A/N: Hello, all! I've gotten in to vet school and moved countries since I last posted, but I've been writing the whole time. We have about 7 or 8 chapters left in this fic and then a short epilogue. I'll get it done one day, even if takes only posting one chapter a year.

Chapter 17: The Lady of Corbin Castle

I throw open the doors to Corbin Castle and stalk down the vaulted hallways.

"Alastar!" I shout. I'm not even sure if he can leave the Vault, but that issue is resolved when his transparent silver form appears to walk next to me.

"My lady." He greets immediately, and then he really sees me. "Are you feeling well?"

No. I'm not sure how I feel beyond plain unstable.

"Why," I ask through gritted teeth, "Does the Barking Beast have my brother's eyes?"

He blinks at me. "You don't know?"

I round on him, and come a hair's breadth from screaming my next words. I clamp my mouth shut at the last second, breathe, and grind out, "From now on, Alastar, you will assume I know nothing about this family or this castle."

He looks at me for a long, long moment. "There was once a princess who came here when my brother was a young Dark One-"

"I know the legend. It gets real vague after she's cursed to bear monsters. Specifics would be nice."

"The curse was created by the Venedotian magician-king Mathonwy. He modified a strain of lycanthropy to produce an irreversible transformation into the creature you know as the Barking Beast."

"Irreversible? There's no way to break it?"

"Dying." He says bluntly.

My heart drops. I put my back to the wall and slide down it, knees to my chest, head in one hand. For a moment, my brother had been alive. He had been alive, and I had abandoned him for decades, and I might have gotten him back. In one sentence, he's as good as dead again. I feel dazed, unsteady, like I've been hit over the head with something.

"I'm sorry, but that is the only way we know." Alastar continues more gently. It can't be right. No curse is unbreakable. "Balthazar did what he could. In it's original form, the Curse of the Barking Beast would have affected every descendant of Perivida from birth- if the first birth didn't kill her. Now it only affects one person at any given time, and passes down the bloodline as lycanthropy does."

His words register as though coming from a great distance, as does my response. "One person, huh. Who was their sacrificial lamb?"

"Their firstborn. Fillin. They had no choice on that. She was pregnant when the curse was cast." After a second, he adds, "I suppose he is your namesake."

I huff a bitter laugh. "Named for the family monster."

"Named for the child they could not save." Alastar snaps back.

I look up at that, evaluate him for a moment. "That's not comforting, y'know. Was I just a replacement for his dead son, then?"

He opens his mouth, hesitates. "No…" He finally says, but I know there's more to it. I file that information away for later and lean my head back against the stone wall.

"How conscious are the Beasts? Do they remember who they are?"

"At first they seem to. Over time, however… they lose themselves."

I bet they do, I think. You can lose yourself to the Wolf, but you'll wake up human again. If the Barking Beast can't shift back, they might never wake up from it.

But if they don't wake up from it, why did I look into Tor's eyes and not the Barking Beast's?

I stare at the other wall for a second, thinking. "Does the castle have a place we could hold it if we capture it?"

"There is a space in the dungeon, but I cannot recommend it. Balthazar has done it before. A creature like that fades away in captivity, and that is not a fate we should inflict on something that was once one of our own."

"Why was Balthazar doing it, then?"

"He tried finding a cure, off and on. He never did." Alastar looks down, away. "I believe that is why he eventually left this continent for yours. He could no longer stand to be reminded of… everything."

My lips twitch back towards a snarl, and I school my expression. The last thing I want to hear about right now is how hard everything was for Zoso, who so thoroughly ran away from his problems that I am hearing of them from the brother he never bothered to tell me about. And now I'm the one dealing with those problems, my mind bitterly adds.

"Do you still have his notes on his experiments?" I ask, because we both know he kept some kind of documentation. I might not be able to get Tor back, but I already know that I have to try.

"They will either be in the journals you have already taken from the library-" Is it my imagination, or are the words already taken said too sharply to be polite? "-or they will be in his property in Mysthaven."

They're not in the house, I already know. He wouldn't want to risk me stumbling across them, so he left them here. We sit in silence for several long seconds before I say, "The Barking Beast attacked some people tonight. I want my Mum and my sister's family to move in here, in light of all that. What would it take to get this place livable?"

Alastar cocks his head. "Elizabeth is still alive?" Before I can ask, he explains, "You are not the only descendant that Balthazar has told me of. I'm impressed that she has lived so long without magic."

"Well, not exactly without magic."

"I see. In regards to the castle, the keep itself will not need any repairs. It is enchanted to withstand the wear of time. I can direct the stonemen to do some tidying up, but neither I nor them can work on the exterior." He grimaces. "I shudder to think of what the courtyard looks like."

"I can do the courtyard." It feels surreal to be talking about home renovations when Tor is somewhere in the night, trapped in the body of a monster. Alastar only nods, as though this is any other night.

"If you will bring me a list of the number of bedrooms you will need, and any preferences on their locations, I can manage passable accommodations within a day."

I nod in return and slowly climb to my feet "Get me a list of anything I need to buy for the place, and we'll swap in the morning."

"Very good, my lady." He starts to turn away, then adds, "Ellyn, if you truly know nothing of this castle or this family, I suggest that you activate Balthazar's memory crystals. He did leave them to you, yes?"

"Yeah, but he didn't exactly make them easy to use." I touch the back of my head and add, "Or pleasant. I'll get to the rest of them sometime soon."

Alastar's eyes flicker over me briefly, evaluating, and I realize that he knows exactly, in excruciating detail, what I mean. I suddenly resist the urge to shift uncomfortably; it's weirdly invasive to have watched something as personal as his dying moments.

"I don't imagine that any of them will be particularly pleasant," He says after a second.

"Do you know what the rest contain?" I ask. "It'd be quicker."

"Not exactly, no. I know their general purposes. He made two after our house was stricken from the nobility. One reveals the Vault and the way Dark Ones are made, and the other reveals a weakness that must be accounted for. A sword and a shield, he called them."

"And the third?"

"The first two were made for any future Heir of Corbin Castle. The last was made for you, specifically. That is all I know of it."

Great. What else has he been hiding from me? Dread settles in my stomach at the thought, and I shove it to the back of my head. "Thank you, Alastar. I'll talk to my family and find you again in the morning."

It has to be almost midnight when I reappear outside of the d'Corbin house, but inside, candles still burn. The sound of voices from inside are soft and far between. I pause outside the door, trying to pull my scattered thoughts together long enough to plan what I'm going to say. I don't see Rum appear beside me, leaned against the wall of the house with his arms crossed, but the smell of pine and chalk and alchemical ingredients tells me he's there.

"When you're done, we need to talk." He says lowly, angrily. That tone and those words should pause me, should cause some spark of anxiety or worry, but it barely registers. Just another stressor to add to the pile.

"I'll be done soon." I say, and plunge into the house.

Everyone except my mother- half-deaf and mostly blind as she is- looks up expectantly. Arran's the "head of this household" until something's going wrong, I think bitterly. Then they look at me like lost puppies.

I let silence stretch for a heartbeat, but none of them breaks it. Even Arran is silent, though he'll barely look at me.

"There should be rooms ready for you at the Castle tomorrow night." I say bluntly. It is no longer a question. I raise a challenging stare to Arran after I say it, and though he lifts his gaze to meet mine, his expression is subdued, uncertain.

After a second, Phelan asks, "Will the King allow it? We aren't nobility. We have no claim to it."

"Yes, we do. Even if it's not recognized by the crown." I see that that response hasn't comforted him, so I add, "I'll go speak to my half-brother tomorrow. I think it's time that I got some kind of inheritance from our father."

"How are you," Arran asks softly, "Going to get an audience with the King?"

"Easy. I never ask for one. I just show up."

They stare. "You just.. do that? How often?" Tara asks in disbelief.

I shrug. "Two or three times a year with my local king. Look, you all should get some sleep. Start packing in the morning."

Nods and a few affirmations answers the statement, and I nod a goodbye and duck back out into the night. Rum is still waiting for me, and still looking none too pleased. I sigh and hold out my hand. He straightens and comes over to take it.

"Your castle or mine?" I ask.

"Yours."

I take us to the Corbin Castle library; when we're done talking, I'll spend the night looking for Zoso's experimental notes. The room is dim, lit only by moonlight from the windows on the second story of the library above us. On our level is the large central desk and fireplace, and I snap at it, flames flickering to life as I plop down behind the desk. I kick my feet up on it and tilt my head back, staring at the ceiling for a second, trying and failing to focus on the impending argument.

I open my eyes and run both my hands through my hair. I gesture, and another chair appears next to me. Instead of taking it, Rum sits on the edge of the desk, hip pressed against my crossed legs, and props one foot up on the chair in front him, a forearm across his knee as he leans forward. He gives me an evaluating look for a second and hesitates to start, perhaps realizing how little emotional energy I have to invest in this.

"Out with it, Rum." I say, frustration plain in my voice.

Any hesitation disappears from his face at my tone, and amber eyes fix me with a hard look.

"I thought that we'd discussed not getting yourself killed, little wolf."

I tilt my head back to stare at the ceiling again and resist the urge to sigh. This again. "I'm alive, aren't I?"

"Ellyn," He growls, and when I don't immediately look back to him, a hand closes around the side of my calf. My eyes snap back down to him, and he bites off his words as he continues, "Perhaps I haven't made myself clear enough-"

"Why do you care? You know I'll bounce back."

"And I have to deal with a corpse in the meantime!" He snaps, voice rising.

"I've never asked you to do that!" I'm halfway to shouting. "You said next time you'd just leave me where I fall, yeah? Sounds like a solution to me."

Regret flashes lightning-quick across his face at the reminder of that, before it falls into anger once more. "Don't be ridiculous."

"How's it ridiculous? You can't tell me that leaving a body outside is where you draw the line."

"It seems I misspoke." He snarls. "You're ridiculous."

He stands abruptly- or tries to, anyway. I narrow my eyes and make a motion, and an invisible force pushes him back down. Anger flashes brightly across his face, and his hand tightens around my calf in warning. I fix him with a hard, unperturbed look.

"You can give me a real reason, Rum," I say lowly, "Or I don't want to hear about this again. I've got too much shit going on."

He glares daggers at me for two, three heartbeats, and I'm almost expecting him to start shouting again, but when he replies, his voice is tight and caged and almost at a normal volume.

"Would you relish having to look at my dead body?"

For a second, I blink in stunned silence at him, slowly realizing what he means. The idea of him dead in of itself is alien and unsettling, but the real shock is the revelation that this isn't about inconvenience, but sentimentality. It's about caring enough that the logic of my eventual resurrection cannot outweigh the discomfort of seeing me dead, and that concept is both baffling and unbelievably touching. Even Ian and Milah and, to some extent, Tor, accepted that it was better for me to risk death than others, and the former two especially weren't distraught by the idea that I might have to endure a resurrection.

As I begin to grasp the idea, guilt washes over me. Some of it is for how dismissive I've been of this issue, now that I know that all that laid beneath it was compassion; a larger part, the part that opens a pit in my chest, is for how much I don't deserve it. I look away, but doubt it hides the emotion on my face, and Rum's grip on my calf eases.

"You should have told me." I say quietly.

"Would it have changed anything?" He challenges, voice low and level. He's not as outright angry as he was a second ago, but neither is his voice devoid of bitterness and frustration.

"'Course it would've." Now it's his turn to look surprised. Given what I know of his relationship with his ex-wife, I can't blame him for assuming that his concerns would mean little to nothing to most people. I meet his gaze again and continue, "I don't try to get myself killed, Rum, but I've lived like this too long to take the risk as seriously as normal. I- I can't make any promises. There are things I'll have to do because I'm the only one who can survive it. But… I'll try to be more careful."

Warmth and affection creeps over his features, easing the tension there. He looks away, towards the fire. "...Good." He says, almost dismissively, as though either of us would believe that he wasn't affected by my words.

A moment of silence stretches between us, and I'm suddenly more aware of his hand on my calf, and the way the firelight softens his features. My heartbeat ticks up. I called him pretty boy in jest, but he really is handsome- perhaps not by the standards of all peoples, but in that I find him interesting to look at. I shove that thought out of my mind and lean my head back against my chair again.

In the face that all has happened and all that is about to, my thoughts turn towards home. I miss Graham, and the quiet days that I spent with Rum in my study, and the dinners the three of us would have a few nights a week. I wonder now if I will ever get those back. I have to maneuver my mother's family into a safe position, and then find a way to free Tor, and then get Ian back, and then-

Thanatos's words ring in my head: You can't kill him. What would your brother think?

There might not be another and then. When Ian and Rum each find out about my connection to the other, there are so many different ways that it could blow up. The possibilities bounce around my head in a haze of dread, because at least one of them will come true. One in particular bounces more than the others, fed by paranoia and pessimism and the fact that nothing good in my life stands the test of time.

I can't let Rum and Ian kill each other, and I couldn't harm them. I'll be walking unarmed into the crossfire.

When I was in my early twenties, I once saw a detachment of scouts get caught in no man's land between two armies. When the rain of arrows fell from both sides, they were shredded like human confetti. I hope that Rum and Ian have better aim, and then, remembering who they are, instead count my blessings to be able to rise from the dead.

"What are you thinking, little wolf?" Rum asks.

A shot of pain goes through my chest, because the first thing I think is, That I'm going to miss you when this is over.

"...Too much. And none of it useful." I rub my eyes with both hands. "I'm going to spend the night looking into the Barking Beast. We have to go see the king tomorrow."

Rum's hand runs in a small, comforting motion across my calf, and I glance from it to him, momentarily distracted.

"Will we be installing a new one?" Rum asks cheerily, and it takes a half-second for me to register the question.

"Depends on how difficult Pelagios wants to be. I'd prefer a straight transaction-" A bolt of indignation goes through me at having to buy my family's birthright, "-but I doubt he'll make it that easy. I would rather avoid being titled nobles, but if it were someone other than me, I'm sure he'd jump at the chance to install a lord that's loyal to him."

I can almost see the gears turning in Rumple's head. "And why not you?" He prompts. "If he wants loyalty, we can give him just that… for however much longer he lives."

"Loyalty from me would be a hard sell. I doubt he'll trust me given-" I hesitate for just a second, not wanting to bring up patricide so soon after our conversation in his laboratory, where I saw his grief and guilt over his own strained relationship with his son.

Rum sees the hesitation and prompts, "Given that you killed your father?"

How the-? I stare dumbly for a second, then let out a bemused sigh. "Worse. Given that I killed his father. Pellamos was a stranger to me." I give a small, equally bemused smile so that it's not mistaken for annoyance when I ask, "How'd you know?"

A slow smile spreads over his face, and he lifts his hands to exaggerate a shrug. "I didn't!" He proclaims. "But I do now!"

It takes a heartbeat for me to realize how easily I was played, and then I nudge his hip with my foot in a sorry excuse for a chastising kick. "Rum!" I admonish with light-hearted exasperation, and he laughs again. "You could've just asked, y'know! You don't have to trick me into it."

He raises an eyebrow. "Really? You're under that impression, are you?'

I open my mouth to argue, then close it again. "...Alright. That's fair." I look into the fire for a long second, considering my next words. He already has access to your ward, your family, and your castle. In for a penny, in for a pound. "Look, just give me a few days to get everyone settled in the castle, and… and I'll see what questions I'm ready to answer." A look of surprise and then delight crosses Rum's face, and I continue, "Now, circling back to Pelagios…"

Rum fills me in on his idea. I raise an eyebrow to it at first- to his obvious delight- and, as we have many times over the last year, we negotiate the boundaries of the ruse and the ideal dynamic we want my half-brother and his court to see in us. By the time we have a solid idea of our plan, I am growing anxious to start looking into the Barking Beast, and am in desperate need to have time to collect my thoughts after all that has transpired.

"Thanks for the help, Rum. I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

"I wouldn't miss it, little wolf."

The sunrise finds a stack of books next to the desk in the library: family genealogy; the Barking Beast; the blessings and curses that make shapeshifters; Venedotian magic. They are supplementary materials I have collected to go along with Zoso's experimental notes, which occupy two thick leather-bound journals written in his maddening shorthand. They were also locked behind a blood-magic barrier, which is starting to grate on my nerves.

"Why are you people so obsessed with blood magic?" I'd complained to Alastar when I saw that.

"Because it is an ideal security system. It cannot be broken without the blood of the caster, but for the same reason, it allows convenient access by d'Corbin descendants."

"Convenient? Opening a vein to pick up a bloody book is convenient?"

"...No system is perfect."

The morning passes in a flurry of chores, of all things. Perhaps I have become a bit of a hermit these last years, because I haven't put so much effort into the outside appearance of a home since I was a child. I eventually resort to starting small fires in the courtyard and back garden to clear out the weeds, and have to use Durendal to hack through the rusted chains on the drawbridge to lower it. I am quickly realizing how much work this place will need, and am dreading the logistical nightmare it could be if the locals refuse to be hired out for it.

Maybe last night got out of hand, I contemplate. But what else am I supposed to do when they bring an angry mob to my sister's doorstep?

I am starting another small fire to clear out what was once the stables when something pokes my shoulder, and I jump, yelp, and spin. Rum cackles from behind me.

"Stop doing that!" I admonish.

"Now why would I do that?" He returns cheerily.

"Git." I mutter, looking back to the fire I started and making a motion to quench it. "Give me a second to change."

A sweep of the hand and an upward-spiraling swirl of red and black smoke, and I am wearing high-quality dark boots and black pants, a gray vest embroidered in a geometric navy-blue pattern over a white shirt, and a long deep-blue coat in the style of Listenoise's military officers. That style of coat cuts back at the hips to allow easy access to a sword hilt, leaving Durendal's handle prominently displayed- a pointed statement that the men the King directed to my house were incapable of taking it from me.

I hold out a hand. "Ready?"

In the next second, the hallway we stand in is smooth polished stone, with high vaulted ceilings and tall windows. I lead the way down it, and we pass paintings that are almost obnoxiously large and mahogany doors with gold-plated knobs. You'd never guess that they're a poor country, I think with some bitterness. As is always the case with nobles, maintaining the appearance of wealth has taken priority over maintaining the country's actual wealth.

We turn a corner, and along the hallway in front of us, a pair of guards are posted outside a set of large double doors. For a second I get a sense of deja vu; the hallway, the doors, the guards in green armor are all functionally identical to my first visit here when I was looking for Tor years ago. The guards cross their spears over the door at our approach, and as we get closer and they take in Rum's scaled skin, they exchange uncomfortable glances.

"Halt," One of them begins, "The Council is not to be disturb-"

"Tell Pelagios that Faolan is here to see him." I interrupt.

"His Majesty," The guard corrects pointedly, "Is not to be disturbed."

I rest my hand on Durendal's hilt. "Do you think he'll be disturbed if I have to throw your body through those doors to open them?"

Rum sighs dramatically next to me. "Must you measure swords with every armored buffoon we come across?" He chastises, already in-character. He makes a motion, and three loud knocks echo from the door; the guards flinch and look back at the phantom sound emanating from behind them. "Have some manners."

The guards whirl back towards us, weapons flashing. They really are a stickler for the whole 'no mages' thing here. I make a motion, and they bounce off an invisible wall. Rum makes another one, and their bodies vanish, empty armor and weapons clattering to the floor. A bullfrog climbs out of one of them.

The doors open just a crack, and an older man in the muted green uniform of one of Castle Pellinore's senior servants pokes his head out. "What are you imbeciles doing out-"

I hold out a hand, call my magic, and pull back, and the man is yanked through the door and straight to my grasp. I hold him by the collar as I repeat through gritted teeth, "Tell Pelagios that Faolan is here to see him. And remind him that I'm being nice enough to wait for a private audience."

The servant gapes at me. "You're a witch! Did- did you turn them into frogs?"

"Oh!" Rum exclaims, as though he hadn't noticed. "I guess we did." He giggles maniacally, and the man gapes at him in shock. "Hop along now."

I shove the man back through the door and barely contain myself long enough to slam it closed behind him. Then I burst out laughing.

"Hop along?" I ask. "Did you choose frogs just so you could make that joke?"

He cracks a lopsided grin. "Maybe."

A minute later the door opens again and the same servant slips out, deathly pale and wide-eyed with nervousness.

"His Grace will see you shortly. He does ask that you, uh, clean up your mess."

Rum and I exchange a look. "Ellyn-" He begins.

I narrow my eyes and make a motion with my hand, and one of the windows behind me slams open. The armor and their amphibian occupants are chucked unceremoniously out of it as if by an invisible hand. Rum again sighs dramatically, and the servant stares, dumbfounded.

"Er… thank you?" He finally manages weakly. I cross my arms and glower, and he glances away and nervously clears his throat. "Right this way, please."

We are led to a nearby lounge room to wait, presumably while my half-brother scrambles to disassemble or reassemble particular advisors into the council room. He's not being very subtle about not wanting people to see me, I grouse internally. We only have a few minutes to wait before the servant again opens the door and leads us back out. When we approach the Council Room doors again, the original guards have been replaced by men with gold accents on their green armor. That's new. Some kind of personal bodyguards? They eye the sword at my hip distrustfully, but open the doors for us without a word.

The room is dominated by a long, wide mahogany table with gold inlay along the edges, a map of the continent dominating most of it. At the head of the table is a similarly designed high-backed chair, and behind it are two floor-to-ceiling windows that afford a breathtaking view of the city and countryside below. Two large fireplaces, one on either side of the table, valiantly fight to keep the autumn chill from seeping in through said windows.

The King of Listenoise, Pelagios de Pellinore, stands next to that chair, a jagged gold crown on his head and a jewel-encrusted dagger at his hip. My younger half-brother is only a few years my junior, and has aged well for a man in his late fifties. He has his mother's gray eyes, but in many ways he looks much like our father did at this age: middling height and build, thinning salt-and-pepper hair, aquiline nose and strong chin, and the slightly-tan complexion we share. At Pelagios's right shoulder is a bald, gray-bearded man of a similar age, wearing a more ornate version of the green-and-gold armor of the guards outside.

"Faolan." Pelagios greets cooly.

"Hello, little brother." I return in the same cold tone as I cross the distance between us. To call Pelagios little brother, as I have only ever done Ian, sparks annoyance in my chest, but by the look on his face, it annoys Pelgios even more. Rum and I stop a few yards away.

He schools his features back towards neutrality. "And who is your companion?"

Rum sweeps into an exaggerated bow and rolls his R's when he says, "Rumpelstiltskin the Dark One." He flashes a toothy grin and glances between Pelagios and I. "I thought there would be more of a family resemblance."

There's that annoyed look again, quickly overriding any recognition or fear at the title. "I'm afraid not. To what do I owe the visit?"

I lean my hip against the corner of the table and cross my arms. "You might have heard that I got into a scrap with some of King Nidhad's men a few months back."

Pelagios keeps his face impressively neutral for a man who was involved in arranging that scrap. "If you expect me to retaliate on your behalf, I have to decline. I will not take my country to war because my father's bastard was slighted."

I scowl at being called a bastard, but Rum laughs jovially next to me.

"He's a bold one, isn't he?" He asks. "And such poor manners. I think I've found the family resemblance."

"I'm not asking you to go to war." I say. "But the situation has shown me that I need a more secure place to live-"

"It won't be here." Pelagios cuts in.

"Would you let me finish a fucking sentence?" I snap, half a shout.

"Ellyn," Rum cuts in sternly, a hand closing roughly on the back of my neck. "Play nice."

I tense up at the contact, and Pelagios watches the exchange with a keen evaluating gaze, hopefully seeing the dynamic we want him to. I look at Rum with the barest touch of nervousness on my face, and after a second, he releases me.

I glance to Pelagios and continue, in a carefully level tone, "I want a castle. You have a vacant one that I think would do. It's near a town called Corbin."

Pelagios' eyebrows shoot up. "That one? I hear it's cursed." He glances between Rum and I and adds, "Though I suppose that is not much of a deterrent for you two."

"That should make it easy to part with, then."

"That would not go over particularly well with my nobles. They will not take kindly to any amount of land being taken from a lord and given to someone of no title or name." I can tell by annoyance and hint of distaste on his face that the nobles are not the only ones who would dislike the idea, but he takes a second to think, the slightest hint of greed sneaking into his eyes. "What can you possibly offer to outweigh that unrest?"

"Well, to start," I make a motion with my hand, and a rolled paper appears in it.

I hold it out, and as he takes it and begins to unroll it, his face tightens in anger. What he holds is a declaration of legitimization signed and stamped by our father, formally declaring me Faolan de Pellinore, firstborn daughter of King Pellamos. I suppose he thought it would assuage any hurt feelings over Tor's death, but he didn't live long enough to make it public.

"Do you expect me to honor this?" Pelagios asks, voice tight and balanced on a knife's edge between controlled and venomous, eyes burning with anger. The guard at his side glances to him and rests a hand on his sword. Pelagios has assumed, understandably, that this is a threat: give me the castle, or I make the declaration public and claim my inheritance from what is now his- possibly including the throne, as the oldest living child of Pellamos.

"Burn it for all I care." I say. He blinks once, slowly, realizing that the document is not a threat, but something I intend to trade.

"It is a nice gesture, I suppose, but I will need something with more substance for the castle. A decades-old, unpublicized document by a dead king… that does not hold much weight."

Yeah? Then why did you look like you wanted to shred it? Outwardly, I only grind my teeth together.

"Whatever the lords pay in taxes for their provinces, I can match it."

"Money will not make up for the disturbance it will cause."

"What, something change while I was gone?" I snarl back. "Are you suddenly not desperately poor?"

"Ellyn." Rum snaps again, and I shrink back from him. He glances between Pelagios and I and continues, "Perhaps the men should discuss this alone. Your little sibling rivalry is not very productive."

"Hold on-" I begin, but Rum shoots me a hard silencing look that, for once, I immediately obey.

Rum nods once, satisfied with the response. "I'll call if you're needed." He says dismissively, and taps a finger to my shoulder. A swirl of smoke obscures me as though I am being teleported, and when it falls, Pelagios's eyes slide right past me and rest on Rumple; as far as anyone in the room can see, I've vanished from sight, exactly as they expected. Rum looks pointedly to my brother's guard.

"Silas," My brother commands without looking, "Step outside for a moment."

Silas shoots him an unhappy look, but gives a half-bow and starts out the room. I use the sound of his footsteps and lightly-clanking armor to cover the sound of my own as I slip away from Rum and Pelagios; as useful as invisibility is, it does little good if Pelagios bumps into me. There is a moment of awkward silence as they wait for Silas to make his way across the long room.

When the door closes behind him, Rum lightly scolds, "You're being difficult, Pelagios. The castle isn't even worth that piece of paper."

Pelagios crosses his arms. "Maybe not, but the cost of having to deal with my father's bastard is high. She could go anywhere else. Why does it need to be my kingdom?"

Rum considers him with a long, evaluating look. "I may have suggested that she may want to investigate the Questing Beast that killed her brother. In truth, I don't care where she goes, as long as she goes. She's making a mess of things in the Enchanted Forest. Nidhad, three princes, one lord-" These he counts on his fingers, "It's interfering with my reputation, and I can't have that. I need somewhere to put her and something to distract her."

"Why don't you just kill her?" He asks. Then he pauses, sweeps a gaze over Rum, and raises an eyebrow. "Are you sleeping together? I mean that without judgment, of course. Truly, I do not care if you pass her around to every eldritch horror you know-"

Rage crosses Rum's face like a thunderstorm, and Pelagios's next words are cut off as he lets out a choked gasp, hand going to his throat.

"Such foul language for such a lovely woman," The Dark One warns lowly, deceptively calm. An odd warmth floods my chest; I don't really have much virtue left to defend, but I cherish the impulse nonetheless. Rum lets him gasp for a few more seconds before the king suddenly sucks in a deep breath. He rubs his throat, sending Rum nervous sideways glances as he regains his breathing.

After a second, my half-brother says, "If I've offended you-"

"If? I'm sorry, dearie, was I being too subtle for you?"

"I've offended you," Pelagios amends, "And I apologize. I didn't suspect that there was real affection between you."

Rum's face is nearly passive, but I know him well enough to see him realize that his burst of anger has made the ruse slip.

"The affection of a dog and it's master." He answers smoothly. Good save. Almost petulantly, he adds, "But I don't go around insulting your things, now do I? Even with your-" He glances around the room at the dramatic crown molding and gold accents, "Questionable taste."

Pelagios raises an eyebrow and has more courage than I'd expect, because he returns, "And my sister is good taste?"

"Your sister is a prize." Power-hunger flashes so convincingly across his face that even I wonder at it's authenticity. "No one else has been trained by the Dark One. No one who lived, anyway. If only she didn't have the temper of a rabid wolf…"

For a long second, I am watching the gears spin in Pelagios's head.

"How tight a leash can you keep on her?" He finally asks.

Rum grins wickedly. "A choke hold, if the situation requires."

Pelagios slowly nods. "I have conditions to offer, then. If she is to stay in my kingdom, I expect you to hold her to them."

Rum doesn't answer, a careful move on his part to avoid striking a deal he has no intention of keeping, but he holds a hand out and summons another swirl of purple-black smoke. I can't tell if Pelagios has noted that detail, but he doesn't push it. I slip into the smoke, find Rum's hand, and place it on my shoulder. When the smoke has cleared, I glance between Rum and Pelagios expectantly.

"Your brother is ready to name his price." Rum explains.

I nod tightly. "Let's hear it."

Pelagios crosses his arms. "You offered the declaration and the taxes, which I accept. I have two more conditions. First, I will name you Lady of Corbin. Over the next year, you will attend the Council of Lords for a short time and then gradually neglect to come. I will vote in your stead."

It's not just my voting power he wants, I think automatically. He wants to name me a d'Corbin so I can't be a Pellinore.

I sign heavily. Would it take less time to just overthrow him?, I wonder briefly, but I doubt that my family would not be particularly happy with a coup on the king when they balked at the idea of a street-fight with the Dunnigans.

I look to Rum, who nods.

"Fine." I grumble. "But you're already reaching, little brother. The last thing better be small."

Here he pauses for a moment, eyes cold and calculating. He glances to Rum almost imperceptibly quickly, gaging whether he has the Dark One's support for it, and that makes unease sweep through me in the second before he speaks.

"Your sword."

My mind stalls for a second. Out of everything I expected him to ask for, it wasn't that. There aren't many items I consider myself sentimental over, but Durendal has been with me since I graduated my apprenticeship. I put a hand on its hilt protectively.

"Excuse me?"

"King Nidhad risked an international incident for that sword. It could buy my country a vital alliance."

"Are you joking?" I ask, voice rising. "My sword is worth more than this castle, let alone that bloody ruin in Corbin!"

"Those are the terms of the trade." He says levelly.

"That isn't a trade, it's a fucking robbery." I snarl back.

Pelagios looks expectantly to Rumple, and I do as well.

"Ellyn," Rum says as he turns fully toward me, back almost square to my half-brother, and puts a hand on my shoulder. His tone is performatively hard, but his face is patient and open, and I know he'll back whichever play I make.

For a long, long moment, I try to convince myself that the sword Zoso had specifically commissioned made for me isn't worth the blood that will come with a coup. When the moment is up I would still rather plunge Durendal through Pelagios than give it to him, but I remind myself of the nervousness with which Elaine spoke of the idea of king's men coming to Corbin, and Arran's shouting at the mob. This castle is for them, not me, and throwing the country into upheaval around them is not something I should be doing lightly.

But oh, how I want to.

I set my mouth into a hard line and give Rum the smallest nod. He steps back as I unbuckle my sword belt. It's just temporary, I comfort myself. I'll take it back when he dies. I stalk to the table, slam Durendal onto it, and pause for half a second. I'll get it back, I repeat to myself as I mechanically straighten and draw my hand away. I step back from the table, and Rum puts a comforting hand on my back.

When I look back to Pelagios, he is trying to keep his face passive, but is still far too pleased for my liking. "I will spare us both the oaths. Your first Council meeting is in two weeks and lasts for three days. You will also be expected to host a ball at the next solstice to introduce yourself to the wider nobility."

I've changed my mind, I think only half-sarcastically. We should just kill him.

"We'll scrape something together." I grind out instead. "Ready?" I add to Rum, and he takes the offered hand.

I meant to teleport directly into the Vault in my family's castle, but I instead find myself in front of the statue that guards it.

"Huh. Guess you can't teleport straight in." I mumble, rolling my sleeve up and drawing my hunting knife. Rum watches the routine with detached distaste, ignoring the statue as it moves and speaks.

"I thought you would skewer him for sure, little wolf." He says it jovially enough, but a question is implied.

"Haven't decided that I won't, yet." I give the statue my name and wait for it to move.

"Why not? Skewer him, I mean."

We start down the stairs, and I answer, "I don't think the family will be too happy about it."

"Happy? They should be grateful. What you just gave up for them-."

"Was just a sword." I deflect. Rum is not for a second convinced.

We emerge into the Vault, and I immediately cross to the weapons hanging on the wall. There are a few swords, but after a quick glance across them, I take Dyrnwyn off the wall. Fire blazes to life along the blade for a second and then subsides, though the blade still glows softly like embers in a fire. I find a spare sheath of passable size nearby and start to add it to my sword belt.

"Hey, Rum," I begin, looking up briefly as I fiddle with the belt, "When my Mum said the other day that they'd like to meet Graham… I've been wondering if I should move him in here."

"...Is that what you want?" Rum asks carefully. He seems nearly as pained by the idea as I am.

I cross back to the stairs, but instead of starting up them, I sit down and lean forward, elbows on my knees and chin in my hands.

"I don't want to, but I wonder if he might be better off here."

Rum sits next to me and gives me a long evaluating look. "Just because you didn't have it, doesn't mean he needs it."

I raise an eyebrow. "First off, ouch."

He gives me an apologetic look, and amends, "He doesn't like being around too many people, Ellie."

"Neither do we." I shoot back. "But they've got to be a more stable home for him than we are. Right?" I sigh and lay back, stare at the ceiling. "I've got no idea what I'm doing when it comes to kids, Rum. The first kid I raised… it didn't turn out well." I remember again the sheer vitriolic hate on Ian's face during our parting argument.

"You were a child yourself." Rum points out, quiet but insistent, and I roll my head to look at him.

I flash him a small, somewhat sad smile. "Sometimes I forget you were an only child. Oldest daughters are almost always part mother to their siblings."

"What they are and what they should be are vastly different things."

I suppose I can't argue with that, I think. I'm the case study for how bad it can end. That begins to send me in a spiral towards painful memories, and I shake it off.

"Cinaed was gonna watch Graham for a few more days. I'll pick him up like we originally planned and bring him for a visit. See how he likes it."

"If he wants to stay, where will you put Kraken?"

"Shit. I hadn't thought of that. You think he'd fit in the moat?"

Rum snorts. "Not for very long."

I drag a hand down my face. "Great. I guess I'll find somewhere to put him. And only three months to do it before we host a Winter Solstice party…"

"Welcome to nobility, Lady Corbin."

"...Shut up."