The Sanctuary smelled divine.

I clutched my weekly delivery of potions, frowning at the heavenly scent that emanated from the living quarters. Strange, all the stranger for where it came from – this underground lair, all cold stone and flickering candles, smelling like a bright, cheery bakery. Even Luke seemed entranced by the smells, trotting obediently at my side, nose high in the air. I followed my own nose to the kitchens, watching for a moment with a smirk as Antoinetta practically danced back and forth as she worked.

She sang, too – tunelessly chirping as she kneaded bread and sorted through spices, pouring them delicately onto the pale, formless lump and giving it structure and taste. It took me a moment to recognize the song.

"Oh, it's lovely to give your love a single perfect rose,
It's lovelier still to do the same not wearing any clothes!
Oh, it's lovely to abandon all your cares and fears and woes…"

I joined in for the last lyrics, grinning ear to ear as she turned in surprise, then returned my beam and joined me. Our voices rose in unison, absurdly cheerful in a place like this. Even the hound joined in, howling tunelessly along.

"It's lovelier still to do the same not wearing any clothes. Yes sir, it's lovely not to wear any clothes!"

We both broke down in laughter, pealing through the stone walls, high and ringing and wonderful. Only when we'd gasped back our breaths and wiped away our tears did she wave me over to her side.

"I didn't know you could sing! You've a pretty voice, Dusty. How're you, hmm?" She continued to knead the dough, only pausing to check on the loaf already in the stone oven. My mouth watered – I smelled thyme, sharp cheese, roasted garlic all melding in perfect harmony. For an alchemist, the unison of ingredients was always something to be admired, especially when it created something delicious.

"I'm alright." My nose twitched. "Well, I will be if you give me a slice or two of that. And you?"

She giggled, her laughter chiming. Ever since the night we drank together, she was cheery around me, treated me like a friend. As much as she befuddled me, I had to admit I had come to enjoy her company. She always sounded so innocent. I remember what Vicente told me – how had someone like her ever ended up here?

"Well, Vicente's gone, so I'm just perfect." She must have noticed my look of surprise, giving me an impish grin. "Well, not really gone – old codger's just out for a contract. But it means I can cook whatever I want!" She spun merrily, giggling all the while, golden curls bouncing. "Without him glaring at me like I'm his next meal. Vee hates garlic. Oh! And your dog!" She abandoned her work to kneel by Luke, rubbing under the scruff of his neck and earning enthusiastic kisses. "Ohh, what a good boy! Hello, doggie! I've heard about you, yes I have! Who'd a good puppy? Who's a good doggie-doggie, hm? Oh, I'm so jealous!" A dramatic sigh and she rose, wiping saliva off her cheek and – I breathed a sigh of relief – moving to wash her hands. "Have you named him yet?"

I waded through her chatter, managing to dig out the important bits while placing my basket of potions on a nearby table. "Luke."

"Luke?" She frowned, button nose wrinkling. "That's weird."

I rolled my eyes, voice dry as parchment. "Shadowdog doesn't have the same ring to it."

Another flutter of infectious giggles, leaving me helpless to do anything but giggle in response. I joined her at the table, barely catching a final lump of dough she threw at me. "Here, be a darling, won't you? I could use a hand. Got to get these all done before that bloodsucker gets back!"

I stripped off my gloves and began to tame the dough, stretching and folding it into submission as she threw in a handful of chopped, dried peaches to her own loaf. I bit my tongue in thought for a moment before tossing in a sprinkling of rosemary and sea salt.

"You like to cook, too?"

"Alchemist's prerogative." I grinned, slapping the dough down even as inwardly I hesitated. It was so – so comfortable to see her like this, to work side by side and laugh and sing. To see her as just a girl, cooking for those she loved.

As a sister.

I swallowed hard, gaze focused on my work even as I spoke. "… Netta?" The nickname left me without conscious thought, familiar and affectionate.

Unaffected she continued to knead and roll, humming tunelessly and occasionally throwing a tidbit – a nut, or a piece of dried fruit – onto the floor for Luke to gobble up. "Mhmn?"

"How did… I mean, why…" I pursed my lips, searching for the right words. "… How did you end up in a place like this?"

"You mean the Sanctuary?" She began shaping the dark loaf in her hands. At my nod she giggled. "Well, the obvious way, silly. I killed somebody. A few somebodies, really."

"But…" I exhaled through my teeth. "Why?"

"Because they deserved it!" She skipped over to put another loaf in the oven, grinning ear to ear. "Look, I get you're not so good at this. You've never really had to spill blood. You're a potion-sniffer, a – a scholar, right?" She sniggered at my pout. "But sometimes it's that simple – somebody's alive, and needs to go away. Once I met the Family, of course, it was a whole different story. Now I kill for them."

If this is what Vicente had hoped would convince me, it wasn't working. "But why?"

"Why?" She passed me by and pinched my cheek with a floury hand, making me grimace. "Why you asking me, anyway? Thinking about becoming one of us?"

"No – " I rubbed my cheek and paused. Was I, or wasn't I? Why was I asking, if I wasn't at least considering the possibility? "… Maybe."

"Really!" She whirled on her feet to run over, catching me up in a hug that left me gasping for air. "Oh, that would be so much fun! I could teach you everything I know!" She released me, then softened at the look on my face.

"… Look, I get why you might not like it. You've never had to fight to survive. But I have, Dusty." Her expression grew solemn, strange on her young features. "Do you know what it's like? To be starving and begging others for mercy? Scraping to get by?"

I chewed my lip, gazing beyond her for a moment. "… Not really. I mean – a little." I remembered the village where I was born, living in a hovel with my family, surviving off charity and the gratitude of those papa healed. "Maman remarried when I was young."

"So you know a little bit. But not all of it." She drew away from me, eyes darkening. "It's different when you get older. When you don't have a family to take care of you. You got lucky, but not everyone does. Everyone is so much crueler, when they think you can't fight back." A brief shudder passed through her shoulders – I swallowed back guilt. "They think they can take whatever they want. Your coin, your body, your life."

"Netta…" I clenched my jaw to keep it from trembling. "I'm sorry for bringing this up – I didn't mean to…"

"So I taught them that I could." She raised her head high, suddenly proud and somehow older, wiser. "I protected myself, and I got good at it. I killed the men who hurt me. I killed my auntie for treating me like a slave. I became strong. On the streets, you have to be strong."

"But… there was nothing else you could do?" I gestured to the fruit of our labours, all of it now stowed away to slowly cook in the oven. "I mean, look! Killing isn't all you're good at, is it? You could've become a baker's apprentice, or…"

Her laughter wasn't laughter at all, not really. She shook her head, giving Luke an idle pat in passing as she moved to start cleaning up the table. "Oh, Dusty. You're so naive. Nobody was going to take in some half-starved, flea-ridden girl off the streets. I mean, I couldn't even read until Vicente taught me. Nobody wanted me." Her gaze softened, a smile turning her lips and dimpling her cheeks. "Until the Speaker came for me. He was the first person who was really kind to me, who told me I had a future."

Lucien. I could almost imagine it, how honey-sweet his words must have seemed to a lonely girl on the streets. "… You don't feel used?"

"They used me, the people out there." She jerked her pointed chin upwards, to the streets above us, then handed me a broom. "Here, help me clean up - they took care of me, here. I mean, I had to earn it – I had to work hard and train, but they were the ones who taught me. They gave me a family, people who love me and who I love, too. I mean, I don't always like them," she continued, chattering on as she scrubbed the table clean. "M'raaj-Dar's a furry git, and Telaendril is a bit snotty, but that's how it is with family, isn't it? You love them even if you hate them."

My throat grew tight. She bowed her head to look at me, blue eyes wide and innocent. "D'you get it, now?"

I wasn't sure I did, honestly. I bit my lip, trying to concentrate on getting the spilled flour into one tidy pile. "I'm not sure I get much of anything, these days."

"Aw! Poor ickle Dusty." She grinned and sprung over to squeeze my cheek again, only giggling as I tried to smack her away. "Don't worry! You can be like my little sister, my apprentice. I'll teach you!"

I gave her my best withering glare. "I'm at least a year older than you."

"Doesn't matter." She pointed her nose in the air, strutting away. "It's about experience. And you can't get mad at me just 'cos I'm more worldly and still have my youth."

"You - ! " I moved to smack her with the bristled end of the broom, leaving a mark of white on her bottom, only to receive a handful of walnuts in my face for my trouble. We wrestled for the broom, Luke hopping excitedly around us and barking, almost cheering us on. "I'll show you youth – "

"Like to see you try! Lookit, you're making a mess!"

"The rolling pin's no fair!"

"All's fair in love and war, sister!"

The door creaked open, and a woman spoke. "Well, she's not wrong."

At first, I could have sworn it was my mother I had heard. We both froze, still wielding our respective weapons, staring at the stranger who had entered.

No, not a stranger. All fine silk and pale skin, a wicked little smirk and my mother's features, transported out of time to a younger face. I'd always taken after father, mostly, but she took after maman.

The broom clattered to the floor from my hands. "Anya?"

"Hello, sister-dear. I wasn't aware I had another sibling to worry about." My sister – not like Antoinetta, but by birth, my sister I'd loved and hated and who must have, I realized then, lied to me all my life – crossed the room and opened her arms. "Now, are you going to stand there gaping like you're trying to catch flies, or are you going to give me a hug?"

I don't really remember moving to her. Only being in her arms, familiar yet so distant, laughing madly as the flour on my hands made fingerprints on the silk of her bodice. "Your dress!"

A sigh of exasperation I hadn't heard in years, but knew by heart. Her eyes rolled. "Yes, well, I knew there would be casualties when I came to see you."

I backed away, grinning, giggling even as I began to cry. Crying, again, when I thought I'd finally emptied myself of blasted tears. Somewhere sobs and laughter melded, and suddenly I was being held, tutted over, Antoinetta fretting.

"Oh, Dusty! Oh – oh, don't cry!" My face buried against Anya's shoulder, in her perfumed curls, I could only hear her move behind us. "It's okay! Alright, ladies, I know exactly what we need. Give me three minutes and I'll be back with wine."

Anya chuckled and parted us, keeping a hand on my shoulder and raising a brow. "What do you think, hm? Time to catch up on things?"

It was more an order than a request, anyway. But I nodded, and when Antoinetta returned, I was more than happy to drink a goblet or three.