TRIGGER ALERT

There is a nightmare scene which is going to be a bit grisly, and harrowing. It is just a dream, so feel free to skip it if it's too much.

Chapter Twelve:

Conviction

Before…

Ezalor stood on the precipice, gazing upon the great work the Elder Titan and the Earthshaker had undertaken. As he had predicted, Raigor Stonehoof had emerged from Nishai to examine this world, and they had managed to enlist his aid.

They still had much to do, but the outer ring was complete, and the central focus was swiftly taking shape. Though it was more than just a focus: it would be a fortress in time, a haven for the people of whomever Ezalor chose for his plan.

The Worldsmith had chosen the design himself. He said it would be the most effective choice. Ezalor had not questioned his decision, it seemed somehow appropriate.

'I still don't understand how the sun could be second.' Valora muttered aloud, gazing up at the bright orb high overhead.

'It is not uncommon for us.' Ezalor answered simply. 'You and I have seen others in which there was darkness first.'

'I wonder if there were Nightstalkers in this world as well.'

'It is possible that there were. There may even be another instance of Balanar out there, biding his time, nurturing his hatred of the light.'

Valora continued to gaze up at the sun. 'Does that mean that there is another Terrorblade in this universe? And how come we are singular?'

'We are different.' Ezalor answered simply.

'That's not much of an answer.'

'It is the only answer I can offer. Even Ancients such as I cannot answer every question. I have stood at the centre of Everything, but even I do not know what came before the Nothing, nor do I know how the Ancients came to be. We simply are.

And yes, there is likely to be a Terrorblade in this universe, just as there will be a Mene, and perhaps a Selemene and an Invoker. For all the random rolls of chance, there seems to be some consistency to fate, or else the Creator of these universes attempts to maintain some level of familiarity whilst trying to affect change. Change often makes mortals uncomfortable, they prefer the familiar.'

'I'm surprised the Invoker hasn't appeared yet. Most of the other failures you told me about were of his design.'

'This is not his work.'

Valora tilted her head down to gaze at him, a frown narrowing her glowing eyes.

Before she could ask another question, a piercing screech sundered the air.

Icarus swept into view, his warmth and light spilling over them as he landed. Below, the Elder Titan and Raigor both ceased their work on the structure and tensed, watching the undulating, sinuous form weaving its way along the hills.

Valora cautiously lifted her hammer. 'It's coming closer this time. I am loathe to harm a creature of the light, but if it is a danger to our work—'

Ezalor held up his hand. 'Please, stay your hammer, Valora. There is no need to antagonise our visitor, nor would there be any point. Even if you were to destroy his physical form, he would only return, and would likely be less curious and more hostile.'

'You mean that's an Eldwurm? So soon?'

'It is the very Eldwurm I have been hoping to meet.' Ezalor stated. 'Wait here, Dawnbreaker. I shall speak with him. I believe he will be of great help to us.'

Valora grimaced. 'I wish you would be less cryptic and more straightforward, Keeper.'

'You know what it is that I intend, Valora. I have not hidden that from you.'

'And you know my feelings on the matter.'

'Yet still you aid me.'

Valora hesitated, just for a moment. 'I am born of the light and made to serve and protect it. I may not agree with everything you intend, but we have the same cause.'

'Whatever you may think of me, I hope you live to see our plans reach fruition.' Without another word, Ezalor carefully climbed onto his horse, clicked his tongue, and cantered towards the golden serpent.

Ezalor felt no fear as he approached the dragon, despite his great size. He could practically taste the raw power and potential contained within the Eldwurm's avatar, he could see it in the creature's eyes.

The dragon showed no concern or hostility as Ezalor rode closer, merely curiosity. Though the luminous dragons of this universe possessed a form different from their kin in other realities, they seemed to be of similar dispositions. This Eldwurm would not harm Ezalor unless he provoked him, and Ezalor had no intention of angering this dragon.

The dragon sniffed the air, his nostrils flaring, his long, drooping whiskers twitching. 'Hmm… you smell different from the other mortals,' he said, with a clear, melodic voice. 'You are not as they are. You are not a mortal at all.'

Ezalor smiled wryly. 'I am very old, Eldwurm of the Light.'

'You are an Ancient. The Primal Mind of this universe knew of you, and thus I know of you. We are almost kindred, you and I, both of us beings of light and order.

I came here, as is sometimes my wont, and saw something most strange: another Ancient and other powerful beings shaping stone and earth, building a great work in this place. I would like to know what it is you are building, and what it is you intend for this world.'

'I would have thought you could guess at my intent. It is the same as yours: to protect and preserve the light.'

'Then I will not hinder your work.'

'I am glad to hear that, but I would ask you to join me in this endeavour. There are great dangers which will beset this world, dangers we will not be able to combat ourselves for various reasons. The darkness is one of them.'

The Eldwurm's nostrils flared again. The glow about him intensified. 'You speak of Nihirak?'

'If you refer to the Eldwurm of Chaos and Darkness, no, I do not.'

'She knows her place, yet she is insolent and rebellious. But I do not know of any other power which could threaten the light.'

'I do, my friend. I have seen Her smother many worlds in darkness, and drown others in a sea of blood. In some, She is more benevolent, but in every universe, She brings chaos, death, sorrow and misfortune to many, whether the cause be just or not.

I would ask you to aid me in protecting this world from Her, to protect the light.'

The Eldwurm inclined his head towards the sun. In every universe, no matter their form, the luminous dragons were not prone to rash action. 'What you intend will have consequences. It is inevitable.'

'I will not lie to you, nor to anyone else who helps me: there will be loss. There will be sacrifices. This universe was born of sacrifice, you can sense it as well as I can. That is but one reason, yet perhaps the most significant, as to why it differs so much from others I have beheld. Others I could not save.'

The Eldwurm turned his lean head towards Ezalor again, grunting softly. 'I would like to hear more of your plan, before I agree to anything.'

'I am willing to explain everything, Eldwurm…'

The Eldwurm lifted his head proudly. 'Aurenak.'

'Aurenak.' Ezalor acknowledged. 'You were curious to see what my friends are building. Please, come with me, and you shall see, and I shall explain everything to you.'

'Lead on, Keeper of the Light.'

Ezalor turned his horse and began to slowly ride back down towards the great stone ring and the angular shape taking form in the centre. Aurenak the Eldwurm followed patiently, listening intently as Ezalor spoke of his plan, his last chance to save one universe from damnation.

Now...

Everything was cast in a macabre red light, the bleeding moon looming close overhead. A bloody eye in the corrupted sky.

At first, Mirana thought the water was red because of that, but the smell told her otherwise: the sea was filled entirely with blood.

And there were bodies floating in it, torn apart, left for the carrion birds and fish to pick at—and they too were frightful to behold, the birds devoid of feather and skin, flying on ragged wings of rotten flesh. The fish were skeletal things with gnashing teeth, tearing eagerly at skin and bone.

Feeling sick, Mirana turned away, but the beach was no better. The gritty sand was saturated with gore, and bodies had washed up at the water's edge. Many wore the colours of the Imperium, soldiers and sailors who had died during the attack. She recognised Haldrien only by the fine sword on his belt and the captain's sash around his waist.

There were others who had not been part of the fleet: Purist, Garrisan, Kaden, Ritterfau, Lhara, her mother, her father, Marci's family, Barrus, Nikdo, his thugs, Larisden, and the various unfortunates she had let Marci kill for her, various Coriel'tauvi she had never met but allowed to die via her ignorance, Imperium citizens she had not been around to save, conspirators who had died trying to bring her back home, and the ones she herself had killed.

So many people had died for her or because of her. The tide of blood washed around her feet, soaking into her boots.

The red surf surged higher, swirling around her shins. The scent was overpowering and she almost vomited.

Another body washed up in front of her, and she felt as if her world had fallen apart right then and there.

Marci.

She knew it was her, despite the horrific damage. Her tunic had been torn away, as had most of the flesh beneath, exposing bloodied bone. Her legs and arms were almost entirely shredded, one side of her face bloody and flayed.

Mirana's hand rose to her mouth, her lips trembling, her entire body shaking. As soon as her hand touched her lips, she felt something wet and sticky on her palm.

Blood. Her hands were covered in it. Her clothes were soaked with it. It was even in her hair.

'Oh gods…' Mirana whimpered, falling to her knees in the blood at Marci's side. 'Marci! I am so sorry, Marci. I never wanted this! I can't… I can't go on without you. I love you, Marci!'

'Then why did you kill me?'

Mirana recoiled. She stared down at the mutilated body of her handmaiden. The words had not come from her lips, lips Mirana had sometimes dreamed about kissing. But it sounded like she might have uttered them. It had been a woman's voice, with a definite Rasolir slum dweller's accent.

The single remaining eye flicked open. Mirana had always loved to look into those beautiful, perfect eyes, so warm and full of feeling. But now Marci's remaining eye was full of hatred, and fixed on Mirana.

Marci sat up, turning her head on a neck with barely any flesh holding it in place, glaring at Mirana. Pinpricks of light started to appear in her hateful gaze.

'Look how many people have died because of you, my friend.' The faint scars on Marci's lacerated neck tore open, blood gushing forth and splattering Mirana. 'I died for you. You killed me, Mirana. You said that you love me, but you killed me.'

'I… I would never… Marci, I… I love you.'

'Then why did you ask me to die for you?'

Mirana sobbed and reached out to her. Marci caught her hands, torn flesh and bare bones tightening around them. Marci snarled and started to crush Mirana's hands. Mirana wailed as her bones started to splinter, tearing through her skin.

Marci bared her bloodied teeth. 'You say that you love me. If that is so, then you should have died for me!'

Her ravaged hands snapped out, locking around Mirana's neck, exposed bones tearing into her flesh.

'Marci!' Mirana choked, trying in vain to pry Marci's ruined digits from her throat with her crushed hands. 'Marci! No! Please!'

'You're just afraid to die, aren't you?' Marci snarled. 'You never cared for me! You just wanted me to keep you alive!'

'No! Marci! Stop!'

Marci's ragged lips twisted into a cruel sneer. 'Tell me: do you love me?'

'Yes!' Mirana choked. 'I love you! I love you, Marci! I love you! I love you! I LOVE YOU!'

'Then die! Die for me!'

Marci thrust forwards, pushing Mirana onto her back. The rising tide of blood washed over her face, filling her nose and mouth, putting a veil of red between her and Marci—her dearest friend, her first love—as she crushed the life from her.

'No! I love you! NO! MARCI!'

The two guards outside Mirana's door winced when they heard her screaming. Though they had their suspicions, they were obligated to open the door and check on her.

'Princess? What's wrong?'

They could just about see Mirana sitting up in her bed, panting, one hand at her throat, staring at nothing. Both peered at her intently, mildly concerned, and also taking note of how her nightdress clung to her shapely figure.

Mirana shuddered. 'I… I… I just had a nightmare.'

'Your Majesty?' Both guards snapped to attention, and stopped ogling the Princess, as Aridin strode around the corner, fastening a finely embroidered robe over his nightshirt and smallclothes. 'Is something amiss?'

Mirana turned towards them. It was hard to read her expression in the darkness, but she seemed to be scowling as she gathered her bedclothes around her chest. 'I'm fine.' She did not sound "fine". She sounded angry, and a little scared.

Aridin nodded. 'Perhaps I could fetch you something to help you sleep.'

'I'm fine, Lord Aridin. Please, let me sleep.'

Aridin bowed. 'As you wish, Your Majesty.' He stepped back, letting the two guards close and lock the door again. He shook his head. 'Stubborn woman. What was she screaming about?'

'Something about loving someone. She called out to someone called… what was it? Mercy?'

'Marci.' Aridin guessed, annoyed.

'I think so, Lord Aridin.'

Aridin rolled his eyes, turned and ambled away. 'I grow weary of all this incessant mewling and wailing. Oh, to be done with this charade!'

Carefully, ready to duck back down, Marci swam forwards, staying in the shadows as much as possible and being careful not to splash. Down here, the sound would create echoes which could carry all the way up the smuggler's tunnel.

She had just reached the jetty when she heard voices and footsteps. Marci sucked in air and submerged. She could just about see two figures, ambling towards one of the crates. They opened it and began to rummage around.

Marci knew that she could have taken them both down. But she wanted to avoid killing too many guards if she could help it. Their absences might be noticed.

Ideally, she needed to find Mirana, Luna and Aiushtha without being seen. She wanted to get them all out without a fuss.

Marci continued to wait, forcing herself to be patient and still, ignoring the growing pain in her lungs. Finally, the two men found what they were looking for—a bottle of some kind, she thought—and hurried back up the stairs.

Marci lifted her head above the water again, catching her breath as quietly as possible, and waited, listening.

Nothing. It was clear. For now.

Marci removed three more pipes from her belt, also bent by her raw strength, then removed hers. She submerged and placed them by the foot of the stone dock, where they would not be seen easily, then placed a small stone over them. Satisfied, she surfaced, controlling her intake of breath.

The extra pipes were for her friends. She believed that if she could get in this way without being seen, they could all escape the same way. She was aware of the risks. Mirana and Luna could both swim, but Aiushtha had said that it didn't come naturally to her.

She'd deal with that problem when it arose. Maybe she would find a better way out once she was above ground.

'Who's there?'

Marci ducked down again as footsteps drew close. She had forgotten about the man guarding the tunnel. If she hadn't been in danger, she might have been embarrassed at such an amateurish mistake.

The guard plodded closer, frowning. Marci was under the jetty, just about out of sight, ready to submerge.

'Eh, what's wrong with me?' the guard muttered. 'Nobody can get in. Probably just a fish.'

He moved away. Marci waited, then dared to lift her head so that she could peer at the dock.

The guard had sat down again, legs stretched out and arms folded. Marci hoped that he might fall asleep, but he remained awake, alternating between picking dirt out from under his fingernails, and nibbling at a pie.

Marci's stomach rumbled.

The guard looked up, frowned, then shrugged and went back to picking at his nails.

He wasn't going anywhere.

Marci slid back into the water, prepared herself, and rapped on the jetty pilings with her knuckles.

'Eh?'

Marci waited with baited breath.

'My imagination's playing tricks on me. Huh… I hate this job.'

Marci sighed, then whistled softly.

'What was that?' Now he sounded wary.

He moved to the jetty, one hand clasping the hilt of his sword. The wooden planks creaked under his boots.

Marci waited until he was directly overhead, then sprang out.

The guard tried to draw his weapon and call for help, and failed at both. Shocked, he fumbled with the sword and managed to drop it, and before he could shout, Marci grabbed him, braced her feet on the pilings, and dragged him into the water.

The man struggled in her grip, but he was as good as dead. Even if he had broken free, he was wearing metal armour. He would never have been able to extricate himself in time.

Marci seized his head and yanked it round, snapping his neck. He instantly went limp, eyes glazing over, and dropped to the bottom. Marci left him where he lay and surfaced, climbed up onto the jetty, and peered around.

No sounds of alarm. Yet.

Marci approached the crate the two other men had taken bottle from and plucked out a demijohn—some sort of whiskey bearing the famous Brewmaster's mark. Perfect.

Marci yanked out the cork, poured some of the whiskey onto the jetty, then dropped the demijohn. Hopefully, if anybody came looking for the guard she had killed, they would assume he had fallen in whilst drunk and drowned. They would have to pull him out to see that his neck was broken—not easy with him still in his armour.

Alert for any sounds or signs of movement, Marci scuttled over to some of the crates and risked peering inside. She was hoping for something she could dry herself off with. Leaving wet footprints would be a giveaway.

More bottles of wine filled the first crate. Icewrack white, vintage Candoness, Nivanese red, Quath's finest, clearly Aridin was well connected in the world of smuggling.

Marci quickly realised that her search would be fruitless. Almost all of the crates contained expensive drink, food and other items more suited to a fancy dinner or party.

In another crate, she did find clothes, but they were not suitable: expensive dresses, made of fine fabrics, very complicated—the sort of thing Mirana would have needed her help with. All of them intended for someone taller and curvier than Marci, someone about Mirana's size.

They were also all gold.

That was significant. Here in the Helio Imperium, an entirely gold fancy dress like this was worn by one person during one occasion: a bride on her wedding day.

An odd choice, Marci thought as she closed the crate. A concerning choice. But they were all useless to her. She was just going to have to risk moving around with damp skin and clothes.

Marci paused at the stairs, listening intently. She paused again, spotted the dead guard's pie, and took a moment to take a large bite out of it. She then padded up the stairs, chewing quickly and swallowing, partially crouched, hoping that the darkness would conceal her as she felt more than saw her way up. A couple of times, she stubbed her bare toes on the stone and had to suppress pained hisses.

What if the entrance was guarded? A problem to worry about when she reached the top, she supposed.

After a couple of minutes, Marci reached a heavy wooden door with iron studs. It was ever so slightly ajar, something Marci was thankful for. Lyralei had given her some quick advice on how to pick locks, but she had doubts about trying it for real. She was better at kicking doors down.

Taking shallow breaths, Marci crouched and peered through the lock. Her luck had run a little thin: there was clearly a guard standing on the other side.

It would have been easy to quietly open the door, pounce on him and break his neck. Or she could have seized him, put him in a choke-hold, and throttled him into unconsciousness. Hiding his body would have been tricky, but possible.

Very carefully, moving as slowly as possible, Marci eased the door open a little more. The guard did not turn around. As she strained her ears, Marci realised that he was humming.

There was the faintest creak from the door's hinges. Marci froze.

The guard stopped humming for a moment, cocked his head, then shrugged and continued to hum.

Marci still wasn't sure what to do. She had an idea, but it might not work. She had to make this guard move from his post, not one of his allies.

Marci held her position, gauging the distances, watching for movement. She tensed, gathering herself, then sprang.

Her aim was true. She managed to wrap one arm around his windpipe, preventing him from crying out. All he managed was a sharp wheeze before she yanked him into the doorway and wrestled him to the ground, smashing his face into the stone floor.

He jerked in her arms, then fell limp. Marci detected a faint tang of fresh blood. She still snapped his neck, just in case, then carried the corpse down the stairs and found a dark corner to stash the body, dragging over a couple of crates to better conceal it.

It had been a risk, it still was. If anybody noticed the guard was missing, the alarm would be raised. But she needed this route to remain clear.

With that done, Marci quickly went back up the steps, paused at the door and spent a minute listening and watching, then left the door slightly ajar and hid behind the nearby rosebush.

She was in what was not quite a garden, more like a wide lawn. The eastern and northern walls were low, more ornamental than protective, the sheer cliffs made an attack from those directions unlikely. The south wall was higher.

The lawn was bordered by decorative bushes, statues, and pots filled with flowers. On the northern side was the tunnel entrance Marci had just left. Across from the tunnel was clearly a small temple, built to honour the sun judging by all the stained glass windows and the glass peak, essentially a much smaller version of the Rasolir Palace.

Marci couldn't be sure, but she had the feeling that the various pots and statues had been moved to the sides recently. Why, she could not say. Or could she? There were clearly ceremonial arches set up at the temple doors, and those gold dresses…

Her heartbeat quickened and she felt her eyes widen. Surely not!

But it explained why Aridin had gone to such lengths to have Mirana captured alive. He intended to marry her. He did not want to merely be reinstated as a Senator, he wanted to return as Emperor!

The gall!

Retribution would have to wait though, and that was not why Marci was here. Mirana could have Aridin punished herself when she sat upon the Solar Throne—but for that to happen, Marci had to find her first.

Where would Aridin keep Mirana? Under lock and key somewhere, maybe a cellar? Or perhaps a gaol? If the barracks here were anything like the Sun Guard and city watch barracks in Rasolir, the gaol would be underneath them.

It was also possible that he was keeping Mirana in the house, maybe to try and make her more agreeable.

Marci scanned the windows, looking for any signs. At this hour, most of them were obscured by curtains. Some of them were open, a few were not. That hardly narrowed it down.

Even if she could have spoken, trying to force answers out of a guard probably wasn't a good idea. Creeping into the barracks was a sure way to get killed too. Any guards not on duty out here would be asleep, and she couldn't count on sneaking past them all.

Marci grimaced. The house then, but she would have to be careful. She could at least eliminate it as a possibility.

She waited, watching the roving patrols. She had to move soon. The guards would change shifts at some point, and she would likely lose her opportunity.

One thing she had learned from observing the city watch, palace sentries, and the Sun Guard back in Rasolir was that people instinctively formed routines. Even a guard on a random patrol pattern would start to follow the same route. These guards did not seem to have random movements, they were simply patrolling assigned areas in the same way over and over again.

'Wait for two seconds, Marci. You will have an opening.'

The voice almost startled her yet again, despite how quietly it flowed through her thoughts. She was glad of the help though.

Marci waited for the two guards in the grounds to turn, one moving towards the south wall, the other moving back behind the house, then broke from cover. Her bare feet made no sound as she quietly sprinted across the grass, praying that nobody was looking out of a window.

She quickly vaulted in through an open window, rolled over the couch in front of it and came to a halt with her back against the wall, hidden in the shadows. She waited a few moments, listening, waiting to hear if she had been spotted.

Nothing.

So far she had been lucky, but she did not like all of this sneaking around. It was extremely tense, so tense she felt like she had barely breathed. A fight was easier and simpler in its own way.

She was inside, and that made things both easier and harder. There would be more cover: walls and furniture to hide behind, rooms to slip into. But the spaces were narrower, and it would be harder to avoid patrols in the corridors.

Marci made sure that the soles of her feet were clean first. Then she padded over to the door and crouched to peer through the keyhole. She could see very little, just a wall. She persisted in waiting though, in case there was a guard patrolling the corridor.

When nothing happened for a full minute, she tried the latch as slowly as possible. No resistance. It was not locked. Very carefully, Marci eased the door open, just enough to peer through the gap.

She froze.

There was a humanoid silhouette in a chair at the end of the corridor.

Marci's mouth was dry. She realised that she was holding her breath. Slowly, she released it, and squinted at the figure.

'He is asleep, Marci. Continue, but be cautious.'

The voice was right. The guard's head was down. The snoring was actually a relief to Marci.

Marci slid through the door, eased it into place behind her, not fully shut in case she had to make a quick escape, and set off away from the guard, partially crouched. She peered around corners with great care, listening for footsteps. Her own footsteps were muffled by the carpet, but the guards she had seen all wore heavy boots and some form of armour—usually mail, sometimes with supplemental plate. She would hopefully hear them coming.

There seemed to be fewer guards inside, or at least fewer on patrol. It made sense. Aridin probably thought it unlikely that any intruders would make it this far. But he would likely have guards outside his own chambers, and Mirana's—assuming that she was inside the house.

If she wanted to get to Mirana, she might have risk tackling any guards outside her door. Hopefully she would have enough time to abscond with her before anybody noticed. Maybe she could take Aridin as a hostage?

Too risky. But what if she had no choice? Mirana was her primary concern, but if Luna and Aiushtha were still alive, they might be held here too. She couldn't bring herself to leave them behind, not even for Mirana's sake. And she knew that Mirana wouldn't want them to be left at Aridin's mercy either.

She had to try though. Maybe if she took Aridin as a living shield, she could force his guards to stand down. The majority of them may have been mercenaries, but they needed Aridin alive to pay them, and Aridin had never been known for his bravery.

Marci continued to make her way forwards, pausing when she heard the rustling of mail.

It was coming from behind her.

Marci spun round as a guard rounded the corner, carrying a lantern. He looked wary, his sword partially drawn. His equipment was finer, and he bore the colours of House Nesrius. A House Guard.

Marci had nowhere to go, nowhere to hide.

The guard stopped. It was dark in the corridor, and he could make out a vague shape, but not what it was. He squinted, moved his lamp forwards a little, then started to draw his sword fully.

'Silence him! Before he sounds the alarm!'

Marci rushed forwards, her feet barely making any sound on the carpet. The guard opened his mouth to yell.

Too late. Marci lashed out, striking him in the throat. The guard staggered back and dropped his lantern, wheezing and clutching at his neck, futilely trying to breathe as his airways collapsed.

Marci lashed out with a powerful spinning back-kick before the guard could raise his weapon, her foot slamming into his chest and catapulting him backwards. He hit the ground heavily, the impact muffled by the carpet and his mail. The sword dropped from his limp hand.

Marci quickly approached and pressed her fingers to his neck. No pulse. Her kick had probably broken his sternum and stopped his heart.

With a faint sigh, Marci took his sword, put it back into its sheath, doused the lantern, grabbed the man's arms, and hauled him to the nearest door. It opened into what seemed to be a study.

Marci rolled the body under one of the couches, hoping the shadows would conceal it, then continued on her way.

This was not going as smoothly as Marci had hoped or intended. A couple of dead mercenaries was one thing. A dead House Guard was another. Like the Sun Guard, they were usually diligent, and one failing to report in on time would instantly cause alarm.

Marci heard footsteps as she crept down the next corridor. Whoever it was, they were approaching her. Two people. She could hear them speaking.

'Hide, Marci! Try that door.'

Fighting back a rising panic, Marci looked around, spotted a door and tried the latch. It opened and she quickly slipped inside and carefully closed the door. She seemed to be in a library of some kind, and fortunately no-one was inside.

Peering through the keyhole, Marci waited, hoping that whoever was about wasn't in the mood for some night-time reading.

'We should at least move lady Luna somewhere more comfortable, and Aiushtha too,' the voice was unfamiliar, but the speaker had a strong Nivanese accent like Donté's.

Marci suppressed a gasp. She had been right! Luna and Aiushtha were here too!

'You're too soft, Hieronimo.' The second voice was gruffer, with an accent Marci did not recognise. Both were using the common tongue though. Perhaps it was the only language they had in common. 'The Scourge and the cervitaur stay where they are.'

'But if Luna's condition worsens—'

'Then we'll force some wine down her throat.'

Marci grimaced. If they were implying that Luna was suffering from alcohol withdrawal, that made things much more difficult for her. Marci had seen people suffering from the condition back in the slums of Rasolir. The chances of her successfully sneaking Luna out had become far more remote.

'Gondar, I don't think that's wise,' the Nivanese mercenary said. Marci frowned a little, wondering. He actually sounded concerned. Clearly not all of the mercenaries here were cold-hearted bastards.

'Don't start debating what is and isn't wise, Hieronimo.' Gondar grunted.

Marci shrank back a little, ready to leap aside. They had stopped right outside the door, and there was nothing stopping them from opening it, except her. If they found her…

Marci guessed there might have been at least one hundred people here, most of them armed. As strong and skilled as she was, she probably would not survive such odds. And all it would take was for one of them to get clever and threaten Mirana's life.

Marci stilled herself, breathing as little as possible.

Gondar sniffed.

'What is it?' Hieronimo asked.

'I thought I smelt something.'

'Some of the windows are open.' Hieronimo also sniffed at the air. 'Yes, I think it is the flowers outside. The rosebush is rather fragrant. Exquisite flowers, worthy of a fair lady.'

'Do you ever think of anything else besides women?'

'Is there much else worth thinking about?'

Gondar scoffed. 'I'm going to check on the prisoners. Keep your eyes open.'

Marci remained where she was, a little relieved that Gondar was leaving. But she was not safe yet. Hieronimo had not moved. In fact, she thought she could hear him sniffing again, and shuffling closer to the door.

Marci, still crouched, scuttled away from the door, holding her breath.

The latch began to lift.

Marci hurried into a corner behind a wide settee and lowered herself until she could see under it.

The door opened fully, and Marci stared. The silhouette was unmistakeably that of a pangolier. But it couldn't be one of Donté's Gallants.

As her eyes adjusted, she realised that his armour was nowhere near as fine as that of a Gallant's, and he was chewing on a stalk of some kind.

He was also wary. He knew that something was amiss. It was there in the way his eyes were narrowed and scanning the room.

Carefully, the pangolier closed the door, took a key from his belt, and locked it.

Marci grimaced. The only other way out was through the tall windows lining the eastern wall, and they were all shut and probably locked.

'I know you're here,' the pangolier announced. 'I know you're an intruder.'

Marci wasn't sure if he was bluffing. What baffled her was why he was searching the room alone. He could have easily called Gondar back to help him, or just locked her inside and waited for reinforcements.

And he had not shouted, either. He was actually keeping his voice low and quiet.

But he did have one hand clenched around the hilt of a blade, ready to draw and swing.

Marci remained still, barely breathing. Give up. Think there's no-one here. Give up!

Hieronimo sniffed again, inhaling deeply. Marci thought that the seawater would have washed away her scent, although…

The rosebushes. She must have smelt of roses. She gave her hand a cautious sniff and realised that the scent was clinging to her, faint but obviously noticeable for a pangolier.

'I don't want to hurt you.' Hieronimo said. 'Perhaps I can help you.'

Doubtful. Marci tensed as he drew closer, getting ready to spring.

Nico was starting to wish he had brought a lantern. He could see little in the shadowy library, but he could still smell roses.

He'd had little reason to come down here before. Aridin's library held none of the stories he liked: ones with beautiful heroines and dashing heroes, and sometimes some steamy, intimate scenes. No, Aridin mostly kept historical books and tomes on politics and law.

The faint scent was close now. Nico had always had a strong sense of smell. Back in Nivan, he had claimed to be able to tell much about a woman just by the scent of her perfume.

The settee. Whoever the intruder was, they were behind it.

He suspected, and hoped, that it was a friend of the Princess'.

Another step closer. He opened his mouth to speak, to tell the intruder that he could help Mirana.

A shape sprang out of the shadows, right at him.

Nico barely managed to jump away in time. The attacker's fist grazed his shoulder.

Such a blow from anyone else would have done little. But it slammed painfully into Nico and spun him round. It was all he could do to keep his balance.

Nico resisted the urge to draw his weapon. He could now see his attacker more clearly: a human woman, early-twenties, petite, lithe, very pretty. Her attractive, oval-shaped face was drawn with concentration, her soft, pale brown eyes narrowed. Her damp short auburn hair was drawn back into a messy, tufty tail, apart from what remained to hang over her temples and forehead.

He should have been more alarmed. But as far as he was concerned, it was not every night he was jumped by an attractive woman, and he had an inkling of who this was.

From what he had been told, this had to be the Princess' handmaiden, Marci. She was supposed to be dead, but she was much too corporeal to be a ghost.

Marci darted forwards, her fist a blur. Nico only just avoided it, then jumped aside, almost smashing into a bookshelf, as she lashed out with her foot.

Marci bared her teeth, then leapt. Nico could not help but marvel at her flexibility as she launched a flying kick—a kick that would smash his skull if it connected.

Nico ducked under it, felt the rush of air as it passed over him. Marci spun, her leg still extended. Nico rushed in and grabbed it, pulling up, knowing that she could not maintain her balance like this.

He was right, but Marci would not be so easily bested. He saw the calculation on her expressive face, then was yanked off his feet as she let herself fall, deliberately dragging him down.

Before he could let go, she raised her other leg. As she landed, breaking her fall with her hands, both legs were locked on each side of Nico's neck. He just had a moment to admire her slim, yet powerful, coltish legs before Marci twisted, slamming him into the floor, and drew him in, intending to cut off his air.

'Wait!' Nico gasped, struggling through a constricted windpipe and winded by the impact with the floor. 'Marci!'

Marci registered her name and hesitated. It was just for a heartbeat, but it was enough.

'Mirana is here,' Nico managed. 'She told me about you! I can help you to save her!'

Marci frowned, sceptical.

'You were trained by a Sun Guard named Hyses,' Nico uttered quickly. 'On your first day of training, you gave him a nosebleed. You like raisin rolls. You have a lover: the Dragon Knight Davion. If half of what I've heard about him is true, you two make a handsome couple.'

Marci stared at him, legs still locked around his neck, but not applying too much pressure.

'You met Mirana when you were eight years old. She was twelve. That was the day you lost your voice. Mirana taught you to read and write. She taught you how to swim. You learned how to fight to protect her, and because she thought it would help you. Viceroy Kashurra sometimes called you "Little Sunbeam", because of your admirable nature.'

Marci's frown lifted a little. She remained still, restraining Nico with her legs. Then, she finally released him. Nico sat up and massaged his throat. Marci had quickly jumped up, still tense. She did not fully trust him, not yet, but he clearly knew a great deal about her—things he could only have learned by talking to Mirana.

'I am rather glad you did not kill me.' Nico said as he stood up. 'Though it would not be the worst fate a man could suffer, not in the company of such a lovely woman.'

Marci cocked an eyebrow.

'You have shapely legs, Marci. Strong too.'

Marci rolled her eyes, then mimed Mirana's tiara and pointed at Nico.

'Of course. And believe me,' Nico insisted, becoming serious again. 'I had no idea what Aridin intended. I was not with Gondar when your ships were attacked. I was told only that I would be escorting something precious to Aridin here, not that we would be kidnapping people.'

Marci lifted both eyebrows.

Nico sighed. 'I have debts to pay. But they're not worth this. These people are not friends to me, and I have no liking for Aridin. For one thing, he has clearly lied to Mirana. He told her that you were dead, he gave her your dragon fang as proof.'

Marci frowned, then showed him her necklace

Nico scowled. 'A trick? I was not sure if Aridin could sink any lower. I think a part of him delighted in Mirana's grief. I believe he wants to wear her down and make her compliant. He has hinted as much when it comes to Luna's condition.'

Marci released the fang. Her eyes were still fixed on him. She was still wary of him.

'I believe that I can help you.' Nico continued. 'I had intended to try to help Mirana to escape. But I had not yet figured out how. Perhaps together, we can help her.'

Marci folded her arms.

'Marci, I have no intention of betraying you. For one, I would prefer to remain alive. For a second, I cannot stand to see Mirana, Luna and Aiushtha treated so badly. They deserve better.'

Marci nodded. They were certainly in agreement there. She placed her hands on her hips, still eyeing him warily. Finally, she shrugged, pointed at him, then herself, and clasped both hands together. She then pointed at him again, made a crossing motion around her neck, then mimed wringing and snapping something.

Nico could guess what she meant. "All right. I'll work with you. But if you betray me, I'll break your neck."

'I understand,' Nico nodded. 'Of course, there are a great many mercenaries and Aridin's bodyguards to get in our way. Mirana's room is watched at all times, as is the gaol.' He considered. 'I could… attempt to create a distraction. That might give you time enough to escape with Mirana, maybe launch an attack on the gaol.'

Marci raised one eyebrow again. He could guess what she was thinking. "You'd just get killed."

Nico shrugged. 'It is not a brilliant plan, I admit. Do you have a better one? Mirana said that you were intelligent, and adept at making plans on… what is the expression? On the fly?'

Marci considered, folding her arms. Nico paid close attention when she started to sign.

The knock on the door shook Mirana from her dark thoughts. She'd been dwelling on Marci again, haunted by not even being able to say goodbye to her, knowing that her remains had been left to rot, that she couldn't even have them cremated.

She'd been holding the dragon fang for hours, not knowing what else to do. As much as she missed Marci, she had to try and stay strong, for the sakes of Luna and Aiushtha. Marci would not have wanted her to fall apart. She wouldn't have let her.

It hurt.

Gods, it hurt!

But she had to stay strong.

'Who is it?' She still wasn't sure what to do about Aridin. She knew that he wanted to marry her, but she still couldn't believe his audacity.

'It is Nico, Your Majesty.'

Him, she was actually glad to see. He really didn't belong here, and he was kind.

'May I speak to you, Your Majesty?' Nico inquired.

'Yes. Please come in.'

Nico stepped inside and closed the door behind him. He approached and bowed low. 'Your Imperial Majesty. I wondered if you might wish to take a walk in the grounds? There is a temple here. I thought, perhaps, you might wish to pray for Marci, may the gods rest her soul.'

Mirana sighed. 'I… I should. It's just… it's like I'm denying any hope. But there is no hope, is there?'

Nico faltered. 'You may find comfort in the temple, Princess. I'm certain that Aridin's guards would allow you some privacy within. I would be content to escort you, if you would prefer.'

Mirana considered. 'It's been a long time since I last prayed in a Temple of the Sun.' She nodded. 'Maybe… maybe you're right. I will pray for Marci. It's the least she deserves.'

Nico nodded. 'I will take you to the temple.'

Better him than Aridin's guards, Mirana supposed. Nico meant well, though he seemed to be a little evasive, like he was hiding something.

Mirana trusted him though, as strange as that seemed. She had the feeling that Davion would have liked him.

Davion… she still had no idea how to tell him what had happened. He would be devastated.

Mirana took a cloak from the wardrobe and stepped outside with Nico. Aridin's guards frowned at them and tensed.

'I am taking Princess Mirana to the temple. There's no need for you to accompany us.' Nico explained.

'Our orders are to stay close to the Princess,' one of them stated, his hand clasped about the hilt of his sword.

'I have no intention of escaping,' Mirana said. 'Nico will guard me, I am certain of that.'

The guards glanced at each other. One of them shrugged. Mirana could tell that they were bored of standing guard outside her chambers for hours. They would probably follow her out. These were not mercenaries, they were House Guards—loyal to Aridin, not just the money he gave them.

'We'll escort you. Hieronimo, you may follow if you so wish.'

Although she had been born and raised in the Helio Imperium, and had spent almost the entirety of her life within Rasolir, Mirana had found it much easier to accept Selemene as a deity. It had helped that she had manifested physically, spoken with her followers in person, even made physical contact with them—especially her.

The people of the Imperium venerated the sun itself, and some paid homage to a variety of gods. By the reckoning of the clergy, the sun had brought warmth, light, and therefore life to a world which had once been barren, cold and mostly lifeless, its peoples preyed upon by dreadful creatures born of the darkness itself. Even the gods had been in need of it, for the life the sun had encouraged had given them worshippers, which they had needed not just for their own survival, but also to enact their whims when the Covenant was created.

Whether it was actually a deity was a matter of conjecture. The clergy maddeningly said it was divine, but not a god in the same sense as the likes of Selemene or Jupiter or Mars. It did not need worship to exist, but it was worth venerating. It did not have a will to enact, but it gave loving warmth and light to all that accepted it, a beacon of hope appearing with every dawn. It did not need armies of the faithful to conquer for it, though evil creatures of the night, like the Night Stalkers of yore, and those enamoured with darkness and wishing to bring about its dominion, were considered its chief foes.

A superstition of her people was that it was best to do many deeds in the light of the sun, namely celebrations and important ceremonies. Knowing this, Mirana would have preferred to pray for Marci with the sun in the sky.

But she doubted that Aridin would give her any reprieve during the day. Marci would understand.

Mirana stopped at the temple doors. 'I would like to pray in private, please.'

The guards looked at each other, frowning.

'There is only one way in and out.' Nico reminded them. 'And I doubt that the Princess would be so reckless as to try and jump through a window. Let her have her privacy. It would be courteous.'

One of the guards shrugged and murmured, 'The windows are too high for her.'

'Very well,' the other guard relented. 'We will wait outside, Princess.'

Mirana looked at Nico, who smiled at her. 'I should return to my patrol. I hope your prayers bring you some relief, Princess.'

'Thank you, Nico.'

Nico bowed, turned and sauntered off purposefully.

'Strange one, that Nico,' one of Mirana's minders muttered.

'What did you expect from a pangolier?'

Mirana ignored them and stepped inside, closing the doors behind her. The braziers were not lit, but the blood-tinged moonlight seeping through the stained glass windows offered enough light for her to see. The coloured glass filtered the tainted light, casting hues of gold, blue, white and other, more palatable tones across the white marble floor. The various windows depicted scenes: the sun rising over Rasolir, the Imperium's armies standing firm against their enemies, various ancestors of Mirana holding aloft swords, tomes, sceptres and the like.

At the far end, facing the direction of the daily sunrise, was a large window which almost dominated the entire wall. It was almost entirely gold, depicting a figure rising into the sky, surrounded by light, banishing the darkness.

Under that window was the altar, covered with a rich red cloth, a large sunburst icon wrought of gold suspended above it.

It was not as grand as the temple within the Rasolir palace, Marci's second home, but it would suffice, Mirana hoped.

Mirana sighed sadly as she strode towards the altar. She knelt slowly, bowing her head. 'Marci…' she fought back another wave of tears, reminded that she would never see Marci again. She raised her head, looking up at the sunburst. 'Forgive me. I never… I never wanted you to come to harm, I…' she stopped, fighting back another onslaught of grief. 'I…'

There was a sound, issuing forth from the shadows. A familiar sound. A sound she had never thought she would hear again, lest it come from the wispy lips of a ghost.

A flute-like trill. A whistle which made her heart leap.

'Mirana.'

Her name as only Marci ever uttered it.

Mirana turned her head, her eyes wide. Surely it couldn't be…

Out of the shadows came a figure, a shape she knew so well. Her eyes drank it in, her heart singing, even as her mind disbelieved.

Mirana gasped, so shocked she could not move. She could have been hallucinating. She could have gone insane. But she knew that it was not so. This was real.

She was dressed in strange garb: a brown tunic and green leggings which looked like they had been hacked at with a knife, and her feet were bare.

But those beautiful, perfect eyes, so full of warmth and feeling, were as they always had been. Her soft auburn hair was still pulled back into that adorably messy tail. Her attractive oval face was wearing a wobbly smile—full of barely restrained emotion, and still so lovely as all her smiles were.

It was her. It was undeniably Marci.

Mirana stood as Marci approached her, barely feeling the warm tears coursing down her cheeks. Struggling to breathe, choked with a rush of feelings, she could only manage a single utterance.

'Marci…'

Marci's smile widened.

Mirana sobbed and wrapped her arms around Marci, weeping onto her shoulder. She felt Marci's arms rise and rest across her back, full of dangerous strength, yet so very gentle, her fingers running through her hair, happy tears soaking into the shoulder of her dress.

In that moment, it did not matter that she was a prisoner. It did not even matter to her that Aridin had deceived her, knowingly or otherwise.

Marci was alive, and she was here with her.

That was all she needed. She had hope again, because Marci was here.