is pretty," Jessica said, nudging Louise. "Have you ever thought of asking her?"

"It's just my body getting confused b-because I'm a de la Vallière who kidnapped a princess," Louise muttered miserably. "And it'd n-never work, even… even if I s-said anything to her. She l-loves her prince. And he's dead."

"Oh yeah, yeah. Wow. That sucks," Jessica said, slumping down. "She loves him so much that she thinks about him when I'm going full-incubus. I… don't think I can be reassuring there. It's probably super-unhealthy to love a dead guy that much, too. It might make you go blind." She straightened her shoulders. "It's a shame too, 'cause you'd be super-cute together."

"It's a sin," Louise whispered.

"Nah," the incubus said, with authority. "It really isn't."

"What?"

"I did a module on that sort of stuff at college. Trust me, I know what's a sin and what isn't. Honestly, we're a bit confused why you think it's a big deal on the surface," Jessica said, stretching out. "Like… there are totally tonnes of ways to sin. Why bother making up more? I mean, I guess it helps luring people into sin because they feel that if they feel that way, they're already evil, but it's a bit circuitous, right?" She grinned. "I mean, you're already an evil overlady who's conquering the north of Tristain, murdering the ruling body of the nation, kidnapping princesses and courting the Dark Emperor of Cathay! You don't get to falsely boost your evil ranking just by claiming liking girls is a sin!" She wagged her finger at Louise. "Uh uh!"

"But the Church says—" Louise began.

"Yeah, sorry, they're wrong. Legit demon here, telling you, FYI, not a sin."

Louise opened her mouth. Louise closed her mouth. "I think you j-just left me even more confused," she said weakly. "I don't need this kind of distraction right now. Not when I have Montespan to get rid of." She ran her hand through her hair. "Do… do you… do you get feelings that way?"

Jessica sighed. "No. Trust me, things'd probably be easier if I did. I like guys. Most guys get freaked out when they find out I'm an incubus and… and say really cruel things. If I'm lucky. Dating as a… a girl who happens to be an incubus is like walking through a crocodile pen. And I'm lucky that Dad's influence keeps me mostly safe – well, physically at least. Most other female incubuses don't have that, and men get violent when they find out, or if they think you're trying to steal 'their' girl. Things'd be a lot easier if I liked women, but I've tried and it just doesn't work for me." She tried to smile, and failed. "I like a guy with a beard. Girls just aren't the same."

"Feelings are a pain," Louise muttered. "They just get in the way."

"Yeah, but they're sort of necessary for making the next generation," Jessica said, mournfully. She took a deep breath. "And anyway! Stop moping! You've got another date with Emperor Lee, remember! You like him and he likes you, right? I wish I had an emperor with the hots for me!"

"Does he like me?" Louise said miserably. "Sometimes he blows hot and sometimes he blows cold and I don't know how he's going to act."

"Not with that attitude! I'm going to make you a kick-ass dress and—"

"It has to protect me if he tries to kill me," Louise said automatically.

"Aww, that's no fun."



"… and then I said, 'I am altering the terms of this agreement. Pray that I do not alter them any further'!" Emperor Lee said, with a smile. "And then I executed them all."

Louise laughed. "Well, you can't trust a traitor."

"Exactly!" Emperor Lee sat back on the park bench in the Abyss, looking out over the fiery lake down below where sinners writhed in eternal torment, and tossed bread to the hell-ducks. The ducks paused pecking at the damned for a moment to fight over the crusts.

Louise, for her part, was feeling good about herself. Lee seemed much warmer this time. He'd been all cold and brusque at their last meeting, but this time he seemed much more willing to just… just sit and be around her. It was nice, especially since Jessica had managed to improve her translation glasses. There was a little bit of her that wanted to subtly shuffle up to him. Of course, she didn't; for one, because it was nearly impossible to subtly shuffle anywhere when you were in full plate armour, and for two because that was just asking for a knife in the back, but she still wanted to.

She wondered what a man's lips tasted like, and hoped it wasn't poison.

"I have already made my excuses to the Cabal," Lee said, hunched over. "Very busy with internal affairs of state. Can't take time out of my schedule. So sorry."

"Thank you," Louise said. "Are you liking the situation in that frightfully cold area of Cathay?"

"Well, I can't move my troops in during the winter," he said, with a sigh. "Dragons do not like that kind of cold. They usually hibernate."

"Ah," Louise said, vaguely interested. She wondered if she could acquire a dragon herself. There had to be part of the underground chambers of her dungeon where she could fit a dragon. No one would dare laugh at her if she had a giant fiery lizard that could fly out and lay waste to people who made fun of her.

"But those three lords are out of my way now," he said, making a fist, "and for that, I am grateful."

His dark eyes met hers. She blushed. "Th-that was the terms of the agreement, after all," she managed to squeak out, thankful that her helmet was covering the pink of her cheeks. Lord and Founder, he really was handsome! Cathayans were rounder-faced and slightly softer looking than Halkeginian men, and he didn't have any of the disgusting facial hair that seemed to be all the pride of men. "There is no need to thank me, your imperial majesty."

Not least, she thought privately, because I took one of the lords as my captive.

He smiled back. "Then I shall not," he said, and she could swear that his tone was teasing. This only managed to intensify her blush. "Would you care to expand on what you are going to do at the Cabal Awards?"

Well, she could get her revenge there. Something deep in Louise's gut was certain that men should be forced to strive and struggle for your attention, fighting uphill against waves of arrows and burning tar and malicious curses. Hmm. Unless that was 'taking your castles'. She'd need to check. Well, if he was after her hand, it was basically the same thing.

"I don't want to ruin the surprise," she said, trying to sound as imperious as possible. "That would just be cruel. You'll just have to watch it and find out."

"But surely cruelty is part of your nature," he retorted.

Louise leaned in. She could smell his armour. "Perhaps," she said. "But do you really want to find out? Would you like a demonstration?"

"What kind of demonstration?" he asked, grinning.

"A… it would be a very cruel one!" she blurted out, the wave of imperious majesty entirely breaking in the face of the dark emperor's grin. The blush was rising and she wasn't sure her armour wouldn't glow red-hot if it got any worse. "I shall… I shall leave right now and never talk to you again!"

And to her surprise, he blushed too. Somehow that made her feel much better.