Oldden Stronghold's inner bailey found the morning well. Winter sunlight streamed through the toothy battlements, rendering the grounds within all manners of reds and russets. The nightmen were in their respective positions, some of them leaning with hats pulled forward, waiting for daymen to wake and relieve them. There were windows abound in the neighboring forts, but all were dark. They'd stay that way a while longer, at least until the bell marked the prime. The cooks would then stir, and their ceaseless chopping and banging would bounce between the graystone walls.
Routine, as always. Pleasant. Predictable.
But today was different. Today there were two who didn't quite fit. They came into view as Alyce passed through the bailey treeward. They were sitting on the icy steps leading up to the Keep, engaged in an outwardly friendly discussion. Ethos, the darker of the two, was slouching, elbows resting atop his knees, foot tucked underneath him. He didn't smile or wave when he met her eyes, but she knew that he was pleased to see her, felt it as strongly as the breeze.
Eadric, the other, said something then. Ethos replied without looking away. Doing so earned him a smack in the shoulder, enough to give him a start. He turned his face. They exchanged a few words, heads bent, while Alyce closed the distance between them.
"What's this," she greeted. "Are we all out in the open now?"
Eadric grunted. "It's early," he replied. "And as you can see, we've taken precautions."
She wasn't sure what he meant by that, but Ethos was kind enough to give his shackles a cheerful shake. "I'm the bad guy," he explained, as if announcing his part in a play. "I do bad things and threaten the peace. Also, I have no remorse."
Eadric said, "Put your hands down and eat your breakfast."
Ethos studied his hardboiled egg. "That's how I'm going to introduce myself from now on."
Alyce laughed. When Eadric scowled at her, she asked, "It's time, innit?"
"Just about," he said. "Ellena won't come. I'm beside myself."
"No bargaining with her husband's killer?"
"No, I imagine not."
Ethos glanced. "Say what?"
Eadric sent him a slanted, knowing look. "I fully intend to employ you after this other business is done with," he said. "That's the purpose of our meeting today. But Ellena doesn't think it's appropriate to reward you for capital murder."
"She's right," Ethos said. "You know she is."
"It's not like you have any intention of going home."
"I can make a new home."
"Obviously. So make one here. Or near here, like Calaster." Mysteriously redirected, he suddenly snapped his fingers at Alyce. "You," he barked. "Remind me to tell Peter to contact his family. I don't need the Northern Wolf at my door."
Alyce rolled her eyes. "You know I'll just forget."
"Remember this time or I'll beat you." A backsliding glance becalmed him— and it was no secret why. He could see, same as she, just how torn Ethos was. "It's like I said," Eadric told him, catching his eyes. "People will always draw their own conclusions regardless of what they're told. There are entire communities in the far north who swear up and down that Hans was an illegitimate ruler."
Ethos looked away. Bits of eggshell clung to his fingers.
"How are you feeling about the assembly? You're not nervous, are you?"
Something stirred. If the discussion continued, Alyce didn't hear it. She was trained on the sky due south of Oldden, where, leagues away, there advanced a clouded, corrosive landmass. A powerful light was active up there, pulsing like a fire at night. Alma, they called her. Leviathan. The Light Sleeper. It was she who'd stirred, and all of Karna's monsters had felt it. Not even Ethos could drown it out.
And Ethos… his eyes were intense, fixed to the ground, and they jumped to her when she tapped on the glass. His face didn't change, but somehow she knew to keep her silence. She could feel his pulse patter under her tongue.
"Fascinating." Eadric was watching their exchange, cheek nestled in the heel of his hand. With a leer of dangerous interest, he asked, "Are you communicating with each other right now?"
Ethos went back to peeling his egg. "I told her she had beautiful eyes."
"You're a filthy liar. She looks terrified."
"I didn't do anything."
"No?" Eadric leaned in. "Whatever you're planning, do it right. I don't give second chances unless I have to, and when I have to I can be very unpleasant."
Ethos subtly scanned the grounds, moving only his eyes. He took visible note of the distance to the gate and the men positioned high on the ramparts. He didn't confirm or deny Eadric's suspicions. All he did was clear his throat and ask, "How long is this going to take?"
"The assembly? Several hours, no doubt."
"We'll see about that."
Alyce inadvertently caught Eadric's eye. She recognized the mask of his mask, the neutral bearing he'd sometimes project to conceal whatever he truly felt. She didn't need to read his thoughts to know that his mind was moving about.
But the implication was beyond her, so when Eadric suggested, "It's best if you go on ahead of us, Alyce," she just bobbed her head up and down.
Ethos watched him rise from the steps. "I didn't do anything."
Eadric ignored him and approached the Keep. "A word," he said. "I'll be brief."
Ethos didn't follow immediately. He glanced at Alyce. She knew he could sense her anxiety, but, as usual, he didn't identify with the source. So she glared at him.
His surprise was like a honeybee in her ears. "You're reading me," he said, in admiration. "Do you know what's going to happen?"
"I'm not like that."
"Then what are you like?"
"Stupid. You're always confused."
His smile was a subtle, honest thing, but his eyes were tired and sad at their center. "I know you like him," he said. "I'm sorry if I'm stretching you thin."
Alyce eyed Eadric. He was waiting ahead. "I feel it, too."
Ethos just nodded and climbed to his feet. He didn't say anything. He didn't need to. He followed Eadric into the Keep and didn't look back.
Alyce hung around a while after they'd gone, picking at chips of ice on the steps and sulking and feeling her mood turn sour. The bell marked the prime and the cooks began banging. Echoes bounced between graystone walls. It all seemed irrelevant now, and distant. Routine, be damned. With Alma astir in the overhead clouds, it was all but a matter of time to the end. She and Ethos were two warring forces, bright and dark at once and so loud— Alyce could hardly hear herself think.
She crossed the empty bailey in a daze, fingers and toes all numb with adrenaline. She wasn't sure it was hers, the adrenaline. She was sure it was theirs. Ethos and Alma, the lights, the lakes; the world as a whole had begun to react, as if with a blend of excitement and fear.
The door to the Hall was heavy, but someone arrived to help push it open. Peter. He was handsome and much nicer than he seemed. He asked, "Why the long face?"
She scowled at him. "None of yer earwax."
"Beeswax, you mean."
"What?"
"The saying. It's beeswax."
She'd been too preoccupied to notice him near. Her fault. "You're not supposed to join us until the end of the assembly," she said, pushing ahead. "Go eat breakfast or something."
Peter rebelled and closed the door behind them. He followed her through the firelight, ducking into the corridor over. "Ellena was by," he told her. "I don't think she slept. She's unwell."
"Good thing she's abdicating." Alyce didn't care to talk about it. Not now. They entered the Great Hall, throwing the sound of footsteps throughout. It was vast and furnished with trestle tables, the sort you'd find in mead halls or pubs. Nothing like the level above. "You'll have to keep your head in there, Peter," she said. "It's not about you this time. It's about him."
They'd all been put to the council before. Peter hadn't much liked the experience. "Aye, I'm not an idiot," he grumbled. "I won't do anything."
Alyce slowed at the stairwell beyond the hall, a knot of nerves holding her back. The councilmen were up there, she knew, and the worsening atmosphere didn't help; there was a distinct sensation in the air, a foreboding. She could taste it like actual blood in her mouth.
Alma. The knot of nerves congealed into dread, and Peter must have seen her face. He turned her by the shoulder. "Alyce," he said. "What's wrong?"
It took a moment for her to answer. It was a piebald world, more hostile than not. "The tono seal is breaking," she said. "Eadric can tell something's up. It's confusing."
His northern eyes rounded. "What'd Ethos say?"
"He doesn't hear me like he used to."
"Maybe he knows something you don't."
"I'd bet on it." Her face hurt. She felt around her mouth with her tongue, half-expecting to find a loose tooth. But with Peter watching, she stopped herself and ascended the stairs. "We'll sit in the back," she explained, wanting to spit. "You remember the layout?"
Close at her heels, he replied, "I remember."
"And don't look directly at Norita."
"It's impossible not to."
"Try. She'll take it as an invitation if you do."
He helped her with the second door. "What kind of invitation?"
"Not the kind you'd enjoy." Alyce caught his arm when he started off in the wrong direction. She shook her head at him. "You're not on trial here," she said. "That lets out on the center floor. We've got a few more stairs to climb."
"How many times have you been here?"
Alyce took the lead again. "None of yer earwax."
He chuckled. "Is there anything else I ought to know?"
"Yeah. Don't draw attention to yourself." She took a breath. The clouded, corrosive landmass was buzzing with energy, inching closer. "Calaster's ahead," she continued. "He's a good friend to have, so don't rub him the wrong way. He sits to your left."
"Calaster. Who sits to my right?"
"Eadric, but he wanders."
Ornate double doors awaited them. Alyce remembered being awed by the sight beyond, feeling for the steps with her feet as she stared up at the ceiling. She stared at it now as she entered again. A great prophetess had many years prior painted upon it a violent masterpiece to commemorate the loss of life in the Old War. It depicted two men of opposing sides, suspended in time as they lunged to strike.
Alyce couldn't have explained it, but each viewing of it was expressively unique, as if the picture perpetually changed. When asked about it, Eadric had smiled and told her that every second brought the two warriors closer, and that one day they would impale one another.
So of course it needed a room to match. Someone had designed it after an arena, with five lofty benches encircling the level below, a glorified pit, where often only a person or two would sit at a time to be judged. It was empty now, save for a single stool and a length of chain linked to the floor.
Bagley was laughing across the way, slapping his bench with a meaty hand. "And he wasn't even from Ashen," he concluded, some joke, perhaps, spectacles milky with steam. He turned toward Norita's seat some rock's throw away and leaned forward. "I thought of you, Norita," he leered, flapping his vile, bloated tongue. "I told him that real Ashen women have higher standards."
"Please, just shut up," Norita hissed, eyes flashing. "Your face makes me want to vomit."
Lounged in his seat, Calaster wearily packed a pipe. He was the only good egg among them. While Norita and Bagley were focused elsewhere, Alyce scurried along the top tier and greeted him with a hug.
He made a startled sort of sound. It was the closest he came to laughing. "This is a surprise," he teased, pushing her back. "There, there, grumpy. I'm sure he'll do fine."
Alyce warmed her hands with her breath. "Sorry."
"Don't apologize. Did something happen?"
"No." But he didn't seem convinced. To stop his staring, Alyce delicately removed his glasses and put them on, a ruse to hide her expression. She asked, "Do you like Eadric?"
Blind, Calaster smirked. "Are you trying to get me killed?"
"Ethos thinks that I like him."
"Eadric disguises productivity as playfulness."
"But he's a bad person, Cal. Why would I like a bad person?"
Calaster took his glasses back. The wall sconce made his white hair red. "Sometimes we need bad people, Alyce," he explained. "They can do what the rest of us can't. Whether or not you can accept that quality in an individual is something you have to determine yourself."
The doors below clattered open. Cal quickly fell silent, but Norita and Bagley hardly seemed to notice; both were risen now from their benches, throwing insults and vulgar suggestions. Alyce read Cal's expression and returned to Peter, silent as a field mouse.
Eadric was stiff with irritation when he entered the room with Ethos in tow, which is perhaps why the latter looked so amused. Yet whatever it was they'd discussed in private, whatever the cause of that roguish smile, it wasn't enough to distract Ethos from the ceiling. Eadric noticed, of course, and quickly resigned; he stopped and leaned in to whisper, indicating the two combatants.
Ethos dimmed. But then he grinned and said something fresh to which Eadric gave a dry retort. It seemed like an ongoing trend, dangling bait to see what bit.
Eadric seated him unceremoniously on the stool, a hand on his shoulder, and Alyce knew from experience that the grip was a warning one, hard, bruising bone. Rather than acknowledge the glare it earned him, Eadric affixed the cuffs to the floor and left to claim his seat with the council.
Ethos returned to admiring the painting, and the rage in his eyes was already gone. Alyce jumped when Peter suddenly whispered, "Something's wrong."
She imparted another scowl. "What?"
"Something's wrong," he repeated. "He's nervous."
"Of course something's wrong," she spat back. "I told you."
They fell silent as Eadric slowed beside them, fingertips grazing the bench. His expression was a thing of nightmares, wrapped in a smile. Alyce's skin tried to crawl away. "You're not supposed to be here, Peter," he said. "You should go."
Peter glowered up at him. "Why so keen to get rid of me?"
Bagley's laughter cut in again— it was the hard, grating sort, the kind that interrupted discussions, but Norita wasn't the cause of it this time. His jowls flopped all about as he badgered Ethos from the stands. "Savage, he called you," he cackled. "You sure got yours. Remember me?"
Neck craned, Ethos remarked, "You've grown talkative."
"I'm respectable now. A true councilman like."
Ethos whistled softly. "Promotion. Good for you."
"Don't praise him," Norita barked, interjecting, and her striking eyes slid back to Bagley. "You're an embarrassment, true or not."
Bagley leered, "You're turning me on, Norita."
She ignored him. A thick stack of papers materialized in her hand. "I have an appointment in the garden district to get to, so let's wrap this up," she said, and she squinted one-eyed through a thin pair of glasses to read her own script. "Who was assigned the land deal?"
Promptly proper, bewilderingly so, Benjamin Bagley cracked open a readied ledger. "I've ordered the Erillson homestead seized," he said, flipping pages, eating something caught in the folds. "It's not a bad location, considering. It's the best we can do unless some people disappear."
Norita raked at her throat. "People disappear all the time."
"The Erillson land is fine land," Eadric said. "Jon is dispensable."
"Jon came through for us when Iron Town went into revolt," Cal reminded them. "He deserves recognition for that. I say pass."
Eadric scribbled something down. "Jon betrayed his friends and neighbors, starved the people of Iron Town. He delighted in what it earned him. He deserves no recognition."
"But he was our ally."
"His selfishness was necessary at the time. Next."
"Next are the whores," Bagley quipped. "How many can I put us down for?"
Norita snapped, "If he wants whores he can go up to Wayward."
"Next is payment," Calaster muttered, lighting his pipe. "I ran our numbers in the depository. He can be rostered indefinitely, but we're willing to provide a retainer." He shook out a match. "He'll be the wealthiest commoner in the midlands."
"Not if the Bonesteels show signs of aggression," Bagley said. "We can't afford to take a financial hit with the threat of war hanging over us."
Eadric waved off the last. "I'm sure they'll muster their feeble assets and attempt to take us while we're weak," he said, unconcerned. "Especially now that Kyrian's dead. But the Bonesteels have been plotting to overthrow us since the thirties. Worry not."
Peter sat forward in his chair. "What does Kyrian have to do with it?"
"Kyrian wasn't just a Bonesteel sympathizer," Eadric replied, glancing from his papers. "He was a Bonesteel, married into the Holgersons to keep us all civil toward one another."
Norita concealed a smile. "And now they want the head of his killer."
"But we can't have that," Eadric said. "For several reasons."
Morosely, Peter ventured, "And if the Bonesteels advance?"
"If they advance I'll take care of it." Eadric returned to his work. "Next."
"I accept." Ethos was surveying them from below, hands clasped. The room fell silent. "The land, the money— whatever it is, I'll take it," he said. "Can we be done here?"
Eadric sighed. "I need you to take this seriously, Ethos."
"I'm extremely serious. Look at my face."
"We haven't discussed what your work will entail."
"I imagine it has to do with the other 35% of Karnan agriculture."
"It might. But maybe you should shut up before you agree to something unsavory."
Ethos conceded a cheerless smirk. "You're implying a downside on my end in addition to my participation in the tono extermination. Assuming there is one, wouldn't it be in your best interest to let me make an uninformed decision?"
Eadric asked, "Are you saying you'd be fine with that?"
Somewhere in the mesh of creation, a fiber irrevocably snapped. It felt like a blow to the back of the head. Dizzied by it, Alyce bumped into Peter, who, startled from his thoughts, lurched to catch her before she tripped forward. She apologized and gripped the bench, fingernails tearing up lacquer.
Ethos was also affected, one ear subtly raised, apprehensive. Alma was nearly above them now, weighing on the atmosphere. But the look in his eyes was either misinterpreted or unrecognized; the councilmen moved on without him, their words sounding distant and unexceptional.
Norita set her papers down. "He came by the gift unconventionally," she concluded. "I understand how it happened in theory, but in practice…." She gestured exhaustedly at Ethos, as if at a loss. "He's a scientific anomaly. For now, anyway. Given the time constraint."
Ethos blinked up at her, distracted. "Me?"
She caught his eye. "You stole the gift of the clans."
"I didn't steal anything."
"Then imagine I'm wording it differently," she said. "What once was theirs belongs to you. Your moral dilemma to that end is of little interest to me. The gift itself is. And my failure to replicate what you've done is no excuse for you to run wild."
With a stare, he gave a single shake of his head. "What are you asking?"
"I'm asking you for a child, child," she said, unflinching. "If you die despite the measures we've taken to the contrary, we want assurance that the gift of plenty won't go to waste. So give us a child. We don't care who you choose as a partner."
They'd surprised him. His eyes jumped again; this time, to Eadric. "You're kidding."
Eadric smiled a little. "Now you understand why I told you to take this seriously."
A distant collision shook the earth. Someone faintly screamed, and then— nothing. In the perfect silence of the council chamber, Bagley asked, "What was that?"
Snap. The seal fell away in sheets. Alyce reflexively cried Eadric's name.
The ceiling exploded. Priceless fragments of painted stone collapsed inward, driving them to duck for cover. Peter was Alyce's warm fortification, blocking her from the worst of it. She sucked in dust and coughed it back out.
A woman was laughing, low and delighted. Peter took a quiet oath. Alyce cropped up just enough to peer over the bench at Ethos, to see what had happened, to know.
Alma had come, of course. The Light Sleeper, her glasslike skin sheathing molten gold. It was as if she were diving for oysters, enacting an illusion of marine exploration, hands feeling out the depths of the chamber, reaching, reaching, legs floating free in the space above her. Such terrible beauty. Alyce almost went to her, in a trance.
Except it was Ethos that Alma had come for, and her flowing hair was a black cloud of flies. She was speaking to him, softly, inverted, while he was as much a statue of horror. Great chunks of land passed by overhead: Wyndemere, reduced to rubble, hurtling into the ill-fated city. Alyce marveled that the room could be so still despite the ruin befalling them all.
Alma took off with another dark laugh, back through the crumbling gap she'd created. Ethos didn't react at first, but a shout from Peter snapped him out of it. He quickly struggled with the chain, yelling for someone to get it off. He snarled at Eadric to do something.
Eadric. Alyce had nearly forgotten about him. He'd returned to his feet since the collapse and was staring at the sky with a troubling expression. It wasn't quite fear. It wasn't quite hatred. It was both and yet neither, some terrible blend. Cries for help wouldn't reach him.
Ethos slipped one of the cuffs, scraping his hand raw. The other came more easily. Immediately he was after Alma, out through the hole— a dark, frenzied blur.
Peter scooped up Alyce and ran for the exit. She was too stunned to form a protest. "Put your arms around my neck," he instructed in the stairwell, sounding nervous. "Hold on tight."
She did, because it seemed like a good idea. "She could've killed him."
"Aye, she could've," he agreed. "Where are they going?"
"The Keep. Are we following them?"
He either didn't hear her or didn't feel the need to reply. They spilled onto the ground level, earth shaking underfoot. Chairs scraped across the floor. Tables rattled. Chandeliers crashed. Peter cursed and steadied himself, forcing his way to the previously empty bailey beyond.
Chaos, it was. Horses ran without riders. People shoved one another down. Above, colossal debris collided midair and ricocheted into countless directions. A boulder sailed clear through the bailey and bowled over Third Block, toppling it. A second crashed into the farthermost graystone.
Peter overcame his shock and told Alyce to close her eyes. She didn't. They forged ahead, into the turmoil, into the black heavy rain of dirt, where even the most hardened of watchmen could do little else than run for their lives. It was a frightful thing, the open field. Peter was mad for venturing out, and she was mad for not struggling away. Together they raised the bar of foolishness and promptly set it on fire.
And for what? The sight of scattered eggshells reminded her. The icy stairs led into the Keep, its lights all extinguished, its corridors empty. With no one to fight, no way to defend, most of the men had probably run, thinking it the end of days. It was, for all she knew.
Peter felt for the walls and asked, "Which way?"
"Second level. The Spellman quarters."
He slowed. His stubble scraped her face as he looked about. To himself, he murmured, "One of two things, they said."
"Put me down, Peter."
"I think they're here for Una."
"I think so, too. Put me down, okay?"
Peter just turned up another flight of stairs, still mostly blind and feeling for walls. The stench of chemicals and putrefaction hit them at about halfpart. "Stinks," he said, nose buried deep in the crook of his arm. "Like something died."
They rounded the peak of the narrow stairwell and scanned the level above for life. The window at the end of the corridor was a sinister set of jagged teeth, shattered glass strewn all about where a set of tracks led farther in. Footprints. Handprints. Footprints again. All were golden and gently glowing, as if a painter had finished his work and done some cartwheels to celebrate.
Voices stopped them at the window. Ethos. His familiar tenor was whispering down the adjacent passage, a temperate breeze like the rest of him. Peter cautiously followed the sound to Norita's open lab room, expression lit by the tracks below.
Something splashed. She heard Ethos ask, in confusion, "Why help me?"
Fog rolled into the corridor, chased by a spill of warm, ochre light. Alyce could sense Alma there, pacing by the entrance. "Why," came her voice. "Why. The blind frog asked as much of the fly."
The ground shook. "Everyone says you want me dead."
Alma laughed at him— a joyful god. The light shifted. "You mustn't glare," she purred. "You look like you did in the marshes that night."
"Did you kill the tono?"
"Hardly. They scattered like vermin."
"That's bad form. They've suffered the ages for you."
"Strange," she mused, after a pause. "You're not supposed to have a conscience."
There was a sudden intake of breath: Ethos, in startled pain. Alyce involuntarily lurched to help him, and Peter was too slow to catch her before she hit the floor. His grip on her wrist was tight. Silence fell. The light returned. At once Alyce knew that Alma had heard her.
"Don't," Ethos charged, voice low and serious. "They're no threat to you."
"No?" Alma teased. "But we smell divine blood."
"They're my friends."
Peter clearly didn't know what to do, so Alyce shook him off and entered. Alma was waiting for her inside, intoxicating in every respect. "So it's you," the old god greeted, eyes alight like two holes to hellfire. "Poor thing."
Peter followed and pulled Alyce back. "Careful."
Alma's dizzying gaze deliberately slid to him. A grin split into her face, and she made a big show of turning away. "Friends," she echoed. "Cute."
Peter unthinkingly seized her shoulder. His hand hissed like meat on a griddle.
Alma just laughed at him; it was a pleasantly unpleasant sound. She followed it with a lurid string of the same stormy language that Ethos occasionally thought in. There was a high-pitched wail, a white light, and deafening silence.
She was gone.
Curious, how easily Alyce had overlooked Ethos when in the presence of his mother. She rushed to him now, boots slapping through puddles of water. He was setting Una flat on the floor, one hand bracing the back of her head, eyes too round, assessing condition. He put an ear to her lips.
Una coughed up water. He quickly turned her onto her side and let her have it out there, patting her back as she gasped and heaved, unexpressioned but not unconcerned. When the coughing had mostly subsided, she found his hand and held it close, as if it alone were all she needed.
Ethos lightly touched her face, asking for eyes. He smiled when she looked up at him. "Welcome back," he said. "I think you owe me an apology."
She responded with a refined sort of frown. "I know you."
His smile gradually faded. "What's the last thing you remember?"
Footsteps intervened; Eadric emerged from the connecting workshop and sociably leaned against the doorframe. "I've seen this before," he said. "It'll take a few weeks for her to settle."
Ethos might have been too surprised to react. Blankly, he asked, "Where'd you come from?"
Another impact shook the Keep, freeing dust from cobwebs and rafters. "Buck up," was all he said in return, voice flat. "You've survived another brush with death."
"She's running on a freedom high. She'll be back."
"True." Eadric searched his pockets. "In any case, the situation is different now," he muttered. "I'll need the three of you to lay low until I've reversed the damage."
"How are you planning on doing that?"
"That's for me to worry about." Eadric produced a small copper disc and gave it a sprightly flick of his thumb. It rang against the floor, spinning ripples into puddles. "Stand back," he advised, and did so himself. "It's usually about a yard's drop. You'll snap an ankle if you're not careful."
The floor sucked in the copper disc. Cobblestones crinkled as if they were paper, mortar buckled and curled and creaked: creation fabric, bent like the truth, bent like space, linking the floor in that room to another, another with grass— good grass, the sort you'd only see in the midlands, the sort that was lush and lightly damp and perfect for rolling around in. Alyce quickly realized that they were staring down into an entirely different region of Karna. It was a gateway.
She slipped backward over a fallen book. It fluttered into that midland world and landed on its spine in the grass. A morning breeze flipped through the yellowed pages.
"Go," Eadric said, but not to her. "I'll check in with you later this evening."
Peter slowly approached from the door, arms folded, distrustful. "Where does it lead?"
"A league or two from Anbar City," Eadric answered. "The West End's Dimstar Trading Post will resupply you within reason."
Peter pressed, "Where are we supposed to go?"
"I don't care where you go, Peter. Just lay low until I say otherwise."
Alyce wasn't looking at Ethos, but she thought he must have given a signal, because Peter glanced at him and nodded. "Fine," he said. "I guess we can keep our heads down for a while."
Ethos and Una stood together. It was difficult to tell which was leaning on the other. "Easy," Ethos cautioned, head bent. "Watch the nails, Una. You're digging into my arm."
"My eyes hurt," she murmured. "Why do my eyes hurt?"
"I'll explain when we get out of here." She tried in confusion to push him away, but Ethos seized her, stopping her short. "Look at me," he said, and he was quiet until she complied. "I need you to keep it together right now. I know you can. I'll explain everything as soon as we're safe."
Una pressed her lips together, judging his sincerity.
But Ethos didn't have time to wait. To Peter, he said, "Take her in, please."
Peter glowered. He wouldn't budge. "Why do I have to do it?"
"Because I asked you to." Met by silence, Ethos gestured exhaustedly. "Could you please just do something for me without getting angry about it? For once?"
Alyce thought back to her discussion with Gladius. She wondered if she'd looked as afraid of him as Peter did now, staring at Una. He handled her like the cadaver she'd been, albeit undead and arguably more dangerous for it. Her very touch made him squirm. Alyce knew the feeling.
Peter was the first to drop into the midlands. He was even shorter than Alyce like that, gobbled up to his hips. He ducked just once to gander within, a hand on the jagged edge of the floor to see for himself that it wasn't a trick. Once satisfied, he beckoned Una, nodding when she stared a question.
Ethos waited for them to go. He seated himself on the edge of the gate and looked up at Eadric, legs hanging free in the world below. "She thinks he's alive," he said, of some other subject that Alyce had missed. "She's convinced."
Eadric smirked outright. "It's nonsense, I assure you."
"I hope you're right. He'd be in a pretty tight spot, otherwise."
The ashen flesh tightened around Eadric's eyes. He squatted down, clasping his arachnic hands. "I can't help but notice the insinuation in your voice," he mused, playing friendly. "Are you aware of how I respond to passive-aggressive behavior?"
Ethos didn't smile with him. "Just tell me he's dead."
"He's dead." Eadric returned to his feet, quickly spent of the matter. "Hans was murdered shortly after the war ended," he said. "Poison. He died foaming at the mouth."
"Did you ever find out who did it?"
"I did it." Eadric wasn't joking. "He'd lost his mind," he went on. "The men didn't need to see him like that, so I made the call. A sovereign is supposed to be righteous, reliable, and he was no longer either. I immortalized him before he could ruin himself."
Ethos was glaring now, but Alyce wasn't sure which part had bothered him most. His eyes moved to her like she'd spoken. "Come, if you can," he said, and he dropped down into the midlands, kicking up mist and morning dew, opting out of a parting word.
Eadric caught her eye. "Shut up."
"I didn't say anything."
"Then hurry up and say something."
"Why, so you can stand there and tell me to shut up?"
They faced off for several long seconds. Eadric eventually sighed and pointed at the gate. "Go," he said, sounding much older than usual. "It's not safe here and you obviously want to."
Feeling slow, she asked, "Does this mean you're letting me off?"
"It's not forever," he replied. "You just happen to be in the way. You're foul at cooking, you reek of stables, and I'm generally repelled by the sight of you."
"You're letting me off," Alyce teased. "You love me."
He watched her approach. "You don't want my kind of love."
"Stupid. I get all sorts of things I don't want." Alyce hugged him because she knew he didn't like it. Face buried, she asked, "Are you sure you're not my father?"
"Explicitly. I'd never lay a hand on your mother unless it was to have out her tongue."
She chuckled, squeezing him tight. "My mother was a beautiful woman, Eadric."
"Yes, and riddled with syphilis. I mourn the day I rejected her."
Alyce peered up at him. "Tell me you'll miss me."
Eadric blinked. She hoped that his subtle subsequent smile was real. "I'll visit," he said, brushing her overgrown bangs back. "How's that for a deal?"
"Good enough. What are you planning to do about Una?"
His smile became a hard line. "It depends on how bad the side effects are."
"I thought you'd be more concerned about the mark. She's just like her father now, immune."
Eadric continued to study her eyes. "The threat is contained as long as you keep that information to yourself," he said. "People get ballsy without the fear. I have no use for ballsy today."
Alyce backed up. She knew the speech. "Ethos knows."
"He also knows what I'll do if he tries to be clever again." He shooed her, insistently. "Now go, for pity's sake," he said. "I have places to be."
"Places to be, people to pester?"
"It's foolproof. Get lost. The city's on fire."
Alyce uneasily surveyed the gate, taking a knee. It was literally a hole in the floor. "So this is how you did it all these years," she scoffed, glancing. "Where'd you get it?"
Eadric was staring out the door. "Trade secret."
Alyce scowled and stuck her head in, hair hanging, grazing the grass. The others were near on the inverted countryside, backlit by dayrise. Peter and Ethos were gathered, standing, the taller appraising the shorter's burnt jaw while the shorter affectedly rolled his eyes and crowed his impression of bad northern gibberish, eventually seeing Alyce and grinning. She thought she must've looked an odd sight with her head hanging in open space like it was.
A boot on her back pushed her into the midlands. The fall was brief and unremarkable. She spat a curse as the dark hole closed, and later she'd swear she'd seen Eadric up there, smiling as if he weren't the evilest thing in creation.
But now she was risen before sprawling land, and everything else was suddenly less. The sky was clear. The air was crisp. Alyce would sooner have said, "Eadric, who?"