Chapter Fifteen

Shrouded in Darkness

Luna felt slow and sluggish. Her limbs were heavy and felt unresponsive. Her bones and muscles ached. As she waited, Luna shuffled in a slow circle, trying to ease the stiffness in her legs. She was aware of how ungainly she looked. She thought she had grown accustomed to her maimed foot, but it was hindering her now.

'Maybe you should sit down?' Mirana suggested.

Luna scoffed. 'After all that time spent on my backside?'

'The bath will help.'

'I hope so.' Luna had always hated feeling weak, in any way. 'By every god and their mother, it'll feel good just to be clean again.'

Mirana chuckled. 'And here I was thinking I'd have to force you to bathe.'

'I'm not Nova. Just because I can fight for hours after a week in the saddle, that doesn't mean I don't like to be clean.' Luna at last relented and sat down with a groan.

'Don't push yourself too hard, Luna,' Mirana requested, reaching out to brush some of Luna's straggly, dirty hair out of her eyes. 'It's a long way to Rasolir, and I need you in one piece.' Luna could have been mistaken, too tired to think properly, but it felt like Mirana's warm fingers lingered on her skin a little longer than necessary.

Luna hesitated, and when she spoke her voice sounded huskier than before. 'Is that an order, Princess?'

Mirana smiled. 'I need you, Luna, so if it helps, then yes.' Her tone was slightly teasing, but it didn't keep Luna from recalling the intimacy, or noticing how close Mirana's face was to hers. Her clear eyes seemed to sparkle, her lips parting ever so slightly.

The door beside them opened, distracting Luna from the urge which had nearly overtaken her. Lirien emerged from the room and curtsied. 'The bath is ready, Your Majesty.'

'Thank you, Lirien.' Mirana stood. Luna wobbled as she tried to stand, prompting Mirana to support her. 'Can you find Aiushtha and see to her needs too, please?'

Please. Luna still marvelled at Mirana. She was royalty, supposedly blessed and filled with divinity, yet she was courteous towards those meant to serve her.

Luna imagined that her people would appreciate that about her. After six years under a demanding, mercurial tyrant, they would likely find Mirana's pleasantness, her understanding, more agreeable. She just hoped that they didn't try to take advantage of that. Mirana was kind, but also self-sacrificing.

The air in the bathroom was hazy with steam, laden with the faint smell of citrus. It seemed dreamlike as Luna shuffled into the room, dragging her feet over the marble floor. Mirana stayed at her side, keeping her upright. The bath itself was a stone oval embedded into the floor, the lip raised at knee-height, wide and long enough for Luna to lie flat with room to spare with stone steps around the edges.

Luna gazed into the tub of hot, scented water. 'I may need some help.'

Mirana nodded understandingly. In her condition, Luna would need help washing. And it would have been a waste of effort if Luna had a seizure and drowned in the bath.

She didn't go to call for a servant. Even if Luna or Mirana had been the sorts to rely solely on servants, they were all busy elsewhere.

'Do you want me to wait outside as you undress?' Mirana asked.

Luna considered. 'I have no idea how many people have seen me naked.' She shrugged. The water was clear. If Mirana was going to stay she was going to see plenty, steam or not. 'But you can turn around if you'd prefer.'

Mirana did so, almost too eagerly, perhaps a little reluctantly. Luna disrobed, already feeling cleaner just by discarding the filthy sackcloth, and carefully stepped into the water.

She hissed, the hot water a searing shock against her cold skin. Despite this, and a worried furtive glance from Mirana, she slowly lowered her body into the water until it was up to her collarbone, and her hisses of pain became a soft moan of relief.

'Luna?' Mirana knelt at the edge of the bath, the steam making her seem like some ethereal dream. She kept her eyes fixed firmly on Luna's face. Luna could honestly have said that she would not have minded if Mirana's eyes had wandered. Yet the restraint felt more intimate, and she appreciated how Mirana honoured her trust.

Luna sighed and closed her eyes. 'Just for this, I'd fulfil your every desire.'

Mirana smiled coyly. 'Be careful what you offer me, I have many desires.' She turned serious again. 'And you should thank Lirien. She's the one who drew the bath.'

'Then my service is hers.' Luna joked.

Mirana chortled softly. 'Let me see if I can get the grime out of your hair.'

Luna leaned her head back, enjoying the feel of Mirana's fingers running through her hair. 'Does the Empress usually serve her subjects so?'

'I'm not the Empress yet.'

'And now that I think about it, I'm not actually one of your subjects.' Luna murmured. 'I'm a foreigner. Outcast of a religion your people likely mistrust. A criminal who they would gladly see executed.'

Mirana's fingers halted for a moment, and Luna heard an intake of breath. 'I am an outcast too, Luna, and a former adherent of that same religion.'

'You're not a criminal though.'

'Some might disagree. But I will not let my people harm you, Luna.' She kneaded more soap into Luna's scalp, no doubt disgusted by how much filth was in her hair. 'I need you, free and whole. And I would remind them that the Helio Imperium has not always been completely virtuous. My ancestors have done terrible things, and allowed terrible things to happen. Yet no Imperial citizen has called for the dissolution of the empire, or for Rasolir to be razed to the ground.'

'You really do believe in redemption, don't you?' Luna mused. 'Hmm… "Mirana the Redeemer." It has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?'

'I'm flattered.' Mirana's fingers kneaded a little harder, but not too hard. 'It must have been awful! Being stuck in that cell, suffering as you were.'

'It wasn't fun. But at least I didn't have that lecher pawing at me.' Luna suppressed a shudder of revulsion at the thought of Aridin leering at Mirana, wanting to touch her, and worse. She thanked fortune that Marci had survived and come to their aid with allies at her back.

'I didn't let him have his way, Luna. I wouldn't have let him have what he wanted.'

'If he had, I would have torn his manhood off and bled him dry.'

'I appreciate that, Luna, but it won't be necessary, and I wouldn't have you sully your hands with his blood.' Mirana lifted a jug of warm water and started to rinse Luna's hair. 'It's over now. He can't hurt us again.'

'I hope not.'

'He won't. When Kunkka and his people have finished questioning him, he'll be sent to Rasolir for trial. I assure you, he won't know freedom again.'

'Good,' Luna accepted, deciding simply to savour the feel of Mirana's touch for the moment. She wasn't sure what else she could say, or should say. Mirana started to hum.

Before Luna could open her mouth to speak again, Mirana began to sing softly, her voice soothing.

Luna closed her eyes, content simply to listen as Mirana gently removed the dirt and the pain from her.

Mirana kept her eyes averted as much as she could, though it was hard not to when she was helping Luna out of the tub and into clean clothes.

Luna seemed much improved, and looked much better. Her long hair was back to its striking pure white, paler even than her now clean skin. Even her eyes were brighter, and less bloodshot.

Mirana kept her arm around Luna's shoulders, just in case. Luna was walking steadily, but she didn't mind Mirana helping her. Gradually, patiently, Mirana led Luna out into the grounds. With every step, Luna seemed to grow a little stronger, though Mirana thought she could see her hands shaking. According to the medics Kunkka had brought, Luna would probably continue to suffer over the next few weeks, maybe months. She would need help, if only to resist the urge to drink.

She really did want to stop drinking, and Mirana was more than willing to help her.

Luna sighed and inhaled deeply as they stepped outside. Mirana still had her arm around Luna, but Luna wasn't really leaning on her now.

They sat down on the nearest bench, where Marci was sitting with a platter on her lap, eating a partially demolished marzipan, honeycomb and sugar dessert.

Mirana leaned over. It took her a moment to realise that it was, or had been, an edible version of the Rasolir Palace. 'You've eaten the throne room!' Mirana declared with mock alarm. 'Where am I supposed to pass judgement?'

Marci looked up, her cheeks bulging. She cocked her head, considering, swallowing her mouthful of food, then shrugged and pointed at an exposed point inside.

'I suppose that's a decent place,' Mirana accepted, taking a disused spoon from the platter and scooping out some marzipan. She realised that Marci had left that spare spoon for her. She was thoughtful like that, even if she couldn't resist digging into a dessert first. 'What do you think, Luna?'

'I say to the victors go the spoils,' Luna reached over and pulled out a chunk for herself. 'And well-deserved food. And after that fight, you need the energy, Marci.'

Marci nodded fervently, shovelling another heaped spoonful into her mouth.

'Princess?' Mirana looked up as Kunkka approached. 'We've got Aridin and his goons secured and ready for transport. What do you want done with the rest? The servants and staff?'

Mirana had already given that thought. 'They're free to do as they will. They can stay here, go back to their homes, or follow me to Rasolir.'

'We'll be taking Aridin with us, as agreed. What do you intend to do now?'

'As soon as we are ready, we'll start making our way to Rasolir. Aridin has at least left us plenty of supplies for the journey, whether that was his intention or not.'

'Huh. Sounds like a plan. You might be a bit short on manpower heading back.'

'We'll be fine,' Mirana assured him. 'We'll have Marci with us.'

Marci grinned, her mouth full again.

'Very true.' Kunkka allowed. He nodded to Marci. 'I'd be glad to fight by your side again, Marci, though I hope never to be your enemy. And to you, Princess Mirana, I wish you good fortune.' Kunkka bowed low. 'My crew and I shall take our leave now.'

'May the sun light your way, Admiral Kunkka.' Mirana said.

Kunkka turned to go, then paused and turned back to Marci. 'Aurel says that you're welcome to be his gunner again, but he suggests shooting ahead of your targets next time. Shoot where they're going to be, not where they are.'

Marci shifted guiltily, remembering how she had destroyed one of the gyrocopter's engines. Kunkka chortled, turned and marched back towards the gates, where Rattletrap was disassembling his clockwerk and the keenish marines were preparing to return to their ship.

'Quite the character.' Mirana mused. 'Marci, you're going to have to tell me more about flying in one of those keenish machines. They sound fascinating.'

Marci however, chose to redouble her efforts in consuming the palace dessert, rather than tell Mirana and Luna every detail about her flight in a gyrocopter.

Father Carliven had been to many places, some mundane, some strange, some beautiful, some horrible. Handicapped as he was, he'd had to travel. He'd travelled to learn of the arcane arts, the better to serve the Dragon Knights, to aid his brothers-in-arms during hunts, to research draconic phenomena, and to negotiate agreements with the leaders of factions and nations.

To the eye, it was a city like many others, squatting in the valley. Tight, winding streets with abodes densely packed. Grander buildings within, not unlike those which might have once been seen in Old Stonehall, with great columns supporting triangular rooftops.

Such a building, but with huge domes atop its roof, stood raised above everything else. The stone glowed ominously in the light of the bleeding moon.

Yet all around the city of Weeping Rose fell muted sunlight. With strange mystical arts, the city was enshrouded in eternal night, or at least some illusion of night. If it was a trick, it mimicked the night sky perfectly, right down to the bleeding moon.

An ill omen, many claimed. Carliven had never been superstitious. His fortunes had changed when Davion had struck his dark deal with Slyrak, yet the bleeding moon filled him with unease all the same.

'This place has an ill-favoured feel about it,' Levo remarked.

'That's just the moon.' Ortagon stated.

'Not so loudly, my sons.' Carliven warned. 'The Sanguine Thorns of Weeping Rose might not take kindly to such remarks.'

In truth, the Sanguine Thorns had greater concerns. Weeping Rose was a strange place. It was the perfect haven for a wizard with few qualms and time to experiment, but even in a place such as this, there were rules—rules enforced by the Sanguine Thorns and the Tyler Estate. Though magic, trades and deeds of many kinds could be practised here, the rulers of Weeping Rose paradoxically enforced its laws mercilessly and absolutely. Put even a hint of a toe out of line, and you would be lucky to wind up spending the next twenty years in prison.

Carliven was used to being escorted, and so he paid the Sanguine Thorns little mind. He was known to the Quorum—the council of wizards who ruled Weeping Rose—and thus entry to the city had been easier than he had feared.

Like every citizen and visitor here, he would be watched at all times unceasingly for as long as he was in Weeping Rose, him and his fellow Dragon Knights—the few loyalists who had stuck with him, and not become sycophants to the traitorous Eserren. "The Traitor Knight", as Sorsenin called her. Ortagon had names far less kind for her.

The moonlight bathed the already dark red armour of the Sanguine Thorns, embossed with twisting vines and rose petals, in red. Their eyes were impossible to see through their narrow visors, and they clutched hefty battleaxes in their spiked gauntlets.

Around Carliven, the dragon scale armour of Levo, Ortagon, Sorsenin, Iryn, Zedraj and Kershon clattered and clinked, some of it worse for wear. They'd had a long journey, and no time for substantial repairs. Their weapons were notched and worn, yet they had served well regardless. Carliven was proud of them. Though they, the last of the Dragon Knights to remain true, were few, they would be the mighty foundations of his new Order—a greater Order than the one which had come before, and far greater than Eserren's pale, weak imitation of the old Order.

Eserren wanted a fairy tale. The world needed reality. The reality was that power was strength.

One of the Sanguine Thorns kicked aside a quivering bundle, sending it rolling into the gutter, weeping and shuddering. Carliven paid the vagrant little heed. Whoever it was, they might have been mighty once, learned in the arcane arts, but now they were little more than detritus to be nudged aside.

A wizened hand and a withered arm emerged from the bundle, a raspy voice begging for succour. They ignored him. The Sanguine Thorns cared not for this punished transgressor, and the Dragon Knights knew better than to interfere.

At the end of the narrow street, Carliven beheld the wrought iron gates of their destination: the Tyler Estate.

The enigmatic Tylers had founded the place long ago, and now it was where the most dangerous of the Quorum's enforcers dwelt. Many a dangerous mage lived here, and sometimes even the magic-resistant armour and ward-cleaving axes of the city's guards were not enough to keep them in line.

The gates swung open, seemingly of their own accord, as the group approached. Without slowing, they marched to the doors of the estate, flanked by sentinels wearing the purple of the Tyler Estate. They were less heavily armoured, bearing curved blades at their sides, their faces hidden by deep cowls. Carliven knew that these men were not as dangerous as the infamous Magina, but they nevertheless were a potent threat to any who wielded magic.

The Sanguine Thorns halted at the doors. The two Estate Sentinels opened the doors, wordlessly allowing Carliven and his Dragon Knights inside.

Carliven's crutch clicked on the veined marble floors. He had been inside a few times before. Little appeared to have changed. The purple banners hanging from above were the same as before. The pillars rising up the ceiling looked just as unyielding as before. The faint, muted screams from below were still hard to ignore. Another fool who had dared to cross the Quorum was paying for his idiocy.

'Father Carliven,'

Carliven stopped as a tall man, his dark mail shrouded by fancy purple robes edged with gold filigree. A tall shield was slung across his back, and a strange weapon, something like an oversized three-bladed shuriken, dangled at his side. A lofty helm was tucked under his arm. His sharp blue eyes, set in an angular face, bored into Carliven from under dark lashes.

'Nortrom,' Carliven acknowledged. 'You and the Tyler Estate have the gratitude of the Order for permitting us to visit your abode.'

Nortrom nodded once. 'It has been some time since you last visited us,' he uttered in a deep, stentorian voice. 'Fortune has not been kind to you. We have heard that your Order is under new leadership.'

'A weak leader. A traitor.' Sorsenin grated.

'She will pay for what she has done.' Carliven vowed. 'That is why we are here.'

Nortrom's expression momentarily betrayed his distaste. Carliven ignored him. He was loyal to the Quorum. He would do as he was bidden. 'Follow me.'

They passed a row of benches, men and women in chains huddled atop them, thrumming anti-magic collars fastened about their necks. The Dragon Knights ignored them. They would either be executed or stripped of their magic, and much of what made them who they were. One by one, they would be hauled into the Hall of Oblivion to suffer their appointed fates.

Carliven had always been careful to obey the Quorum's laws whenever he had come here. He had no intention of joining these foolish souls.

They skirted around the Hall of Oblivion. Nobody but the guilty and the judges were allowed to see what was inside. Nortrom led them down the hallways at a brisk pace, not stopping or speaking.

Carliven frowned. 'I assume that Magina is hunting.'

Nortrom did not respond nor slow his pace. It was strange that they had seen no sign of the Anti-Mage since arriving. He could have been seeking some fugitive, yet something felt amiss to Carliven. There was a tenseness in the air he had missed at first.

'He is not your concern.' Nortrom at last answered tersely. 'Through here, and keep your voices down.'

The corridors between the training halls were empty. From open archways, they heard the ringing of blades. Judging from the hisses and yelps of pain which sometimes followed, they were not blunted. There were flashes of light issuing from others, but it was hard to see what was happening within the rooms. Each was blocked by an armoured sentinel, their narrowed eyes following every movement.

Eventually, Nortrom brought them to a heavy iron door. He halted, his eyes narrowing. 'He is in here. I am to return to my duties. I trust you can find your own way out.'

Carliven nodded, his forehead glistening with sweat. The effort of keeping up with Nortrom had taken a toll, but it would be worthwhile. He lifted his staff and used it to knock on the door.

'Enter,' the single word was deep and rough.

Ortagon pushed open the door, and Sorsenin and Levo entered ahead of Carliven.

The room was large, but with clutter leaning against the walls. Books, strange objects, cauldrons, rolled up scrolls and other arcane paraphernalia.

At the far end was a large stone slab, big enough for two oglodi to lie side-by-side. The slab had heavy chains and manacles anchored into it, and it was stained with dried blood. Looming over it was a large figure, his features monstrous to behold.

The entity known as Lion the Demon Witch may have once been human. But that had been a long time ago, and the visible vestiges of humanity had long since been purged from his form.

His hide was stony, a faint purple, with shards of what looked like obsidian poking through. His face, framed by a high collar and ornate spaulders, was broad, with a wide, flat nose, a mouth full of a predator's teeth, and blazing orange eyes. A red gem was set into his forehead, matching the stone of a large amulet hanging around his neck. Below his stone-like chest was bared to the waist. His right hand matched the rest of his form, but the left seemed to be encased in black stone riddled with glowing red fissures, or else it was made entirely of the stuff. Bits of metal were infused into the growth, the red light pulsing angrily around them.

Lion glowered at them as they filed in. He nodded, and the door slammed shut behind them. 'Father Carliven. Or is it former Father Carliven?'

'He is still the Father and the true leader of the Dragon Knights!' Kershon protested.

'Peace, Kershon,' Carliven ordered. Kershon shut his mouth at once. 'Mighty Lion,' Carliven inclined his head. 'I have come to you with a great purpose.'

Lion snorted. 'Many have sought me out over the decades, all seeking to either learn my secrets or to end my life.' He held up his right hand and balled it into a fist. A large ruby ring glowed ominously. 'They all met the same fate, and I left their withered husks to decay. What makes you think you will fare any better?'

The Dragon Knights tensed, some reached for their weapons, but Carliven gestured with his staff, ordering them to stand down. 'The Quorum granted you asylum here, and they consider me and my fellows to be allies. You would not compromise your safety, or risk their ire, by harming us.'

'That does not mean that I should give you anything, old man.'

'No, it does not.' Carliven concurred. 'But I knew better than to come to you empty handed, devoid of all save ambition and greed, unlike those would-be-apprentices and assassins you speak of. I have knowledge and materials to share. I would see us both benefit in this trade.'

Lion glowered at him. 'You would offer me substances from dragons? Do you not think that I have experimented with their blood? Their scales? Their bone, sinew and matter? It has made little, if any, impression in my work.'

'I understand that you cannot become wurm-forged.' Carliven said. 'But I do not offer the blood of a lesser dragon. I have this.' He reached into his robes, leaning awkwardly on his staff, and produced a vial full of blood. 'This is the blood of a man who bears both the blood and soul of an Eldwurm: Slyrak, the Ember Eldwurm, the Firestorm. This union made something more than human and more than dragon. I have sampled that power, and I know how to unlock its potential.'

Lion peered at the vial. 'Then why come to me? You speak as one who has succeeded, yet you need my help, and from what I have heard, this gift did not avail you. You were bested by a mere human.'

'The transformation was… unstable.' Carliven admitted. 'I have suffered for my impatience.' He had. Under his baggy robes, his form was hunched and warped. Bones had malformed. Tumours had blossomed. Muscles had atrophied. It was only by the ministrations of multiple healers, and carefully timed doses of the blood of ember dragons, that he had survived. But unless Lion could help him, he would die much sooner rather than later. 'But you are the only master of demonoplasty, and I believe that together, we can master this new science, and create the finest warriors ever to roam this world.'

Lion cocked his head. 'And what would you do with this power, Father Carliven? I have no desire for rivals, and I care little for your cause.'

'I have no interest in being your rival, Lion. Rather, I would make you a partner in my new Order. And my goal is to avenge my defeat, to win back the fools who deserted me or else see them punished, and to restore the Dragon Knights to glory.' He held out the vial. 'I offer this to you in good faith, Lion. And what have you to lose? If the work fails, I will die, and you will be left untroubled. My Knights will not attempt to harm you, and the Quorum will let the matter rest, you have my word. If we succeed, then I have no doubt that this research will benefit you too. You could have the power of the dragons at your fingertips, and perhaps a way to halt the curse that Vidmar forced upon you. Even Ethreain would flee before your wrath.'

Lion did not react overtly, yet Carliven was certain that he was surprised. He had not expected Carliven to know of his affliction, the vengeance of the Order of the Crystal Echelon, or that he had sought asylum in Weeping Rose because Ethreain the Lich had been hunting him.

Lion was silent for a few moments, no doubt thinking. The Dragon Knights behind Carliven remained tense, the seconds lengthening into long minutes as they waited, hoping for a favourable response, dreading the fury of this merciless master of dark magic.

Eventually, Lion huffed and slowly loped around the stone slab towards Carliven. He towered over the hunched old man, yet Carliven did not flinch or shy away. He merely held out the vial filled with Davion's blood.

Lion slowly reached out with a large, clawed hand, carefully plucked the vial from Carliven's palm, and held it aloft. 'I do not wish to be a part of your Order, Father Carliven. But I will aid you, if only to satisfy my own curiosity.'

'I understand, and I am grateful.'

'You are now. But I make no promises. You will likely perish during my experiments, as so many of my subjects do, and there will be many deaths before I attempt to work on you. If you expire before then, that is merely bad luck on your part. If your Knights value their souls, they will not seek retribution.

And should we succeed, you and any who follow you will be forever changed. They will be something other than human, something other than dragon. The ignorant will call you monsters, and they may well try to end you.'

Carliven smiled grimly. 'They may try. But in time, they shall show us the respect we deserve, or we shall force it out of them. I know what it is that I ask of you. And it is that power that the new Order shall need to defeat the dragons and protect humanity from all threats, even from itself.'

Lion lowered the vial. 'It seems we have more in common than I suspected, Father Carliven. Come. We have much work to do.'

Lina adjusted the circlet as she stepped through the tall doors of the Senate.

Under the vast dome, the Senate rose up in four tiers, a circle split by narrow stairways. Carved chairs filled each arc. Most of them were filled, but others were conspicuously empty. Shabarra had ordered the execution of many Senators during his reign.

Standing on the Senate floor, which bore the now familiar sunburst, was Tihomir. Her son stood off to one side, looking annoyed and impatient.

Kashurra was also there, and he beckoned to Lina.

Lina took a deep breath, and marched into the chamber.

'Members of the Senate,' the Senate Speaker, sitting directly opposite the entrance, stood and bowed. 'Today we are called upon to settle a matter of succession. Present are the Lady Lina of Misrule, currently acting as Regent, and Lady Tihomir of House Aureas, Governor of the Judicis Isles.

Lady Lina took the position of Regent, to hold until Princess Mirana returns. However, Lady Tihomir has also laid claim to the Solar Throne. The resolution of this matter now falls to the decision of the Senate.' He sat down again, and would only speak again if he felt it necessary.

Lina caught sight of Draxius in one of the tiers to her left, watching warily.

Tihomir looked confident as she stepped into the centre of the chamber. 'Honoured Senators, I am grateful to you all for your willingness to hear my case.

I know that many of you are eager for Princess Mirana to return and reclaim the Solar Throne. I believe that many of you elected to have her made the heir to the throne.

No doubt you see me as an opportunist. But I am not that. What I am is loyal to this nation and its people. I willingly stepped aside when there was the possibility of conflict within my family, but now I return not for power, but to lead my people in a troubled time.

We have all seen the moon bleeding in the sky above. We all know that Stonehall has taken this to be an omen, and is marshalling its forces to wage war upon us.

I have much experience leading in times of peace and conflict. My son is an accomplished commander, tested and proven in battle.

Mirana has no such experience. She has not led. She has fought no battles. She has been away from the Imperium for too long.

And more importantly, whether she truly is returning or not, we cannot afford any delays. We must deal with Stonehall now, or risk suffering the price of inaction.'

Kashurra cleared his throat. 'You make a compelling case, Lady Tihomir. Nevertheless, the simple fact of the matter is that Mirana was chosen by this Senate, not you.

You also speak falsely. According to my reports, Princess Mirana has been leading, and she has fought in battle. She played a key part in the Battle of Dragon Keep. And we are preparing for war. We are preparing for war because that is what Princess Mirana ordered us to do. My understanding is that she has been delayed, but that she will be here soon enough.'

'And what makes you so sure of that, Viceroy?' Tihomir demanded sneeringly. 'I too have heard reports. Some of them claim that Princess Mirana is not returning home, that she has changed her mind. Others claim that she played no role in the battle you speak of, if indeed there was a battle at all.'

'You dare?' Lina felt another strange thrill of fear at Kashurra's anger. 'It is common knowledge that Dragon Keep was attacked and all but ruined. The First, Second and Third Legions took part in the battle. Thousands of lives were lost. And you dare to deny that the battle even happened?'

Tihomir did not bat an eyelid. 'You have always been fond of Mirana, have you not?'

'I have. But that has little bearing upon my presence here, or my stance. I will not claim that my feelings have nothing to do with my allegiance, that would be a lie. But you all know that I keep the best interests of the Imperium foremost in both my mind and my heart.

If I truly believed that endorsing your case was in the best interests of the Imperium, I would support you. But I do not support you. I never will. Because you will bring the Imperium to ruin.'

'Viceroy, I always thought you wise. Now I wonder if age has dulled your edge.' Tihomir smirked. 'All that aside, regarding the Princess Mirana, there are… troubling rumours regarding her adherence to duty and expectation, as well as the company she keeps: Coriel'tauvi, renegade Dragon Knights, zealots, bestial savages, and possibly even fugitives from Imperial justice.'

'You forgot her handmaiden, an Omniknight and a Nivanese Gallant.' Kashurra noted dryly.

'And of course,' Tihomir continued undaunted, 'we all know where she has spent the last five years: she has been hiding deep within the Nightsilver Woods, in the Temple of Selemene Herself, not as a refugee, no, but rather as an adherent and acolyte, a priestess, and later as consort to the goddess Herself.'

There was an outbreak of agitated murmuring amongst the Senators. Kashurra's face barely changed, but he was visibly fuming. He seemed to swell with anger.

'How can we put our faith in the hands of someone who so willingly gives herself to such a potential threat?' Tihomir continued. 'To an entity whose predecessor once sought to destroy the Imperium? We are blessed by the sun, not the moon.'

More murmuring, and many nods amongst the Senators. Several of them were agreeing with Tihomir.

Kashurra glanced at Lina and raised his eyebrows. Lina cleared her throat and stepped forwards.

'Oh come now, Slayer!' Tihomir rolled her eyes. 'Do not claim that you have any faith in Mirana. You don't even know her!'

Lina stared at her, wondering if she was about to question whether the Senate should listen to a Misrulian. 'You're right, Lady Tihomir. I don't know Mirana. But I know of her. I have heard much about her since I came to this city.

I've heard about how she was spoilt and demanding. How she abused the power of her birthright. But I've also heard about how she changed. How she became caring and thoughtful, how she was concerned for noble and commoner alike. I've heard of how she learned of leadership from the finest minds in the Imperium, and how she earned the love and loyalty of those around her. It is because of that love and loyalty that she survived the Bloody Dance.

And though I do not know the Princess, Viceroy Kashurra does. He's known her all of her life. His endorsement should mean something. He has proven to be both wise and loyal. He risked his life to ensure that the rebellion succeeded, if only so that Shabarra could be thwarted, but most of all because he believed that Mirana should sit upon the throne.'

Lina turned to address the Senators. 'But if that is not enough for you, then I will tell you about the actions of a man who believed in Mirana. A man you should all know, because he was one of you.

His name was Gavenus. He was a Senator, like you. And he was my friend.

He believed, with every fibre of his being, that Princess Mirana would want to return and take responsibility for the safety of her people, that she would lead them well, that she would be just and fair. He believed that she was the right person to lead the Imperium.

He believed in that so much, he believed in her so greatly, that he gave his life so that the rebellion could succeed.

Do you know what I think, Lady Tihomir?' Lina turned her smouldering gaze on the Governor. 'I don't think he would have done the same for you.' She looked up at the Senators once again. 'Senator Gavenus died believing that Mirana would reclaim her rightful place. Would you deny him the dream he died for? The hope he held in his heart until the very end?

I would not. Nor should you.'

The Senators were all silent, staring down at her with wonder. She doubted that they had expected as much from her, given her reputation. Kashurra actually looked impressed.

Arastis glowered at her. Tihomir scoffed. 'Your words are full of emotion, Lina of Misrule. I am not surprised. You are passionate, but you are misled by your feelings. You are much like the fire you call upon: powerful but directionless.

I do not call upon the pities or sympathies of those present. I call upon their logic, their wisdom, their judgement. If Princess Mirana is anything like you, Lina, then perhaps the people will love her. Perhaps she will be kind and caring, passionate and empathetic.

But none of that will help us when we go to war. War is won by those who can put aside their feelings, war is won by the ruthless, war is no place for kindness.'

'You sound like Shabarra.' Lina folded her arms. 'And as I said before, if Mirana was as weak as you believe she is, why would so many have such faith in her?'

'Because they know no better.'

Kashurra's eyes narrowed. 'I have served the Imperium for a long time, Lady Tihomir. But before that, I travelled. I have seen much that you have not. I have learned much that you would ignore.

You may not be wrong. Perhaps emotion and passion will hinder anybody who sits upon the Solar Throne. Perhaps war is for those who are cold and unfeeling.

But I disagree. A leader who has the love of their followers may not be guaranteed to win a victory, but they will get every effort, every drop of blood and sweat, given by their soldiers willingly.

That, I know will be the case for Mirana. It has already been proven. It has been proven by those who dared to oppose Shabarra in her name, people like Senator Gavenus, and by those who gave their lives for her during the Bloody Dance. From brave Sun Guard like Captain Hyses, to the family of Mirana's handmaiden, many have already willingly lay down their lives because they believed in her. I would do the same. I was certainly willing when I felt the stroke of Callardis' axe as Ascension Day drew to a close.

But most of all, this debate is neither needed nor helpful. Tihomir, you claim that we should be preparing for war with Stonehall. You are right, we should. And we are. And we would be making further arrangements today if you had not insisted on this pointless challenge.

You laid aside your claim to the Solar Throne, both within this very chamber and publicly. Now you have returned because you sense opportunity.'

'I have returned because I am needed,' Tihomir stated.

Kashurra was silent for a moment. It was not like him to be given pause in such an argument, yet Lina did not think he was beaten.

Kashurra nodded. 'You are needed, Lady Tihomir. But not as the Empress of the Helio Imperium. If you wish to serve this nation, then serve as an advisor, and have your son serve as the commander he is. Your troops and your experience would be a great boon to us in the days to come.

Believe me, Princess Mirana knows full well what is at stake. Perhaps she knows better than any of us, for you are not wrong, Tihomir: she did serve the goddess Selemene, and there was great trust between them.

The bleeding moon is an omen: it foretells the return of Mene, Selemene's predecessor, and She does desire the annihilation of the Imperium.

If Mirana did not wish to aid us, she would not have attempted to return. But she has fought and struggled to reach our shores. We should not be debating whether or not she should lead us, but rather we should be doing what we can to keep the Imperium safe for her, and endeavour to speed her return to this city.'

'But she isn't here, is she?' Arastis had stepped forwards, his armour clanking. He was only without his sword—it was forbidden for all but the Sun Guard to carry arms in the Senate. 'No! She's not here! She's probably off doing what she does best: spreading her legs and giving herself away for a bit of pleasure!'

'Arastis!' Tihomir hissed. 'Hold your tongue!'

Arastis flushed angrily, but did as he was bidden. There was an angry murmuring amongst the Senators. Whether or not they decided in Mirana's favour, Arastis had insulted royalty.

'I apologise for my son,' Tihomir bowed her head. 'We have had a long journey, and we both wish only to serve the Imperium.'

Arastis scowled. 'I withdraw my statement, and I apologise.' He did not sound remotely contrite.

'I have nothing further to add,' Kashurra said. Though his tone betrayed nothing, Lina could tell that he was pleased. He had wanted Arastis to act rashly. 'But I would suggest that at the very least, the decision on whether Lady Tihomir should rule or not should be postponed, at least until Mirana returns. She will be here soon, of that I am certain.'

Tihomir eyed the members of the Senate, then nodded. 'There is wisdom and fairness in that. If you will not endorse me today, then I shall wait. All I ask is that is you deliberate carefully not on what the people of the Imperium want, but on what they need. And should no decision be reached here today, then I urge you to continue preparing for war with Stonehall. I would not see this great empire fall.'

The Senators began to talk amongst themselves. Lina noticed Draxius watching, frowning, but not speaking to his neighbours.

'Are the esteemed members of the Senate ready to cast their votes?' the Speaker asked.

There were scattered responses of 'yea' and 'nay'. Lina could not determine how many had decided either way.

'We shall put the matter be put to the vote. All those in favour of Governor Tihomir ascending the Solar Throne, raise your hands.'

A fair number of hands rose. Lina felt a shiver of apprehension, until she realised that less than half of the Senate had voted in Tihomir's favour, if that. Maybe a quarter at most.

'Those in favour of Princess Mirana ascending the Solar Throne, raise your hands.'

Other hands rose. Lina tried to count them quickly, and realised that they were about equal with those who had supported Tihomir. She looked to Draxius, who had not raised his hand at all, along with a number of other Senators. Were they on his side, part of his scheme? Or were they just undecided?

The Speaker shook his head and called for a second vote. The result was much the same. So was the third. Draxius remained immobile.

'So be it,' the Speaker decided. 'Due to this stalemate, the decision will ultimately be decided at a later date, as Viceroy Kashurra suggested, when Princess Mirana returns. For my part, I am inclined to agree with the Viceroy. Princess Mirana should have a say in this debate, for it concerns her closely. This meeting of the Senate is adjourned.'

Lina caught Kashurra's eye. He did not look displeased, nor had he relaxed. She supposed that for him, a postponement was preferable to Tihomir winning the throne.

As the Senators started to file out, chattering and arguing noisily as they went, Tihomir turned, scowling at Kashurra and Lina. 'You may have won this battle, but at what cost? If Stonehall attacks before Mirana returns, you will beg me to take the throne.'

'Believe what you will, Tihomir,' Kashurra responded, 'and leave with what dignity you can salvage.'

Tihomir jerked her head. Arastis, still fuming, followed her out, probably itching to grab his sword and start swinging.

'What do we do now?' Lina murmured to Kashurra.

'Tihomir may not be stupid, but she remains a potential threat. I will keep her under watch.' Kashurra frowned. 'I would have preferred to send more spies to watch over Stonehall and its allies, but now I must waste them here.' He shook his head. 'The enemy within. Often more dangerous than the enemy without.'

'Is Tihomir our enemy?'

'Unless she swears fealty to Mirana and proves herself loyal, then I shall assume that she is dangerous. Even if she does prove loyal, she may yet remain a threat.'

The dreams they shared, willingly or not, were becoming hard to shift between. Memories and dreams of the Redlands, Marci, what may come to pass, all became blurred with visions of Slyrak's life, of the Thunder, flashes of the experiences of other ember dragons. Now there were also memories and sights from ionic, chaos and earth dragons, and even Vylgranox.

Davion woke each morning to find a few malformed scales stuck in his arms and legs, sometimes his torso. Auroth insisted on carefully removing them, often with Caewyn's help. Eserren had suggested her for the task, owing to her steady hands and keen eyes, and plenty of experience working a needle and thread.

They had been on the move without incident for three days. The bitter cold was bothering Davion. He doubted that he'd miss all this snow and ice when he arrived in the Imperium.

Thoughts like that also made him feel guilty. It was as if he was wishing for Slyrak's death to happen sooner.

'You made a promise, Davion. I'm going to make sure you keep it.'

Slyrak had said that he was old, that immortality was tiresome. Davion had to wonder at that. He had seen snatches of Slyrak's life—a long life, a life which had surpassed many generations of humanity. From what he could tell, Dragons never forgot anything, not the Madness, not what came before, not what came after.

He wondered if he would forget things now. Did Marci?

'She is only mortal, even if she bears the blood of an Eldwurm, but I somehow doubt that she will forget you.'

Davion couldn't help but smirk at that assessment. He wasn't going to forget her either.

'Ow!' Bram hissed and hopped on the spot—a remarkable feat considering that he was up to his knees in thick snow.

'Found a rock?' Caewyn chirped.

Bram shook his head, a frown creasing his forehead. 'It felt more like metal.'

Now frowning too, Caewyn bent close to where Bram had stumbled, then reached into the snow. She rummaged around, gritting her teeth.

'You're regretting that, aren't you?' Davion remarked.

'Let's hope I don't have to shoot anything soon.' Caewyn muttered. 'Aha!' she withdrew her arms and straightened, holding up something shiny, a little bigger than her head. 'Here it is!' She grinned triumphantly as she held the object aloft, but her grin fell when she saw the faces of her companions. 'What? What's wrong?'

'You do realise what that is, don't you?' Rylai inquired.

Caewyn lowered her arms and brushed snow off the object. 'It's a helm of some kind. Familiar… Oh! Oh! It's the sort of helmet Imperium legionnaires wear!' Again, her triumph faded. 'Ah…'

'Maybe somebody dropped it?' Bram suggested hopefully.

'I doubt that,' Auroth was kneeling in the snow now, having rummaged around too. 'The rest of the armour is here too. Definitely Imperium lorica.'

Caewyn held the helm at arm's length, now seeing an unmistakable dent, and what appeared to be claw marks. 'So…'

'I tripped on a corpse.' Bram surmised.

'The armour.' Auroth shook her head. 'There's no body.'

'The ursa don't tend to use armour.' Rylai explained. 'Their ancestors didn't. They're a very traditional people, or most of them are.'

Nobody asked what had become of the corpse. Nobody wanted to.

'Maybe if we find any ursa, we should keep quiet about having friends from the Imperium.' Davion suggested.

Eserren shrugged. She didn't like to lie, but she was also practical. 'That seems sensible.' She grimaced. 'I'd swear that the wind itself is howling.'

'You had best prepare some convincing tales quickly, Mouse. Do you hear those roars? They are close, and they likely know you are here.'

'Crap.' Davion lifted his sword.

'That's not the wind!' Auroth declared. 'Ursa!'

'Bram, Eserren, form a line with me!' Davion instructed. 'Rylai, Caewyn, get behind us. Auroth, do you think you can shift safely?'

'Wait!' Rylai held out her hand. 'Let's not be too hasty. Auroth and I are on decent terms with some of the clans. Let us try to talk to them first.'

'They likely outnumber us,' Bram mused. 'Let's hope diplomacy works.'

Rylai and Auroth moved out in front as the first large, hulking shapes appeared through the snowfall ahead. The others tried to look less threatening, but kept their weapons in hand.

As they came closer, Davion could make out the ursine features of the beings approaching. Their fur was thick, their claws broad, their teeth sharp. They wore little, clad as they were in fur and their thick hides. Many of them wore fangs and claws strung about their broad frames, as well as other trophies from various beasts.

Though they eschewed most forms of armour, some bore round shields, painted in bright colours with striking patterns or adorned with bones or fangs. A few carried long spears and long-hafted axes, others had gloves with claw-like blades attached to supplement their own rending claws.

Auroth held up her hands, then uttered a croaky, hoarse ululating growl which Davion didn't think a human throat capable of. The ursa paused for a moment, surprised, then continued to advance.

'Ulfsaar?' Rylai called. 'Is that you?'

One of the ursa, noticeably broad, with long ears, a dark blue hide with white tufts of fur, snorted and cocked his head. Now that he was closer, Davion could see that he was wearing something close to armour. Held in place by leather belts and chains, Ulfsaar's chest was covered by the scales of a razorwyrm. His eyes were a bright orange, almost blazing through the falling snow.

'Crystal Maiden,' the ursa growled. It was hard for Davion to measure his emotions by voice, every syllable was a low growl. 'What was it we agreed upon the last time we spoke?'

Davion tensed. Was he about to reveal that Rylai was a sworn enemy?

Rylai grinned. 'That I would have a snowball fight with some of the cubs, no magic allowed, and that we should build a snow-bear.'

Ulfsaar cocked his head. Then, much to Davion's relief, he started to chuckle. 'And I'm holding you to that, Rylai.' He lifted his head, his eyes roving over Davion, Eserren, Bram and Caewyn. 'Auroth I know. These ones, I do not.' He squinted. 'You three… you wear the scales of dragons.'

Rylai had mentioned that some ursa clans worshipped dragons, and despised the Dragon Knights. Davion glanced at Rylai, who nodded.

'We…' Davion paused. 'I used to be a Dragon Knight.'

Ulfsaar cocked his head again. 'You left your clan?'

'For good reason, though he is welcome back.' Eserren stated. 'The rest of us are still part of the Order.'

'Did you fell the silver dragon? It has been prowling for the last few weeks, but has not been seen lately.'

'We did.' Davion said. 'We had no choice.'

Ulfsaar nodded. 'Ymir will feel cheated, but you have my thanks. Some of the other clans might not agree, but that dragon was a threat to us. What are your names?'

'I'm Davion. This is Sir Bram,' Bram still appeared unused to the title, 'Squire Caewyn,' Caewyn waved cheerily, despite her chattering teeth, 'and Knight Commander Eserren.'

'Knight Commander?' Ulfsaar repeated.

'I suppose you don't get much news from the north.' Auroth chimed in. 'Eserren leads the Dragon Knights now. And she knows what I am. That she hasn't struck me down should be telling.'

'You never cease to surprise me, Winter Wyvern.'

'You mentioned other clans.' Auroth noted. 'Is there a Clan Moot?'

'There is,' Ulfsaar confirmed. 'Because of the bleeding moon.'

'I should have guessed.' Rylai murmured. 'Have they decided on anything?'

'Only that we're not going to kill the stone-dwellers who came to the Moot.'

'Stone-dwellers?' Caewyn frowned.

Auroth grimaced. 'That's what many of the ursa call people from Stonehall.'

Darkness covered the world as a dark figure floated across the skies. Though all was black as pitch, Fymryn could see Her clearly.

Fymryn lay on her back, floating in cool, fragrant clear water. All around her glided Mene's sacred lotuses, open and spewing streams of darkness and purple light into the sky. Through the blood-stained clouds, Fymryn could see a vast dark orb, streaked with purple fissures, sitting where the sun should have been.

The Dark Moon.

Mene hovered above Fymryn, gazing down at her with violet eyes not unlike Selemene's or Luna's. Her dark hair floated behind Her, contrasting with Her alabaster skin.

She raised a delicate hand, Her long fingers splayed, and Fymryn felt herself rising into the air, rising higher and higher, until she was facing Mene Herself.

Mene smiled at her, and reached out to caress Fymryn's cheek. Her skin was cold to the touch, and Fymryn could feel the mighty power barely contained within the goddess' form.

She shuddered at the touch. It might have been with pleasure, or fear, or simply because Mene's skin was so cold.

'You have done well, Fymryn of Coedwig, my Chosen, my Nightblade.' Mene purred. 'With the Omniscience neutralised, my return becomes a certainty.'

Fymryn stared at her goddess, unable to tear her gaze away. 'My goddess, would that not break the Covenant?'

'The Covenant was doomed to fail the moment the other gods allowed my wilful daughter to usurp me.' Mene stated, Her words dripping with contempt. 'But do not fear. The ones who do not stand with me are confused, blind, alone.

I now hold dominion of the new Covenant, and with the alliance I have created, the other gods will not dare to stand against me.

They fear destruction. So much of what they do is the result of fear. Just as it was with my daughter.

But I do not act out of fear. I seek retribution. Justice. Correction for this corrupted world and its wayward peoples.'

She looked into Fymryn's face, Her own softening. Yet somehow that made Fymryn more fearful than ever. 'Do not be afraid, my child. Only the foolish, the wicked, and the irredeemable shall fall, and their deaths will not be in vain: they will be sacrifices for the creation of a better world.'

Fymryn swallowed. 'I am afraid,' she whispered. 'I am afraid… for my friends.'

'All they need to do to live is repent their wicked ways, turn away from the burning gaze of the Second Light, and embrace me. And I will show them mercy if they recant.

But if they do not, then they must suffer the consequences. I will not brook the presence of other would-be usurpers falsely claiming godhood. The mastery shall be mine and mine alone, as it was meant to be.'

'And the other gods?'

'They will face the same choice. Some have already made theirs.'

'Like the Flayed Twins?' Fymryn asked with a shiver, remembering the horrible, bloody work of the Bloodseeker.

'They chose wisely, if only because we share mutual enemies.' Mene's long fingers brushed across Fymryn's forehead, Her nails sharp against her skin. 'Fymryn, my Chosen, if your friends cannot accept what must come to pass, then they are not true friends. They would have chosen to follow you if they were.'

'I… I did not give them a choice.'

'You knew that they would refuse.'

Fymryn blinked, trying to keep control and failing. 'I… I did. But… they are good people, my goddess. Their hearts are pure.'

'You say that even of the one who destroyed your pod and your village? The one who dares to name herself after the sacred moon? The First Light?'

'She wishes to atone. She nearly gave her life to stop Terrorblade.'

'She has only to repent.'

'My goddess… True-Mother, I care for them deeply. I love them. That is why I am conflicted. If I knew that they would be spared your righteous wrath, then I would be able to fulfil your will with a clear conscience.'

Mene looked upon her with what might have been pity. 'I tried to be lenient once, and I was forgotten by all but the most faithful. I was betrayed by my own daughter. Were it not for the loyalty of the Invoker, and your devotion, then I would never have been able to return.

I am sorry, Fymryn. But I cannot show mercy unless they prove themselves worthy of it. And even if she does cast aside her false beliefs, I will have to ensure that the Princess of the Sun cannot threaten me, and that none of her bloodline may rise against me.'

'You mean… No! Please, Mene! Do not hurt her! Mirana deserves to live!'

'Deserves to live? Perhaps. But there are many who have died who were worthy of life. And there are some whose only reward should be death, and death comes for all sooner or later, even the gods.

Your heart must be strong, Fymryn, and you must have conviction. For the greatest of rewards, fell deeds must sometimes be committed, and they must be committed without hesitation or remorse. To do less would be an insult to those who have sacrificed themselves for our cause.

Tell me, Fymryn of Coedwig: do you love me?'

Fymryn felt Mene's nails dig into her skin. She nodded. 'I do, my goddess. I love you.'

'Do you love your people?'

'I do.'

'Do you wish to be free from the persecution of those who would name you heretic? Those who are themselves heretics, deluded by madness, hatred and evil?'

'I do.'

'Do you wish to see a world in which justice prevails? A world in which the old is restored, as it should be, the righteous hailed and celebrated, the cruel and the wicked punished?'

Fymryn hesitated. Did Mene see the likes of Davion, Marci and Mirana as cruel and wicked because they did not worship Her?

Mene's eyes narrowed.

'I do.' Fymryn answered.

Mene smiled. 'Then you must banish your doubts, Fymryn. But take heart: you will no longer be alone in sharing my gifts, and you will draw strength from your fellow Nightblades.

I have faith in you, my Chosen. You made all of this possible, and together, we shall see our desires fulfilled.'

She withdrew Her hand, and Fymryn felt herself slowly floating back down to the water, her eyes fixed on Mene as She receded into the darkness.

Fymryn opened her eyes.

She was not floating in a pool full of sacred lotuses. Instead, she was lying on a bedroll, and it was hardly stopping her from feeling how hard the ground was under her back.

She might have been more comfortable if she had accepted Aehlie's offer of joining her pod for the day before they slept. The victorious elven warriors had celebrated long into the day, drinking and merrymaking, singing and praying, making love and giving praise to Mene.

Joining Aehlie and her pod-mates would certainly have tired her out enough for a more restful sleep, and she might have been comfortable enfolded in their arms and kept warm by their bodies.

But she wasn't ready for that. She still mourned for Dyfed, Adara and Idwal, and she somehow felt like she would be betraying Mirana, Marci, Davion and all the rest of them if she gave in and surrendered her body, and perhaps her heart, to new lovers.

Fymryn had felt detached from it all, the horrors of the battle and her own doubts too fresh in her mind. She had drifted away from the festivities, giving Strygwyr and his hooting, capering Bloodseekers a wide berth, and simply sat on her own, staring up at the bleeding moon.

She had wanted Mene to return for as long as she could remember. But if she had known what it might cost, would she have done any differently?

She did not know.

She never would.

Eventually, she had returned to her tent and drifted into an uneasy slumber. She had become accustomed to sleeping at night, but per ancient tradition, the Dark Moon Horde rested during the day and acted at night. The transition was not as easy as she had expected, despite her faith and desire to restore the old ways.

Marci wouldn't have liked it. Imagining her indignation at being woken in the middle of the night brought a sad little smile to Fymryn's face.

She wondered if Marci and Davion had reunited yet. Were they resting in a loving embrace as Fymryn lay awake, fretting about them, wondering if she should have gone with them after all?

But she was here now, and there could be no hesitation. She had wanted Mene to return, she still did. It was for the good of all elves, and for the world itself. Mene's retribution might be harsh, but it was right, and once Her ire had abated, She would rule justly and fairly as She once had.

That was what she told herself. She just didn't want to question how strongly she believed it now.

Perhaps, if Mene could not be lenient, she could persuade her friends to see reason and throw themselves upon Mene's mercy. They were good people. Mene would surely see that they were worth saving. They just needed a chance.

Fymryn sighed and turned onto her side, staring unseeing at the canvas wall of her tent.

This had all been so much simpler before she had met Mirana and her friends. Had the Invoker known that she would become so stricken with doubt?

'Fymryn? Fymryn!'

Fymryn sat up, recognising Aehlie's voice. She sounded excited.

Aehlie burst into the tent, her shift loose and on backwards, her leggings haphazardly laced. Fymryn lifted her blankets to cover her chest, wondering if Aehlie was about to pounce on her. Part of her wanted it, just for some sort of relief, to feel some of the pleasure she had been denied for so long. But she still did not feel ready.

'What are you—' Fymryn began.

'Look!' Aehlie laughed. And then… she vanished.

Fymryn's jaw dropped.

Aehlie reappeared crouching next to her, grinning widely, her eyes sparkling. 'Oh! And I can do this!' Another Aehlie appeared in the corner, giggling and waving her arms, and another danced joyfully in front of Fymryn. Both disappeared after a few moments, leaving the real Aehlie at Fymryn's side.

'You're…' Fymryn stammered. 'You're…'

'I've been chosen!' Aehlie squealed. 'I'm a Nightblade now! Just like you!' She leaned in and planted an enthusiastic kiss on Fymryn's cheek. 'Thank you for making all of this possible! We're blessed to have you among us!'

Fymryn should have felt heat in her cheeks, a blush born of embarrassment. But she felt only a cold shiver of fear.

Hello all!

I apologise for the long absence. I won't go into detail, suffice to say that there were a few upheavals over the last few months which left me with writer's block. I thank you all for your patience. I don't want to push myself too hard just yet, so updates may still be slow, but hopefully not so long delayed as they were this time.

I'd also like to single out Annbe11, March4fun and BarrissOffee99 for special thanks, for helping me over this difficult hurdle, and for being patient with me. WhereverMySITakesMe deserves a lot of credit for helping me to write the bath scene in this chapter, even going so far as to provide me with content she wrote herself which I could use as inspiration. Annbe11 also offered to try out DOTA 2 with me, which will likely help us both when it comes to writing characters from the game, and March4fun as usual had encouragement and sage advice to offer, and some good distractions.

Hopefully the path will be a little easier now that I've managed an update. Once again, thank you all for your patience, I am very grateful!