The war-sickle chopped through the branches of the rose tree easily, and within moments Vriska was free. "I knew you were gonna cut me down you know," she said, as she fell to the ground in a shower of golden rose-petals. Most of her body was asleep.
An entire, unblemished rose had stuck itself in her hair. Karkat absentmindedly plucked it out before saying, "Yeah, that's why you panicked as if you were scared for your life and blasted me with enough psychic power to euthanize a trumpet-beast." He produced a pair of handcuffs. "Okay, you're clearly a danger to yourself and others, so I'm going to have to arrest you for real this time."
Vriska nodded, standing up and holding out her arms with a sigh of defeat. She then kicked Karkat in the bulge and ran off. "Goddamned crazy bitch!" he shouted as he writhed on the lawn. He stood up, but damned if Vriska didn't have strong legs; he fell down immediately from the pain and was certain that his virility had been damaged.
Roughly a minute passed in agony until he heard footsteps padding towards him across the grass. "Oh God, Karkat! Who was that?" He looked up into the luminescent green eyes of the Princess. There wasn't nearly enough green in this city, he thought, as he scrambled to get into a more nonchalant position, causing him to hurt himself more. "Don't move," said Jade, "I'll call for help—"
"Wait," said Karkat, on sudden impulse offering the rose that he realized was still clutched tightly in his hand. It was only a little crushed. He'd also cut his hand on the thorns and stained the entire stem red. Oh God he was an idiot—
Jade beamed, accepting the flower, a slight blush coloring her cheeks.
Vriska stalked through the palace, slinking and sneaking with lithe, predatory grace. It wasn't even hard, creeping along, hiding behind statues, crawling up the intricately carved walls. Every single brick in the palace was carved so intricately that it was practically easier to climb than to walk, and the highly irregular shapes did strange things to acoustics. She could walk right beside a person and not be heard, or make it so it sounded as if she were on the opposite side of the room. Guards hustled passed occasionally, hulking Carapacian Paladins, in full ceremonial plate depicting the Four Origins, holding banners stiff with thread-of-gold. They didn't seem to be looking for anyone, she thought, as she hung upside down from the magic rope, watching them pass. Vriska was sure Karkat would have raised the alarm by now. Ah, well.
After searching for what must have been an hour, she finally found John, standing on a balcony overlooking the city. 'Overlooking' she thought, stifling a laugh. The spires of Prospit reached much higher than this little balcony. The highest point of the city was all the way across the city at the Southern Gate, the doors of which were held up by the Four Heroes representing the fundamental forces of the universe; the Great Witch's pointed ears made her the highest structure in the world.
But John. Her portrait didn't do him justice, because it made him too perfect, too regal and heroic. He had the face of a boy who laughed a lot, and enjoyed making others laugh. He was strong looking, but not heroic of build at all. He looked like an ordinary person, only more so. Karkat was right about one thing; he didn't have the face of a king. John had the face of a trickster. He was dressed in a uniform, royal blue, with an ornate war-hammer at his waist. Vriska thought there wasn't enough blue in this city.
She felt herself smirking and immediately cut it out. She touched her forehead and unleashed—
Her stomach growled. She'd used up all her stored power on Karkat. For no particular reason at all, John turned. "Shit," she said.
"Hi," he said, smiling.
Vriska flushed deeply. "Um, hi." She noticed her hand was still on her forehead and quickly put it away behind her back.
"Are you new here?" he asked.
"Um, you could say that…."
"So you're a woman knight? That's interesting."
"Actually I'm a thief," she said without thinking, then clapped her hand over her mouth.
"Cool!" John announced. "Are you here on a daring raid to steal our jewels and stuff? I could show you where the good ones are."
Vriska gawked at him. Her stomach rumbled. "Maybe we should get you some food first," he said, taking her by the hand. This was not going as planned, thought Vriska, but she found she much preferred it.
A while later they were sitting in a secluded nook in the kitchens, scarfing down a basketful of muffins. Even here, they were watched over by the golden gaze of ancient chefs carved in bass-relief on the walls, even the most portly of them rendered regal by whatever cosmic mason had sculpted the city in the dawn of time. John found he really enjoyed talking to Vriska. She'd opened up and started speaking more candidly after her third or so muffin. She was everything he was not; cunning, pessimistic, self-absorbed, calculating, mature, and highly intelligent. While many of those might be seen as negative qualities, John didn't see them as such. She had her own sort of honor, and a unique kind of nobility. John had the feeling that the two of them together might make a single sensible person. He felt a pang, thinking he should have met her sooner.
He was about to tell her as much when a handful of Knights bust down the door to the kitchen and shouted at her to step away from him. Vriska stood up, still holding a muffin, and reached for her waist—
And calmly hurled a rope at the lead Knight, which promptly tangled itself around his feet. She leapt forward, snatching up his short sword and feinted at the next Knight. He parried the blow and Vriska simply let go of the weapon, swerving around the knight as he over-extended himself and fell flat on his face. She then smashed her muffin into the third Knight's eyes, taking his lance and using it to trip the fourth. Then she was out the door, with nothing but a last wistful look at John. Out the door, he thought, and almost certainly out of his life forever.
He was wrong.
They caught Vriska eventually. In her panic she forgot how to work with the stupid building and had ignored the weird acoustics, running into another squadron of Paladins rather than away from them as she had assumed. She'd put up a bit of a fight, but without her rope Karkat's pants fell and tripped her up at a crucial moment. The massive Carapacian had glared at her as he brought the butt of his spear down on her head.
She awoke being dragged into a huge room of much darker yellow than anywhere else she'd seen. The stones here were not smooth marble or carved brick but big, rough blocks that scraped her knees as they dragged. She glared up at the two Knights at her sides. They didn't even look at her. They set her on a large grating, bigger across than she was tall, made of iron, not gold or brass. She blinked, realizing how infrequently she had seen that metal in her life. Something stirred down there in the depths. It was so far down she couldn't see, but she could swear she heard giggling. Vriska tried not to shiver.
Ahead, there was a throne, carved from the same dull yellow stone, depicting a grinning death's head. In front of it there was a chair, much nicer, plated with gold and set with amethysts and purple plush cushions. Something seemed wrong about that. Seated on the chair was a short, squinty-eyed Carapacian of the black-shelled variety. He was bent foreward, as if accustomed to stooping. The Carapacian was dressed richly and held a golden rod in his hands.
The Ascendant Regent had ruled in Prospit ever since the death of Prince-Consort Jake, after which Queen Jane had gone into seclusion. The royal twins were too young to rule according to the law, and so he held the reins on the kingdom. "Fuck you I didn't do shit!" said Karkat, on his knees in front of the Regent with his hands manacled behind him. He seemed to have gotten roughed up a lot worse than Vriska had been. Part of the reason the palace only employed Carapacian Knights was because they were known to be traditional and gentlemanly, and Vriska was glad for that after seeing the mass of cuts bruises on her old friend's face. They were purple like a human's, she noted with mild irritation. Trolls were supposed to bruise the same color as their blood.
"Why was this one not blindfolded?" the Ascendant Regent demanded, pointing at Vriska. One of Vriska's Knights quickly shoved a bag over her head. Of course with her vision eight-fold she could still see perfectly fine. This was better in fact; she wouldn't have to hide who she was looking at.
"You know," said Vriska, feeling the need to snark, "I don't need eye-contact to control people." She only needed a full stomach in fact, but she couldn't do much with some half digested muffins that her body was already using to make up for her head injury. Still, need-to-know basis.
Oddly enough, the Ascendant Regent ignored her and turned back to Karkat. "That is exactly the point, isn't it?" said he in a biting tone. "You allowed this creature to steal your uniform and identification. You allowed her to enact her vicious plan to abduct the Heir—"
"You can't prove that's what she was going to do—"
"And," boomed the Regent, "when you had the opportunity bring her to justice, you allowed her to escape and instead took the time to seduce the princess!"
Vriska beamed. "Way to go Karkat! Didn't know you had it in you!"
Karkat growled. "Shut up Vriska!"
The Regent was aghast. "You know each other!? This stinks of a conspiracy! You will be shot for this Vantas—"
The doors burst open once again and Princess Jade rushed in with an expression of fierce determination, followed by some troll dressed in red and teal, bearing her sharp teeth in a vicious smile. Vriska still didn't see what the big deal about the princess was. So she had nice skin. And pretty eyes. And gorgeous hair. But that was it. "Karkat did not seduce me!"
The Regent sputtered. "This is a secret chamber!"
Ignoring him, Jade went on. "He was injured and I helped him. Then we talked for an hour or two. It was nice. We know each other well and it should not come as a surprise that we enjoy each other's company."
"Regardless," the Regent boomed, "Through his negligence, he allowed a vicious criminal to actually lay hands on the Royal Heir. This is inexcusable, and he must be punished—"
Jade was still speaking, vying to be heard over the Regent's voice. "Besides, the Seer told me that he is my future husband!" Although she wasn't as loud as he was, her voice had certain quality that cut right through his pure decibel power. The room fell silent.
R-really?" asked Karkat, a stupid grin cutting through the ruin that was his face. Vriska rolled her eyes.
"Yes I did!" said the new troll, striking a glamorous pose. "You can't fight fate AR, everyone knows that. If you do you'll be cursed. You'll lose everyone you've ever loved as your shell turns grey and blotchy with mange. Your house will be struck down by a mighty wind and you'll develop nasty sores on your junk, which will eventually fall off. Then finally as you wallow in your misery begging for death, your head will burst like an overripe pumpkin. That's how you'll die, alone and unmourned except for the worms digging though your exploded brain." She leered over her sunglasses, boring into the Regent with blind eyes that somehow still saw—
"Don't try to sway his judgment with your pagan witchery," said a new voice, smooth as silk, while another like the barking of a dog shouted "I want their fucking heads on pikes!"
In stepped another pair of black Carapacians, one calm and collected, the other a sneering savage. "Good evening my lord Regent," said the one in the lead, pulling his fellow into an elegant bow. "I am a dignitary of Derse, representing arch-agent Jack Noir, here to bid for the princess's hand." He strode over to the chair where the Regent was sitting, making the little man seem petty by comparison. This was what a king acted like. He muttered something about his secret chamber.
The Dignitary said, "The suitors from Derse are gravely insulted at this breach of security on the very day of their arrival. What's more, the royal siblings did not even meet with their respective romantic pairings as they were meant to due to this fiasco and am I boring you Madame?"
The Seer was yawning dramatically while Jade tried not to laugh. "I'm sorry," said the Seer, "I started tuning you out when you denounced the state religion as 'pagan witchery'. Honestly you Carapaces—"
"Carapacians—"
"Bug-folk," she said, winking. "We all have the Four Heroes, it's just us trolls don't see the need to kill frogs on altars to the Witch!" Everyone staggered a little. The religious rivalry between the Carapacian faith and the trollish one was well-documented and quite heated despite the fact that the Three Faiths all ran on the same core set of beliefs. Even Jade looked scandalized. Vriska laughed her ass off. "Dance puppets dance!" she shouted. A Knight cuffed her.
The Dignitary shut his eyes and mouthed counting to ten while grabbing his liege-lord by the color to make sure he didn't maul the Seer and spark an international incident. "My lord Regent," he said. "You cannot allow this violation of justice. The princess of course has a right to choose her mate, but I'm afraid a treaty was signed." He produced a document written on yellow paper. He read aloud in a soothing yet businesslike tone. "The princess of Derse will travel to Prospit three months before her wedding. She will be accompanied by fifteen suitors, and the princess of Prospit must choose a husband by the time of her royal brother's wedding." He rolled up the paper. "It's ironclad."
"No it isn't," interrupted Terezi, waving her cane in the air to draw attention to herself. "The exact words are that she must choose a husband. Not that she has to choose one of your suitors."
The Dignitary growled. "It is implicit—"
"But not explicit!" said Terezi, wiggling a finger.
The Dignitary smirked. "I have studied Prospitian law Madame Seer. A Royal sibling may only marry a person of nobility—"
Terezi snorted. "No, they may only marry a person of rank. A Knight of Prospit counts as a person of rank. Her own father was a page-boy for crying out loud! If someone who had a chance of one day becoming a knight can be Prince-Consort, then certainly a full knight can marry a redundant heiress." She smirked, arms crossed. "I was an advocate's apprentice for most of life before I ascended. You can't beat me sir."
The Dignitary was at a loss for words. Jack Noir screamed in frustration. "Just take his goddamn rank away then! He doesn't fucking deserve to have it!" He shook his vassal. "How hard was that!?" Everyone stood in shocked silence. To strip a Knight of Prospit of his rank was reserved for the most heinous of crimes, and usually done posthumously after the offender's execution. Clearly, things were done differently in Derse. Surely no one would be enough of a degenerate to—
"Alright," said the Regent. The room went silent. "I am going to give you one chance Sir Karkat. Denounce this creature (Vriska blew him a raspberry) and deny any connection whatever to her, and I will allow you to maintain your rank, under a temporary probation. Then if she wishes, the princess may take you as her husband." The Dignitary made as if to protest, but the Regent stopped him. "If you do so, the thief will be executed. However, if you do not denounce her, you will be stripped of your rank and stricken from the records. You will not only cease to be a Knight, but will never have been one at all, yet the thief will be given a chance to live. What say you?"
Well shit, thought Vriska, biting her lip. This was an absolute no brainer. Vriska knew exactly what she would do in this position. Well, living was fun while it lasted, and at least she got to meet John. She decided she wouldn't hold it against Karkat. What was one old friendship against a lifetime of happiness—?
"Fuck you," said Karkat. "Fuck you, fuck your title, fuck knighthood, and fuck your ugly mother."
"Are you going to let him speak to you like that Lord Re—"
"And fuck you most of all Lord Shithead!" Karkat shouted, baring his teeth at the Dignitary. "Fuck you and fuck the trumpet-beast you rode into town on, you overgrown pompous oily slimy filthy degenerate of a nobleman." Turning back to the Regent, he said, "Are you fucking offended? I'm sorry, I thought this was Prospit, the golden city of freedom and equality, but you're too busy trying to suck Derse's collective dick to give a fuck about that." He spat a glob of reddish saliva right into his eye. "That comes with a free knighthood."
The Regent roared, descending from his chair and striking him across the face with his rod, once, twice, three times. "You are relieved of your duties Karkat Vantas," he shouted. Pointing at Vriska, he said, "Now give her to the Capricorn."
Karkat gasped. "You said—"
"If she can kill it, she goes free. It's a chance, as promised." The iron grating gave way beneath Vriska, and she fell into the depths.
The trolls' name for themselves as a people evolved entirely independently of the same human word. It had a completely different linguistic origin and etymology and meaning. It descends from the Old High Trollish for 'person'. It's said that before the first contact, humans had stories about trolls, or rather creatures they called trolls. They were brutish monstrosities that walked on their knuckles like apes, child-eaters of Herculean strength, laughing tricksters possessing profane magicks, dressed in the skins of animals and the skulls of their enemies. There was nothing of this in the true trolls. It was an old story with no truth to it, best left forgotten.
And yet, looking at the grand old Capricorn, Vriska understood why those early humans might have thought what they did. The Capricorn caste, the Subjugulators of old, had all gone insane in antiquity and been cast out of the cities. Even when they'd been accepted in troll society they had been the most feared of all blood colors, for their instability, their baseless cruelty, and their propensity to never stop growing. Now they were outcasts, savages living at the fringes of civilization, raiding against both Prospit and Derse and distant New Alternia, capturing innocents to sacrifice to their clown gods in their heathen rituals, working devastating chucklevoodoos with the blood of the slain.
Vriska had heard all of these stories and more. The reality was far worse. She shouldn't have been able to see at all in this light, but her vision eight-fold could sometimes be a curse rather than a blessing. The accounts failed to mention the hideous war paint, the ritual scars, the strange rectangular pupils like a goat's, the paradoxically elegant curvature of the horns, like the arms of a harp, and the sickly sweet stench, like vanilla and sugar trying to mask blood. He was easily twice her size. His time in this pit had clearly done his mental health no good. He giggled.
Vriska did too, not out of any sense of humor, but because the day had degenerated so far that she felt it was either laugh or cry and she'd be damned if she ever cried in front of anyone, even a creature that was more animal than troll. His laugh was almost sane, almost civilized—
He suddenly cocked his head like a dog that had heard a noise, and bellowed. It was something like a roar combined with the braying of a goat, amplified by a factor of ten and filtered through something completely insane. Vriska grabbed for anything nearby and fixed her fingers on something smooth and round with three holes in it. For an instant she stupidly thought it was a bowling ball, but it was actually a human skull.
Regardless, she hefted it the same way and hurled it into the less-than-troll's gaping mouth. It was a tad too big to make him choke, but he certainly had trouble pulling it out. In the meantime Vriska scrambled up the wall. It was slimy and slick and carried that awful metallic-sweet smell, but the bricks had deep spaces in between them and she found purchase easi—
He rammed the wall where she had been holding onto just seconds ago, with enough force that the skull in his mouth exploded and Vriska was shaken from the wall and onto his back. Grabbing onto his shaggy, greasy hair, she produced her emergency weapon, a razor blade that she had concealed, well, never mind where. She brought it to his neck and readied to rake it across his throat, when he turned and slammed his back into the wall, driving the breath out of her. He slammed again, giggling, and Vriska could swear she'd heard something snap.
She let go of the Capricorn and slid down the slimy, sticky wall, making sure to dig her razor deep into his shoulder and letting it drag down his back as she fell. She'd missed her chance to kill him, she thought as the purple welled up past her fingers, but she'd be damned if she didn't make sure he remembered her.
It seemed to take her forever to finally hit the floor, but it couldn't have taken more than two seconds. Her razor slipped out of her hand as it snagged in the Capricorn's hide, now tearing the flesh rather than neatly cutting. She began to lose consciousness, but felt it wasn't coming quickly enough. He turned and gave her a look that was part glare and part smile, so wide she could see the joint where his lower jaw met his skull, and every single one of his yellow, cracked teeth. His eyes were huge too; the yellow of his sclera was visible all the way around the purple of his irises, like a terrified riding-beast. "You," he muttered, speech so garbled Vriska wondered if she wasn't imagining it, "are gonna be tasty." She blacked out as he reached for her, palming her thin frame easily in one massive hand.
Jade held Karkat's head in her arms, whispering through her tears. "A knight," she said, "isn't something that's made. You are a knight because of what you do, not because the Regent waved his stick at you," she muttered, running her hands through his hair, circling around his horns. It felt good. He wouldn't trade the sensation for anything in the world. Unfortunately, without his rank he was not entitled to anything from the princess. Not a caress, and certainly not marriage. He stood up. If Jade said he was still a knight so long as he acted like one, then by the Sufferer he'd be the most chivalrous motherfucker in the kingdom.
Karkat spied a paladin wearing a heavy war-sickle, a ceremonial piece plated in gold (what else?), carved with Old High Trollish. "Happiness must be earned" it said. Too fucking right.
He tackled the Knight to the ground, pure adrenaline giving him the strength to floor a grand Carapacian, and took the sickle. He turned toward the Regent and gave him an ironic salute, flipped the Dersites the bird, gave Jade a smile, and then dove into the pit.
He took off the Capricorn's head in one strike.
Vriska barely remembered anything from that night. Karkat with some fancy new sickle. Being thrown over somebody's shoulder. Running through the night. The Cathedral Domina Nostrum de Fortuna. The smiling eyes of the priestess. And purple. Purple everywhere. In her hair, on her hands, in her clothes, and on the streets. Fluttering from rooftops and falling from the sky and spraying onto her face and staining a handkerchief. Purple, purple, purple.
"Good morning, daughter," said the priestess as morning light streamed in through the window. No purple anywhere. Excellent.
"Hi," said Vriska, not in the mood for anything more creative. "Did I die last night? I think I might have."
The priestess shook her head. "By the grace of God you are still alive child. He sent you a valiant knight to be your protector. The knight left you in my care, with platinum to provide for you should I need it, and promises to return soon."
Vriska stuck her tongue out at the priestess. "Karkat was already there! God can't take the responsibility!" The priestess gave a shrug, as if to say 'if you insist.' It was the same one from before, Vriska realized. Looking at her more closely, she could see that the priestess was a Scorpio, just like her, with vision eight-fold and blue lips and blue lashes and the same protruding fangs paired with otherwise normal teeth. She seemed only a little older, a little healthier and fuller figured. It could have been Vriska herself, if things had been otherwise. The priestess smiled, as if thinking the same thing.
"Who is John? You called his name once or twice." she asked.
Vriska rolled over, staring at the wall. The priestess touched her shoulder and left. A little later she returned with a tray of food; hot bread, sliced cheese, some milk. Vriska devoured it and demanded more. "And some meat if you have any!"
The priestess shook her head sadly. "We are still on the Cathedral grounds my daughter, and the flesh of living beings cannot be imbibed in the Sufferer's holy presence." Vriska grumbled, but didn't complain too much when she was brought another loaf of bread. It was full of seeds and nuts and berries, and was so buttery and flaky that it almost had her in tears with its richness.
Karkat came back at around noon, looking like absolute Hell. Vriska couldn't help but feel mildly responsible. "Oh, you think?" he snarled. "Doesn't matter now," he said, plopping down on a chair.
Vriska shrugged. "I'm sorry."
Karkat seemed to only get more upset. "Oh, you're sorry? Well that absolutely makes up for the fact that you lost me a knighthood and my chance with Jade."
"I recall," Vriska announced, "that you renounced your knighthood."
Karkat's eye twitched. "Only because you put me in that position, Serket."
Vriska nodded. "Okay, I'll give you that. But," she said, pointing for emphasis, "knowing what you know now about the people you worked for, could you live with yourself still being a knight?"
Karkat hissed at her, before spitting out a "No" though grit teeth. Vriska laughed. "Oh Karkles, you pretend not to care about anything but you have all this integrity weighing you down! It's so pathetic."
"I should have let you get eaten by that freak," he said. "I only helped you to impress Jade, fat lot of good that did me."
"Fuck that," said Vriska, flipping her hair. "You care about me."
"I hate you," he said, eyes narrowed. The irises were starting to fill up with red at the edges, Vriska noticed, and felt a hint of disgust. What's more, Karkat's bruises were now a very deep purple, almost black, with hints of green and yellow at the edges, so like a human.
She smiled. "Me too."
He leaned back in his chair, banging his head against the wall. "Fuck," he said, grinning slightly. "Now what?"
Someone walked into the room just then and Vriska's jaw nearly hit the floor. John. She almost got up, but he motioned for her to stay in bed, pulling up a chair. "How are you doing?" he asked.
"Pretty good, considering," she said. Or rather began to say, before she was taken over by a coughing fit. He held her head, put his face very close to hers, and breathed into her. It felt hot and cold at the same time, and filled Vriska with a strange giddiness. Everything that had hurt before became more uncomfortably warm than anything. She looked at him confusedly. He smiled. "Direct descent from the Four. The Crockers are in charge for a reason." Absentmindedly he brushed aside a strand of her hair from her forehead. Realizing what he was doing, John pulled back as if he'd touched a hot stove, blushing fiercely.
Karkat groaned. "Is this what you two are going to be like together? So fucking awkward all the damn time?"
John turned, welcoming the distraction. "Hey Karkat!"
"'Sup," he answered with a lazy wave. "Why're you here, other than to moon over my semi-kismesis?"
"Your what now?" he said, scratching the back of his head. "I'm sorry, you trolls have such confusing familial relationships or whatever they are." Karkat slapped his forehead, then shouted in pain.
John and Vriska both chuckled at him. "I came to tell you guys something," he said, looking excited. "Last night after you left, Jade threw a huge fit. She made all the suitors meet up in front of the palace gates, and made a huge announcement. She will marry whichever man manages to bring her the rarest treasure by the time of my wedding."
Karkat made a jerking-off motion. Vriska was embarrassed for him. "So? Regardless of what she wants, I'm not a knight anymore. Not officially at least."
John shook his head patronizingly. "Karkat, I also made an announcement. Whoever succeeds in this task, and anyone who accompanied them, will be made a knight as soon as I come of age as king, the very day of the wedding. You go and find something, then you can come back and get hitched with Jade and live happily ever after and have lots of horrible mutant babies."
Karkat's eyes widened. Vriska cleared her throat. "Okay, good for Karkat. But what about us?"
John looked crestfallen. He had known this would come up, but had tried to bury it under his enthusiasm. "I'm sorry Vriska, I have to marry Rose and there's nothing I can do about that." She glowered, hissing a little. John sat back down. "If you help Karkat, you can be a knight. You'll finally have a good life. You can eat your fill and go into the palace whenever you want. Even if we can't….be together, we can still see each other every day. It's not ideal but, well, nothing is."
Vriska nodded and fell back onto her pillow, feeling suddenly exhausted. Was it the weight of what John had just told her, or his strange magic wearing off? Maybe both. Well, being a Knight of Prospit and a possible king's mistress (though something told her John was 'above' extramarital activities) was certainly better than she's had any right to hope for. "The problem is though," she said, suddenly fierce. "This is all speculation for the future that might not even come about, because what the fuck are we going to bring?"
There was a soft cough from the doorway. The priestess had returned—or had she been there all the time? John rose and offered a slight bow, calling her 'mother'. "Be at peace, your grace," she said, striding forward. She was holding a box of that same green stone they'd used to make the Sufferer in the Cathedral proper, and was carved with the horrific image of an Angel. She handed it to Karkat. Inside was a map.
Author's note: A little troll headcanon in this chapter, hope you don't mind. The Capricorn in the pit isn't supposed to be anyone in particular, but I was trying to invoke Mindfang vs. the Grand Highblood. And of course they use platinum for money, seems silly in a city full of gold to care about that metal. Much.
If you think the romance feels a bit rushed, well, this is a fairy tale.
