Death comes for Glinda in Southstairs. She notices it when a group of soldiers violently open her door and barge in. Barely giving the woman a chance to respond, they haul her to her feet and out the door. Despite only being there a few days, Glinda does not mind seeing the last of this place. The magic suppression cuffs bite into her wrists after wearing them for so long has chafed the skin raw. The chain linking them means she has not been able to move her hands independently for weeks. As she leaves the cell, she sees the young man that has been stationed outside since her stay. He looks...concerned.

The last two weeks were a trial for Glinda. After her capture she had been hustled away into a cab and absconded to a villa on the outskirts of Frottica. From there they had moved her by coach south. At the beginning, Glinda had worried for her safety. The rough soldiery and even some of the officers had leered at her, and she had caught snippets of coarse conversation from even a couple of the aristocrats. However, it soon became apparent that her stationed guards were not of Gillikin nature but from the City, and were there to guard her person as much as her escape. Several of her guards were barely in the age of majority. Glinda may have imagined it, but they seemed to hold softer looks for her.

After a bumpy week (which Glinda was thankful that winter was approaching as she would have suffered in the heat), Glinda was bundled into a velvet lined box. The way it jostled around told her that she was being moved. After a little while her nose picked up the scents of steam and oil. Hence when the box was opened and she was released into a private train car she was not surprised.

The overnight trip to the Emerald City was much more comfortable than bumping down the road. Glinda even managed to get some sleep in the private compartment they locked her in. When the train chugged to a stop, Glinda was once again bundled into the velvet box, and bumped over the cobblestones streets by coach. By now she knew where she would come out, and so there was no surprise when she once again appeared in a secluded portion of the Emerald Palace. They led her into a nicely furnished room used for political hostages where she was made to wait for a few days. Having a bath and fresh clothes made it bearable.

When her captor finally came to her, Glinda was not surprised. The fact all her guards had the dress uniform of the Home Guard and not the Emerald Palace Guards had told her enough. So when the door opened and the current Throne Minister walked in, Glinda merely placed her brush down on the vanity.

"Throne Minister." she said, bowing her head. "You'll excuse me if I don't rise."

"Of course." Sheltergod nodded. "How far are you along now?"

"Such an impertinent question."

"Blame my upbringing. An orphan does not get much in the way of education."

"And yet you've managed to rise to being Throne Minister. It speaks highly of you."

"High praise coming from you."

"So what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" asked Glinda. She noted that the directness of the question took the Throne Minister aback, just as intended. "If you had wished for a chat I would have happily accepted an invitation."

"While I do not quite believe that," he replied, "it is not just for your company."

"I should expect not; especially after the assasination attempt a few months ago."

"That was not my doing."

"You're saying under your watch someone broke out the remaining Gale Force members to plan an assassination on me? Throne Minister Sheltergod-"

"Please, call me Shell."

"Very well. Throne Minister Shell, let us not pretend each other is a fool. I've been playing this game for a long time, and while you might not have the upbringing, you have the mind for it." Glinda paused. "You also lie poorly."

"Never had the need for it." he answered. "Yes, that was me. Not necessarily my want, but my need nonetheless. I had hoped for you to be wounded or scared off rather than actually killed."

"That's not particularly better."

"Well, had I known you were pregnant I would not have done it that way."

"Just raided my house?"

"More like the ambush that captured you."

"And why capture me?" Glinda asked. "That is the question that started this."

"You're too dangerous to be free."

"Dangerous to whom?" Glinda glared. "I hardly think keeping you and Munchkinland from shooting at each other is dangerous."

"No, it isn't, and the situation has deteriorated since you fled." Shell sighed. "But in effect, yes it is. You wield far too much power."

"I'm out of office and not particularly in favor-"

"Let's not lie to each other, eh?" he replied with a smile. "You stopped a shooting war between two states of Oz. You have numerous client nobles from your time in Gillikin and restructuring the Hall of Assembly; the Animal Lords practically worship you as a Saint. You somehow magicked up a group of highly professional soldiers as household retainers even though six months ago they never were seen anywhere. Your clients even extend downwards to the lower classes of the City with your orphanages and schools."

"Which you took over."

"Trying to blunt your influence, but it has not yet paid dividends." he responded. "Finally, you have at your beck and call the most powerful witch this land has known in generations."

"I wouldn't say Elphaba is at my beck and call."

"She literally came to you the day you were attacked."

"Only because she was attacked as well."

The Throne Minister's face went slack for a moment before he could school it. To Glinda, that was enough.

"You didn't know that, did you?" asked Glinda rhetorically. "Which means you didn't order it."

"I didn't. I don't want Elphaba harmed." he replied forcefully. "I want her contained."

"And why is that?"

"Because she's the most powerful witch in Oz."

"True in the letter but not in the spirit." Glinda retorted. "You referred to her as Elphaba, not the Wicked Witch."

"The Wicked Witch is dead, as was declared last year."

"Evasion with the technical truth." Glinda once again responded. "Nobody uses the technical truth in conversation unless they are hiding something."

"Why do you care?" he snapped. "Why does it matter?"

"Because you I don't understand." Glinda replied coolly. If she let the conversation become too hot he would leave and she needed him to stay. "You are only a few years younger than I, but are an orphan so you could not have been at school with us. You rose quickly in the ranks of the Home Guard but nothing in your past says you crossed paths with Elphaba, being mostly stationed in the City."

"You think you know my past then?" he spat, beginning to pace.

"I did my research prior to you dissolving the Gale Force and your elevation." she answered evenly. "Distinguished, hardworking, and inspiring loyalty in your subordinates. Even when following crooked orders you did them as upright and honorably as possible. Walking the crooked path straightly, as one put it."

"Yes, yes," he waved his hand, "Ess Tee, the orphan boy who rose through the Home Guard. Such a profound story."

"The Ess now I know stands for Sheltergod." Glinda said. "Was the Tee just the second part? Shell Tergod?"

"No, no!" he threw his head back and laughed darkly. "It does not."

"So what does it stand for?"

"Thropp." he gave Glinda a feral grin. She flinched. "Surprised I see."

"A cousin?" Glinda asked. "Elphaba never mentioned."

"Nor would she because she doesn't have any." he answered, his voice laced with bitterness. "I'm not a cousin. I'm a brother. A bastard half-brother."

"W-what?"

"Oh yes! A bastard half-brother."

"But you are older than Nessa so you can't be…oh."

"Now you get it. My...father," Shell spat the word with such vehemence it caused Glidna to flinch again, "was Frex, the governor. You see, after Elphaba was born he went dallying about. Probably because of her skin. Either way, he had an affair with mother, a cleaning woman. Well, my mother gets pregnant. Frex makes all sorts of promises to her, probably thinking that he'll not have another normal child elsewhere. But then he breaks them."

"When Nessa is born." Glinda whispered.

"Yes!" Shell threw his hands up, and clenched them. "Whole enough for Frex's purposes, and well enough to discard my mother and I. She had to leave Munchkinland as a single mother. Who knew what the Thropp's would have done to them."

"And so she fled to the City. Where nobody would care."

"There were some connections here, yes. Other Munchkinlanders." he growled. "We scraped out a living for a decade before she caught a fugue and passed."

"And you were orphaned."

"And far too soon for 'Glinda the Good's' orphanages." he sneered. "And so I had to fight and bleed on the streets until I could get into the Home Guard as one of their helpers."

"And you hate Elphaba for this? She didn't have anything to do with it!" Glinda protested.

"I hate them all. All the Thropps." he growled. "She is just the last one alive."

"But you don't want to kill her."

"No. I want her to exist in the same state I did. Helpless."

"Elphaba just wants to be left alone." Glinda replied. "If you left her alone, you could do whatever you want."

"You think so?" he laughed. "Elphaba can't stay out of anyone's business if she thinks she's right."

"You'll find that has waned over the years."

"While that may be," he retorted, "you still very much have that streak. And Elphaba will never not come to you."

"I think you'll find that has waned as well." Glinda replied. "I don't find this intrigue as necessary anymore."

"I can imagine you have more important things on your mind." Shell sighed. "But frankly, you'll always be you, and that's a problem."

"So what do you plan on doing?"

"I'm not quite certain. For now, you'll be moved to Southstairs tomorrow." he answered. "You'll stay there until I figure out what to do, or if Elphaba comes tearing in here and forces my hand, execute you."

"Southstairs." Glinda inhaled. "I can't go there. It's-"

"Calm yourself." Shell waved a hand dismissively. "You'll not be near the general population. You'll have your own room, as much as they can be called, and guards. Like I said, I don't want you harmed."

"Even the environment could make me sick." Glinda protested. "Keep me here, at least, if you want a political prisoner."

"Too many of the Emerald Palace Guard are not trustworthy. Either for you, or perhaps against me." he replied curtly. "No. Tomorrow to Southstairs, under guard, and then a decision or death."

"I highly doubt it will be anything other than death." Glinda retorted. Shell shrugged.

"We'll see what I decide."

"I doubt you'll be the one making the decision." Glinda replied. He glared at her.

"As I said, you'll be protected until-"

"Even from sorceric assassins you know nothing about?" Glinda jabbed. "Are you going to put court sorcerers on duty?"

"Even if I believe you about that-"

"Which you do, otherwise your reaction would have been different."

"It won't be an issue." Shell snapped.

"I highly doubt it." Glinda turned away and picked up her brush. "I'd suggest you start planning for the repercussions my death will bring from Elphaba, and the Vinkus."

"I've no worries about either of those." Shell replied darkly. Pouding on the door, the guard opened it, and he left.

As they drag Glinda along, she begins to notice something. They are not talking to each other. Though at first it seemed their speed was from eagerness, now Glinda is starting to wonder. Watching them closely, she sees their eyes dart around to watch their surroundings. Their shoulders are bunched and jaws clenched. Instead of being relaxed at the control over their prisoner, they are tense.

In the dark dank corridors lit by only sparse torches and the troop Captain's lantern, a noise echoes up. It is harsh and discordant. Glinda, having been in the City for almost all her adult life, knows that sound anywhere. It is the sound of conflict. Harsh voices, cries of pain, and the scuffling of weapons. The soldiers escorting her hear it too, and begin to move faster. Glinda lets herself feel the briefest hope. Perhaps she is being rescued. Her practical mind reminds her that riots are common in Southstairs. They may just be moving her to a safer location for the time being.

As the group speeds down the cramped corridor as fast they can, the noise gets closer. At an intersection the Captain briefly holds up a hand to stop them. He glances down at a map in his hand, lantern held over it. Glinda realizes they are not taking her the normal way. That most likely means that there was a riot. Glinda's flicker of hope dies. As if in response, a stiff cold breeze drafts up the corridor. Several of the torches gutter and go out. The group tenses further. Glinda wonders at that before she hears it. A soft but harsh scraping.

The Captain barks out an order and the group heads left. Glinda is nearly jerked off her feet as they move. She can see it now, even in the dim light. They are scared. The tiny flicker of hope reignites but it is coupled with fear. Any of those who would come for her would be at great risk. Southstairs is a hostile environment alone; the soldiers make it even worse.

They approach a set of heavy double doors. Glinda determines that they must be in an older section of Southstairs, back when it served as a burial ground. The soldiers at the front begin to leverage the locks. They are old, unused. They screech as they are forced. The echoes down the corridor fade to sound like screams. After they are open, the soldiers pause for a moment. There is still the scraping, closer now.

They hurry through, and shut the doors behind them. As one group moves forward to another set of doors across the expansive hall, another shuts and latches the door behind them. As they pull Glinda along, she looks around. The hall's edges are hidden in a dark gloom from Glinda's sight as the feeble lanterns' light carried by troops fade. As they reach the other side where their comrades are working on the door, they relax.

Too soon, in fact. The rear doors shudder under some force. The entire troop freezes at the sound. Another bang, and the troops are shocked into motion. They hurry now, their hands slipping as they move too fast and their words are curt and harsh. Screeching, the doors in front come open. With an explosion of noise, the doors behind them give up their fight. The troops race through and slam their door behind them. They drop the latches in place and the door shudders under an impact. The troops step back, eyes wide. Glinda feels a chill, and looks down. A darkness is leeching under the door.

"Levant; Brakkus; your squads brace the door." the Captain commands.

Glinda can tell it does not go over well with them. However, as they move along, almost two dozen stay behind, shoulders pressed against the door. Glinda hears another bang as they race down the corridor, but it is more muffled. The remaining troops stop at an intersection before the Captain takes them to the right. Behind them, they hear a faint crash, followed by the hollow sound of a gunshot. The troops tense, but keep on their way.

They come to a winding stairway, and begin to ascend. It iss slow going. The way is narrow, only allowing passage of one at a time. Glinda is also tired, and not in the best physical shape considering her pregnancy. She slows the procession too. After several flights, she flags terribly. The trooper behind her assists. Glinda thanks her absentmindedly. The woman nods. As they reach the top of the stairs, the leader begins to unlock another door. This one is not as rusted. It slides open easily with only a little noise. It takes a moment to realize that the scraping is not coming from in front of them.

"Jacquelin, Clarence. Your squads stay here and deal with whatever is coming."

The two acknowledge their Captain's order. Glinda notices the woman who helped her stay back. They make eye contact for a moment, and she sees fear. However, Glinda is forced to move again, now only with a dozen troops to escort her. They head down a long corridor past many rooms. This seems a disused part of Southstairs. Even Glinda with her intimate knowledge of the palace did not know it existed. As they reach the end of the corridor, the Captain opens another door. As they begin to pass through, the door on the far side slams open. Glinda hears the commotion of fighting, and sees the lantern with the far troop sway fiercely, casting violent shadows of the indistinct forms. As the lantern falls and shatters, Glinda is pulled through the door. The light gutters out, but Glinda swears she sees two glowing red orbs right before the door is shut and locked.

They rush now down another corridor. They pass through a smaller door and into what seems to be an old dining hall. It is smaller, from a less bountiful time. The air begins to smell less dank. They lock the door behind them, and move as quickly as the tired troops can. The Captain slams the key into the door's lock and yanks it open. As he does, the far door slams under an impact.

"The rest of you stay here!" he snaps.

They shoot him dark looks made darker in the gloom. He grabs Glinda's arm as the far door crashes open. Darkness explodes from it, eating the light. The gunshots are loud and disorientating in the close confines, causing Glinda's ears to ring. As she is pulled through the door by the Captain, dark tendrils envelope the troops. Glinda again sees those red orbs, now easily discerned as eyes, as the door bangs shut. The Captain bars the door and pulls Glinda along as the screams start.

It is a short jaunt to the next door. It opens into an atrium of sorts. The Captain locks the door just in time for it to reverberate with the sound of something hitting it. As they back away, Glinda sees the darkness seeping under the door again. The Captain releases Glinda's arm and draws his pistol. He waits, pistol in one hand and lantern in the other. The door gives up the fight on the next blow. Pure darkness bursts into the room. After a moment, it coalesces into a shape.

Glinda mutters a short prayer to a god she does not believe in. The creature of shadows' form is constantly shifting, but what can be seen is a white grinning skull with two red orbs for eyes. As the shadows lap and twist in some unseen wind, Glinda catches glimpses of a blood red body. Any further examination is cut off as the Captain dashes his lantern in front of them, setting the oil ablaze in a fiery line. The figure is undaunted. It walks through it. The Captain raises his pistol in a shaking grip.

"What are you?" he growls.

"Death." is the rasped response.

Before he can fire, the figure bursts into shadow. The Captain gasps as the shadows reform in front of him, a sword sticking from his chest. Glinda gives her own terrified gasp and falls down. The Captain looks the creature in its burning eyes before he shudders and falls from the sword. Those fiery orbs turn on Glinda. She scurries back across the cool stones. It does not do much. In two strides the creature is above her. Glinda sees the sword in its hand, wet with blood.

"Please, no." she begs. It is weak but she doesn't care. The figure raises the sword. Glinda closes her eyes and raises her hands, desperate. Her last thought is of her unborn twins, and how they will never see the world. The sword falls, and Glinda feels its strike.

But something strange happens. There is no pain. In fact, the opposite. A feeling of freedom slowly seeps into her. Like the world is expanding. The hollow clank of metal hitting stone causes her to open her eyes. Her hands are lighter than they have been in awhile. Glinda realizes then that the magic suppression cuffs have been broken, and lie on the floor. The unseen world begins to filter back into her perception. Whispering a silent prayer and a spell for her aching wrists, she turns her witchsight on the creature in front of her.

It is strange. The creature is a man, but also seems not to be. It's aura is almost translucent, like it is not all together there. As she studies it more, she almost feels like she hears voices whispering. As she tries to focus on them, they fade away. As she focuses on other things, they reappear. Like something only able to be seen out of the corner of the eye. Whatever it is, it now stands waiting for Glinda.

"What are you?" Glinda asks quietly. "Some shade from the otherside?"

The man of shadows reaches up to its skull face. Hooking fingers into its eye sockets and a thumb into the mouth, it gives a gentle tug. With a pop, the skull comes free. Glinda now can see it is a mask. As it draws it away from its face, the shadows recede as well. Finally, there stands a man, dressed in blood red doublet and breeches with black boots. The most astounding thing about this man, however, is his wide smile.

"Not yet." he answers.

"You must be." Glinda gasps. "I watch you die. I felt you die."

"Though there are many things that can cross the veil between this world and the next, I was stolen back from their jealous clutches." his eyes twinkle with mirth. "Much to some's chagrin."

"But how, Durandal?"