In Her Blood Pt. 03

To my friend Juniper Mitford VI,

I hope this letter finds you in good tidings. Last we wrote, I believe you were expecting your fourth child and, if my calendar is correct, it would be about time to welcome them into the world. I truly have nothing but the best wishes for the health and wellness of both you and your newborn. My correspondence with your eldest has been most enjoyable and I hope that in the coming years I have a new set of letters to delight my writing table.

As to your previous letter, I understand your concerns. The military deployment of Gaisgeachs has certainly affected me and my diplomatic positions. You and Grand Cardinal Nerus have done your part to ensure that your positions are known and known loudly. Thus, I reiterate ours. We are committed to a fair trade of goods. We are committed to a peaceful and calm deposition between our nations. We are committed to a civil dialogue about the concerns of the governing bodies and the citizenry. We are welcoming of any and all who would wish to travel or settle in our lands. That has not changed. That will not change. Your concerns of exactly who is taking part of that last part of identity are noted, but that does not change our stance. You and your family have graced our cities before, partaken of our beaches, basked in our shared sun and you and your family are more than welcome to do so again. Just as everyone else is.

I am worried, however, about some of the implications of your last letter. You and the Grand Cardinal have respected our differences in the past, even as we have maintained neutrality in the conflicts between the two of you. I understand that wartime is chaotic with alliances ever changing. We are not in wartime. I want to remain not in wartime. I am unsure if that's what you want.

It's a beautiful day out today as I write to you. Ximena the Crane, one of the new intermediaries, has informed me that there is a farmer's meeting to be held at the central beach and that some of my new friends wish to see me there, if only to provide a few bottles of my family's mezcal. If I recall correctly, you have a fondness for that spirit as well. I shall send some with this message for you to enjoy. I have been adjusting some of my great-grandfather's techniques and I do believe that I have surpassed him, finally. Please send my regards to Prince Bernhard as well. I would love to hear his thoughts on the last batch I sent him. I hope to hear from you soon.

Your friend,

Hector LaPlanta

---

War, ever looming, ever present, ever lasting war. It hangs in the air like the chill of the night. It clings to my skin like my dark leathers. It twists in my mind like the knife in my hand. I twirl it across my knuckles one last time before before sliding it into its sheath, hidden among my cloak with its many, many brethren. It may happen again here, but I will be long gone by then.

The room is small and sparse. I am lucky enough to have a bed and a blanket, even as hard and as thin as they are. I am lucky enough to have free access to a toilet down the hall instead of a bucket in the corner. I am lucky enough to even have a small closet full of fine dresses that I get to wear when I am trotted out like a prize stallion for the salacious masses to gawk at. Everything is tucked away and neat. Everything is clean. I pull the scarf around my neck up over my mouth and bite against the rough fabric. I let the breath go and stare at my life as I know it one last time. There is nothing else I want to take. Bernhard is waiting for me and he already has everything we need. As one last little bit of flair, I neatly line up all the vials I was supposed to be administered on the bed, just so they all know exactly what went wrong when they bother to figure out this entire mess.

I gently ease the door open, lifting so that the hinges don't squeak. Darkness, endless darkness in the hall, but I slowly cut it away as I make my eyes adjust. They see thin window slits and cold stone, no guards or hapless wanderers so I get to play this bloodless for now. I make no attempt to slink or sidle, just lighten my steps so that they do not echo. The fancy carpet I am no doubt mussing up makes it even easier.

A small chime forms at the base of my spine that wishes to drag me back. We are approaching the hard line of where I am allowed. My heart jumps to my throat as the conditioned panic sets it. It's known. Bernhard and I have practiced our disobedience one step at a time. I have felt it before and know what will come next. My hands shake. My steps falter a bit, but I keep marching against the phantom. I work the tension from my fingers and that helps almost as much as me working my neck. It's something to master and hold down. It's something to shatter, with however a shaky hand.

I come to the corner and that's the line. The bell is deafening, blotting out all of my other thoughts. Sweat on my brow, hands shaking, heart hammering, even my vision is starting to narrow and blacken, but I force one more step, one more inch over that line. Bernhard is right there, with a standing order to meet him whenever I want to see him. That's what he said and that's what's true.

Just as I knew it would, nothing happens. The panic doesn't break right away, but each step further down carves out the edges to a softer shape. It's manageable. It's all manageable. Small steps into a full hike, it all starts here.

The entire castle is asleep as it well should be. The good queen has a big day of ruling her subjects tomorrow from her fancy chair. The guards have a big day of patrolling the streets and twirling their cudgels. The maids will have the honorable duty of scrubbing the floors and ensuring that this place is kept running for better or worse. No one notices me as I slip through the darkness and up a tower.

There's no grand ceremony waiting for me, not even an archer bored out of his mind with a cute ass and a bashful demeanor. There's a makeshift chair out of an old sack of hay and discarded pillow down, a table of crates and a few discarded carafes that are not worth their own dregs. It's all vinegar by this point anyway. There is however, a small balcony with a well placed rope waiting for me.

The city stretches out from vantage, all in a gentle repose of the night. The only life I can make it is from the south side, the brothels and taverns still engaged in their revelry against common decency. Long may that particular king reign on his throne of seed and beer, two of the only things that are actually fun in this town. I trace the line of wealth inward along the cobblestone streets until we come back to me. Off to my right is another tower, riddled with broken arrows that the wind hasn't carried away. He really has gotten better. That's a talent he's matured all on his own.

I tie the requisite knot in the provided anchor and toss the line over the side. The panic's gone, even from this height. Either this all works and I safely climb down, or none of this is my problem anymore. Either way really, I get out. I know what I would prefer, but the plan has contingencies however grim. I test my weight as if that will make any of this a certainty. It works. I tip myself over the edge and I do my best to turn into a cloud.

For a cloud, I hit the stone walls hard. I expected nothing else. I press against the stone walls and start my descent in earnest. The wind picks at my clothes and wants to send me down to the rooftops. It's a helpful thing really, if a bit overeager. I'm tough, but not enough to win against gravity. My victory comes from attrition and patience.

Someone from down below coughs. Just another sentry cursing their lot and their post and their temperament for not being disciplined enough to be stationed inside. That's how it always is. They like the gentle ones, the calm ones, the stoic ones. I press against the stone and wait for the footsteps to pass as I remain in shadow. That's the grand beauty of this entire trick. Nothing has happened, so nothing will happen. The world is asleep so no blades would dare to do anything to disturb that.

I softly land on the castle wall. From there, it's just a matter of getting to the east side where an overgrown willow tree was planted to break my fall before I was born. The panic comes back again for a moment, but it's natural this time. We are at the hard boundaries of my permission, the wind once again picking at my soul and threatening to dash me against the ground like a porcelain doll. I see my branch, the one just my size, and let myself go once again.

For a moment, I'm weightless. For a moment, there's not even the rush of wind on my ear, and the weight of my clothes does nothing to ground me. For a moment, I'm free. Then my mind catches up to reality and some of the training that's cut into me makes me calm. I turn and twist until my hands cover my face and I brace for impact.

The branches aren't soft objectively, but they are softer than anything else. One of the sharpest nick my cheek, but once again, that's still one of the better outcomes to all this. I catch my perch and slowly roll the standing. The rustling was nothing more than a gust of the wind. I cling and wait for the alarm to raise and a full legion to descend upon me. It doesn't come. I hear another cough and I think I'm getting out at the right time. I do not want to witness another surge of whatever plague is coming on the air today.

The rest of my walk is even easier now. Across the roofs like it was a garden path, around the chimneys like friendly signposts, my body sings with the motion. It might be the adrenaline, it might be the excitement, but it's good to work out the edges. Even then it's just good to move again. Too many days spent crushed into too stiff dresses with too hard shoes. This is what I was made for, even before everything else. I follow the sloping roofs to the outer walls.

I still on the edge of my last rooftop step. Deep in the alley stands a man warming his hands and looking after a pair of horses. He's making the mistake of staring at the ground, just like the rest of the city. It's adorable. He should know better, especially knowing what I am and where I am coming from. The horses catch my scent on the wind. That sends them into a bit of a tizzy, shaking their heads and snorting in disgust. I like them. They are at least upfront with their prejudices.

What really gets me is his reaction. He picks up on the horses and starts a quicker scan. I'm still not on the ground, around the corner, or in the gutter. He gets the idea to look up and for a moment, I think he gets me. Then his eyes glaze right over a me shaped shadow and continues on their way to the stars. I'm not there either. I'm sliding down a wall, not even trying to soften the rain of dust and pebbles down below.

Before he can react, I snake my hands around his waist and pull him close. My hands tend to wander and they are being very, very naughty. His stomach, his hips, and of course, that wonderful pound of flesh he's convinced is a pitiful offering for me. My palm grinding into it should clear the issue, but I know him. He'll get all blushy and shy the moment the act comes.

"Bernhard," I whisper in his ear, "We have to stop meeting like this. What will your mother think?"

To his credit, he does not immediately melt into puddle of my preferred vessel for carnal satisfaction. He stands up straight, especially against my palm. To my absolute surprises and even more to his credit, there's a subtle shift in the posture, bowing out the elbows, all minute without an inch wasted. I'm not on the ground, but he is free, positioned so that a bit of force could send me against the wall and he'd be off around the corner. I am just plain impressed with him.

He chooses, out of everything he could do, to press the advantage and lean up to me. In the dark of the alley, under the river of milk pale stars, we kiss. He breaks before I can start working my tongue into the pattern, but the thought is nice.

"Would you prefer we meet at the gallows, Ellyn?" he asked.

"Little bit. I have my last words planned and everything."

"I don't believe you."

"It would start a treasure hunt. Half this country dug up by the end of the first week. Then we'd slip out of our graves and go on with plan A."

"I may not be an expert, but I don't believe Gaisgeachs can rise from the dead."

"New formulas. Shame we're doing this now. They're working on a version where we can fly."

"I thought the next one was a venomous bite. Now you'll never know your true potential. We can stay if you want."

"Fuck no."

"That's what I thought. Did you bring the treats?"

I rummage a little bit more, past the army of knives in my cloak and come out with a fist sized pouch full of dried herbs laced with some rather potent concoctions. I have access to so many things and all I have to do is put them in my pocket instead of taking them and the world is better place for it.

Bernhard's nervous. He keeps glancing down the to the street. He should be focused on me. He does look good in black at least, nice and tight across his chest, just a bit of his arms poking out, hugging his thighs and making sure that my imagination is left to wander just the right amount. It's the nerves. Our thoughts always slip down to the base when we are nervous. It's part of the reason we've slotted together so nicely.

"We're really doing this?" I whisper.

"Yeah," he says, "Yeah. I'm done here. Are you?"

"Nothing left to say. You're giving up more than me."

"Not really. I don't have anything I really want back there. I'm bringing the one thing I care about anyway."

His hands go to my hips and he brings me in one last time. We don't kiss. We just hold each other for a moment, just waiting for the moment to pass and for us to actually do what we want.

I break first. He lets me. We steel our nerves, his learned and mine carved. The horses take a chance to catch the full spectrum of my scent and that calms down them down a second, long enough for me to saddle up. His motions are just as smooth if not smoother. He pats himself down, one last time, just to make sure. He has everything he needs, down to the bow and quiver hanging from the saddlebags. I have my many, many knives. We have each other and that's the best part.

He kicks the horse gently and mine is nice enough to follow without too much extra prodding. Each step is another echo back up the roads to the castle. The all seeing eye in the highest tower is still asleep and our racket does not wake it. I keep glancing back, just in case. He keeps his eyes forward, down to the massive central gate. This is not the most ingenious plan, I will admit, but ingenious is overrated so long as it's effective. We canter along, gazing into the night and jumping at the shadows.

We are coming back to the light, a sentry torch under the mouth of the gate, the cold iron jaw crushed down to the earth. Worst than the teeth, there are guards there, milling about in the flame's warmth. We make no attempt to hide ourselves. We are anonymous night people who have important night business to night complete.

Bernhard straightens in his saddle and I do the same. If we are big enough, then we will simply waltz trough with no one stopping us. It doesn't work. One of the guards peels away with an empty stare and general disinterest. He's in the way, though. We can't have that.

"Do you have the pouch," he says with no concern to formalities. He's almost falling over himself. The only thing keeping him upright is the spear he chooses to use as a support. Bernhard's pretty little silver tongue has no use as I rummage once again in the fold of my clothes. I grasp my prize and causally lob it overhead. For once, the sloth gives way to a small bit of panic as his hands drop the spear and he chases the prize. He almost fumbles it, but that would have been his problem, not mine.

"Now the gate," I say. Bernhard does his part to be intimidating, although he does manage to be more regal than anything else.

The guards almost forget the most important part. It takes another royal dressing down and a sharp interjection to actually get them to do the opposite of their jobs. One of them peels away in the wheelhouse and the iron mouth opens with a harsh scream. I hear a dog bark, but the castle is still asleep. Bernhard looks to me one last time. I only catch it out of the corner of my eye. I'm staring dead ahead, down the road and into the night. I kick my horse and Bernhard follows. He was right. There really is nothing for us here.

---

Dear Esteemed Comisario Hector LaPlanta,

The pleasantries are over. You are amassing a significant population of Gaisgeachs within Lauran borders. The only reasonable explanation that I can think of to do so is military in nature. These Gaisgeachs were under the command of either myself or Grand Cardinal Nerus. You have continued ransacking these strategic assets, disregarding the joint warnings of both myself and Cardinal with banal appeals to a common good I am convinced you no longer share.

You never were a large player on this stage, so I question your perspective on matter. You have not had the necessity of Gaisgeach husbandry. You do not know the process. You do not know their care. You do not know their temperament. I would not trust my newborn to correctly handle a rabid dog, no matter his intentions. It is simply beyond him as whatever you are undertaking is beyond you.

I intend no insult. I merely state facts. You have disregarded our warnings. You have disregarded our bargains. You have disregarded our interventions. I do not want war either, despite whatever you may believe, but I do not know any other course of action. Return the Gaisgeachs, or better yet, put them down. If you lack the means to do so, then we can arrange disposal.

Regards,

High Queen Juniper Mitford VI, Will of the Empire

---

A week on the road and there were no shadows behind us. No dust clouds, no rattling carts, no armies amassing at the horizon, just a sense of weight slowly chipping away. Each step down the path has my back straight, my smile wider, my eyes wandering more and more to Bernhard and the fact that we are waking up next to one another. Sometimes, we're entwined. Others, we're just barely holding hands.

The clouds overhead are turning grayer and grayer as our march continues. Bernhard glances to me, back to the sky, back to me. I do not have the ability to change any of that. To my knowledge, that particular injection is still at least a decade away. But the clouds are much, much closer. I look to him, back to the sky, meet him halfway and just shrug. If we get rain, then our tracks are covered. If we don't then we stay dry. We have a river off to our right, so we're good on water either way.

Still, we both spur our horses a bit harder, just in case. Normally, rain means hot tea pots and us crammed in some corner of the castle library, me pretending to be at attention until my legs lock up, him pretending to read while he is instead committing the shape of my ass to memory. Or reading ribald smut that was on some forgotten parchment in order to get ideas once we finally had the time. Here, it means soaked clothes and catching our death. I would much rather be out here, all things considered. He can check out my ass whenever he wishes here.

The river swells at our side and laps at its banks. Even more foreboding is the shells on the outside, thatched roofs rotted away to crumbling stone walls. The fields have returned to being wild and overgrown, as they always should have been before someone decided that wheat needed taxing. His mother has an appetite for those sorts of things. We keep riding on with tension mounting in our shoulders.

Like a plow cutting into the earth, the rain comes out in front of us. Heavy sheets, low clouds, the gentle upending of our souls through constant thunder, it all hits me first.

And I survive. Very easily, I survive the first hit and take the rest just as well. Cold, absolutely, unpleasant, certainly, but it is just a bit of water from the sky and a general chill. Bernhard's laughing behind me as he realizes that this was just the rain, not the end of the world. I throw my head back and let everything hit my face. Cold, sharp cold across my skin, down my neck, matting my air, all of that cutting thin lines of sensation down my body. My horse doesn't seem to appreciate the free bath, but I do.

"We need to keep moving," Bernhard says because he is a fuddy duddy who has no idea how to have fun. I crack an eye open to him. We don't. He's wrong. We can stay here so I can look at him just all disheveled and shivering, clothes tight on his body. We can stay here and let all this rain wash away whatever we were before.

Then I sneeze and prove his point. He has the grace to not say anything. He does, however, have the smug satisfaction of point off down the road to another set of ruins. This one has a roof and what looks like a waterwheel still turning with the storm surge, even if it has no idea what it is supposed to turn.

He's right. It is nice to get out of the rain. Once we're under something, all that water just turns heavy and cold. I shiver, trying to shake some warmth into me. He's doing a much better job of smothering his discomfort, but it's there, right at the edges. The horses are much more appreciative of their new sate of being. They are dry with enough to drink and an overabundance of overgrown weeds to snack on. We have saddlebags full of rations and that is just as good.

It's a water mill, judging by the off kilter grinding wheel and canvas sacks moldering in the corner. It's his turn to sneeze. We are truly going to die now, holed up until the wolves come and rip us to shreds. Our tinderbox made it out unscathed and we have enough scrap wood here to light up the whole building. I see to that while Bernhard has the rest of our things to rifle through our. A few sparks, a bit of blowing and we have turned the millstone into a fire place. I am very pleased with myself and I deserve some sort of reward.

"Do you want to do this now," Bernhard says, "Or before we turn in for the night?"

He has the exact opposite of a reward in hand. It's a small vial of a blue liquid, almost shimmering in the firelight, and a needle, thin and sharp. I tense. I back away. I look to the needle and glare it down like a wild animal. I know what that does and what it's supposed to do, even if the color is different now. It's changed before and I don't trust it.

He gingerly puts them down shows me his open hands, calm, perfectly calm.

"Ok," he says, voice low, "We don't have to do that right now."

"That just means we'll do that later," I say, still staring at his hands.

"Yeah, it does."

"I thought the whole point was to get away from all that."

"It is. I'm just going off what the letters said. You read them too."

I hate that he's right. I hate that so much of this is on trust. I hate that this is actually supposed to help me and get whatever they put in my system out. I hate that it will probably even work. I hate that I am slowly peeling off my wet clothes and inviting the chill even closer. Then the fire comes and soothes it away, flames licking at my back like a friendly dog. Bernhard is politely averting his gaze to preserve my dignity.

He keeps finding the wall to be the most gentlemanly he can be, but he breaks when he feels an arm lie across his shoulders. He glances to me, sharp nose and wide eyes too mine. Then he goes to my chest and forgets everything else about me. That's fine. I'm more annoyed with the veneer than it shattering. We need to chip that away so he is constantly transfixed by my body and everything I am.

"We're doing this now," I whisper.

"Are you sure," he asks, finally breaking from my breasts to come back to my eyes. I nod. It's good for me, actual real medicine that's supposed to slowly clear away the poison. I kiss his cheek and he holds me tight for a moment. I give him what scant warmth I've cloistered. He is still in those wet clothes. It is my job to care for him. I tug on his hem. The poor thing doesn't know how to dress himself. That's done by maids and butlers and occasionally me.

He has such a sorrowful smile. It has never quite reached his eyes, but I have seen it creep closer and closer. This time, it is a bit higher, just past the bridge of his nose. He lifts his arms up and I start unrolling that as well. He's chilled to the bone, goose-flesh on his arms, nipples erect, and a barest shiver in his core. I give him more of my warmth. The flame is generous and so am I. Her pours himself int me. I'm taller than him, but not by much. Her has broader shoulders and that's to be expected, a set of strong arms that are just as good as holding me as mine are to him.

"We're on our way," he whispers to me, "This is just part of stars' path."

"If you say so," I whisper back, planting a kiss on his forehead. The stars have ideas and sometimes those ideas filter through to us. More often, people lie about that and claim that what they already wanted to do was what they were told to do.

I push us apart and hold out my arm. A soft finger traces the set of small puncture scars in the crook of my elbow.

"Do you want that arm," he asks, "or do you want to start fresh?"

"That's where the poison came in. That's where it's strongest."

He nods and kisses my cheek. The needles back. It never really left, that thin tip almost making me break away and run off into the storm. A low rumble cuts through the sky but his hands remains steady. The tip hits my skin and he applies the requisite pressure. I hiss when the bite comes through. I watch it all. More pressure, more pain all flowing into me. The blue serum slowly works its way down until it hits my veins.

To my surprise, it doesn't hurt anymore. It's cold, but not unpleasantly so. The hiss through my teeth slowly becomes a softer rush over my lips. Bernhard does his part wonderfully. He might have even consulted some monsters on how the procedure is supposed to go.

The plunger runs dry and he quickly withdraws the needle. A drop of blood pools in the cook of my elbow until a quick bit of pressure and cloth wipe it dry.

"How are you feeling?" he asks me as he watches my arm react. The underlying muscle clenches in time with my heartbeat.

"That is much better than the ones I had before," I sigh. I work my hand and itching palm. That parts the same. So is the weird thrum of lightning under my skin. Underneath all that chill is a brand new warmth, down to my bone, pulsing underneath with my heartbeat. My breath doesn't fight it. If anything, it just makes it work faster.

My vision flickers and shifts for a moment, bright, shining, crystal clear. I see through Bernhard, right through him, down in the minute wood grain, each little any crawling on a branch a mile away. I cough and my entire body goes into the motion.

It snaps and I shake me head. My vision comes back to me, just me. I let the tensions go.

"Ellyn," he says softly, "You're eyes are changing again."

"Yeah," I say, voice gravely and rough, "Yeah, they do that sometimes."

"I mean more than usual. They're usually just white. Now they're, I don't know, blue."

"Blue's a pretty common color, I thought."

"Not like this. Here."

He shuffles over me and I am aware of every minute motion of his body, every drop of blood in his veins pumping from his heart. I can even see the sparks of his nerves to carry out the motion. His hand goes to my back.

I snatch him. He wandered too close and now I just drag him down with me. Heat, raw endless heat in my core, given to him freely. I only hold him for now, feeling everything I saw. Even that's more than it was. Every individual inch of muscle, the bone trembling In protest against my strength. Then he gives in once he realizes what I am. Best of all, he returns the gesture.

It's not the same arousal as the standard fare. Even the one brought about by the old had a sharper edge to it. This is warmer, rounder, growing from my core and pulsing onward with a gentle wave. I sink through it like a sea, warmth and power slowly lapping over my head until I cant breathe. I just hold him as he holds me, stroking my back, pressing my breasts against his chest, feeling another heart beat dance out of sync with my own.

His hands creep lower and lower because he is not immune either. We have a colony of bats in the rafters to entertain in all likelihood. If they don't like it, then I'm sure the snakes in the foundation will. I certainly like the way his hands feel. Calloused, but not rough, forged strength in his grip from his preferred art of war, and the confidence to just take what he wants as I goad him to be greedy. I certainly am.

My length pulses and throbs against its too small prison. I'll deal with that later. Bernhard is doing much too good of a job with my breasts. He's smart enough to get his mouth involved while his free hand, beautifully rough, runs across my nipple. It's less urgent, this new sensation. Just as voracious, but intent on savoring every instant of our time together. I run my hands down his back. All of my own strength goes to keeping in entwined with me and me alone.

His excitement is making itself know as well, just as loudly as mine. It's pushing against my erection, against my stomach, heavy and strong. We'll deal with that too in a moment. We have bodies to drink in and worship and those are just parts of the while. I feel his chest, broad and strong. I kiss what I can, his forehead his eyebrows, tilting and pulling him when I wan more. He obeys my motions because he knows whats best for him.

He knows what's best for me, too. His lips leave me cold as he trails down my stomach with just the same pressure. I cant do anything with my lips anymore and that's terrible. I get more freedom though, the wind through the gaps in the wall. It runs over my neck.

"Oh you needed this didn't you," he murmurs, "You're shaking so much."

"It's been so long," I groan, "What did you expect?"

"More or less this. I know the process. Do you think I'm going to be enough? The standard's three retainers, right?"

"Right, but I never got that. I just got you. You better be enough."

He shivers when my words hit his ear. That's only makes me more eager. We've come to the point where I cannot be denied. I take my palm to the top of his head and start pushing down. He's still smart enough to obey my will. I keep pushing and he keeps me on his lips. The urges have a shape and a path and that does wonder for my sanity. Rain, there's so much rain howling outside. A storm to upend the earth and the worst thing in the world is me right here, pushing against my seams and in dire need of attention.

He kisses my bulge that I feel a stitch give out. He's good to me, if not quite enough to actually do anything. He kisses it again because that's the best thing he could possibly do. Then his hands come into the picture again, tracing the path the rest of him took to tease me one last time.

Bernhard cuts me down to my bare self with a thought. The chill hits first only to be swept away with my one need. I sigh deep in my throat, perfectly primal. Thunder rolls over thee clouds and I see a flash of light off on the horizon. The cold turns a bit and I find a new set up, legs wide and arms long. Bernhard has more work to do and he takes his new tasks well.

My erection hurts in the best way, throbbing and pulsing with the new venom it has in its system. I drink in the storm. Lighting in my veins, power in my core, wind on my lips, Bernhard tends to me.

"Are you scared," I hum. I just get a long soft rush of breath as he steels his nerves.

No warning, no fan fare, just a moment of preparation and he is on me, warm mouth spread open and taking me in. I hiss at the sparks blooming under my eyes. My vision swims and breaks. Something in my thighs breaks and they scramble for purchase. I can't hold the noise in my chest. Not a moan, not a growl, something deeper and more primal. All that from just a bit of heat on his lips.

Just the tip, just the summit, just the smallest bit of pleasure and that has me shaking and almost breaking down into a trembling mess. He breaks and looks at me.

"Your eyes are going crazy," he says.

"You need to do that again," I growl.

"I will. Oh, I will. But I just want to hold this for a second. You are impressive to say the least. Shame you never got any retainers. You could have made them very happy with this."

"Your mother thought it was unbecoming. I sneaked out to the red lights before we started playing together. They had to turn me away after a while. Said I was too intense."

"Don't I know it. I think this thing is going to bite my head off."

I roll my hips and he just gives me a bit more with his hand. I can't force him to do anymore than that right now. He's too far away. My legs can't entwine him and hold him down. My hands can't bend him, can't break him. His hands, his wonderfully strong and perfectly precise tongue, weave this torture so sweet. He's had practice, locked alone like a princess in the highest tower. It's what I would have done if I had more time to myself. It's the best cure for boredom outside of anything productive. His hands glide up and down my shaft, taking my preseed down and coating so that the motions become even easier.

"You're doing so well for me," her murmurs. His lips come back into play, kissing my pelvis, moving down my thighs before settling against my sack and giving me his snaking tongue.

I buck, hard, when the sensation hits as I continue my flow. I hear him laugh under the storm. He's proud of himself. He has to be. A mighty warrior, the supreme culmination of his nation's war engine, moaning like a bitch with just a gentle touch. It's all nonsense and tongues, meaningless noise that just want more. He is not giving me more. He needs to give me more or I will not be held accountable for what I do to him once I have the strength to do so.

That keeps evading me, no matter how hard I try to snatch it. It's even worse when he brings his mouth back to play along my length. Tongue first, just to make sure I know what he is doing, before his lips join and dot pin pricks of starlight along my length. He reaches my tip.

"Look at me," he whispers. It feels loud enough to part the clouds.

I do and it is agonizing. My preseed flows like a river across his cheeks. He is staring daggers at me, raw and fierce. I'm big enough to eclipse that beautiful face, more than half of him obscured by me and me alone. Bernhard is not afraid. If anything he is matching whatever urges I am consumed by. I watch him slowly opening his mouth and go to my tip.

It's slower this time, especially once I can make out every miniature detail and match it to the nerves on fire in my body. He is slow, never breaking eye contact, forcing me to know, certainly know what he is doing to me. I feel endless warmth greet my length as he takes me deeper. He must have been practicing. There's no other way.

He backs off once he reaches a third of the way down, pacing the act just to make it that much more torturous. He's back to fresh air for a cleansing breath, breaking eye contract with me just for a moment, and he goes back.

It's even easier for him this time now that he knows me just as well as I know him. It's the first time we've done this particular version. Usually it was just us using our hands, touching and groping and begging to have the other be something solid and whole to keep forever more. This is much better. He's half way down and keeps descending. He keeps his eyes on me and I have to break this time, eyes shut and listening to the thrum of might from the earth cracking open. I can feel his stupid elf satisfied smile creep over his lips and change the shape he gives. I hate that. I love that.

Everything stops once he hilts me in his mouth and holds me down. I get pressure, suffused with warmth, and a playful tongue to glance alone my senses, I moan. Loud and long and beautifully toned. Every muscle in my body clenches and flexes with the urge. I feel my prerelease splash against the back of his throat and that same smile turns to a laughing hum before changing once again into a nameless song. His hands go to my thighs and grip tight. Nothing in me can fight him. Nothing in me wants to fight him. He just slowly withdraws leaving a chill where his lips leave me for open air.

I am free once again with a small pop. Bernhard coughs and sputters and I regain a bit of my ego. I can still be too much for him.

"You stopped looking," he says. Just that little bit of disappointment shreds me again. He brings his hand back into play and that is even worse..

"What are you doing to me?" I moan.

"What you needed. Don't tell me you don't like it. This is what we should have been doing all along. You said it yourself. Don't stop looking at me."

There's just a bit of an edge to his voice, just a hint of not quite malice, but something hard edged. Authority, raw and plain authority, that's what bleeds through the edges. He really has picked up something to keep everyone else in line from all those days wasted playing the game. Despite my size, despite my strength, despite the claws of rebellion shredding my heart, that voice is there to fill in the gaps of my resolve. I go stone still, just as he wants. His eyes do not flash with ever color of wanton lust. They just remain a cool steady gray blue, the color of stone mixed with calm seas. He remains and endures me while I can barely endure him.

He starts again, keeping me locked with his gaze. I am forced again to watch everything he does to me, when he makes me disappear, when he leaves me cold and tingling. I have to imagine what his tongue is doing because the sensations run together and ruin the picture. I watch his cheeks, the bits of stubble on his chin, all that work to please me. And he is good.

There's a rhythm to his rise and fall now that he's used to it. He breaks and focuses on the work. That alone grants me so much relief to ride out the twinges in my muscles. My back arches and bends. My arms scramble for purchase and my legs cannot find enough support. He keeps it steady at least. My torment I only so sweet.

He hilts me for a moment and gives a small circle that bends my souls with the act. He's humming. He's actually humming and I can't place the song. It's one note, drawn long and low. I grit my teeth and endure just as he does with me. We clash and break, holding one another together with our interlocking pieces. He retreats and that's my own respite before he does the same thing just on my tip. Back again, a new game to play with me and I can just howl in response.

A gear breaks in my machine and I cannot stop the rest of the apparatus falling apart. I want to warn him but the words don't form as they should. There's a growl, a yelp, something that might be a 'please,' but I'm not sure. There's a light forming at the base of my skull, slowly creeping its venomous tendrils into my mind and down through nerves. Everything tenses. He knows. He knows because he is tune with me.

The first pulse hits and I feel nothing, nothing at all. Every sense is consumed with a burning void and I can't comprehend it. There are errant signals telling me what is happening but spoken in a language no one is alive to parse. I feel a recoil travel up my stomach and into my chest. I am howling again, loud enough to clear the sky and drown out the storm. The second this and become away of a warm mouth swallowing all of it in choked gasps. My hands have finally found something to hold onto and it is a head of soft hair, still damp with rainwater. It isn't fighting me. If anything it goads me further with more and more strength to pour into the fragile vessel. I do. I feel my arms bend and break as my hips rise. There is depth to the struggle, both tussling for the same end. There are hands on my thighs, calloused hands. That comes back to me. I have a body, toned and hard but the hands are turning me soft. There's poison in my veins but that's boiling away. There's a warmth to replace the vaporized drops. I pulse again and more of me is left hallowed and vacant.

I pulse again and the noise in my throat dies into a heavy breath and deep groan. I can only gasp for air as Bernhard holds me as deep as he can. He is still not fighting me. He is still so, so good to me. I pulse again and that finally gets a bit of a push against. I am still aware enough to give him his freedom. It's a struggle, but he claws it for him and him alone.

I pulse again, long and heat as he lets the excess flow from his lips and pool around my lap. I pulse again and the sea grows larger. It's warm, so warm. I pulse again and it's free, landing across my chest and hitting my neck. I pulse again and overwhelm him. There's a calloused hand posing me I every direction I can manage. I pulse again and there is always more. I am so incredibly vast underneath the iron wire coating my veins, compressed into steel and melting with his touch.

The flow keeps coming and my retainers could not do this to me. I am back staring a worn ceiling, rafters almost buckling under the weigh to the storm, a low fire on a mills tone giving me heat while those amazing hands and gently stonking me.

"There we go," Bernhard murmurs, "That's good. You're doing so good for me. Keep going. Keep going."

Soft, velvety soft and almost oil-like as his words slither into my ear, the muscles unwind and my back hits the floor. I pulse again and catch it on my chest to the join the sea. It flows across my skin in thick rivers. Weaker and weaker, I keep pulsing and throbbing. The gaps become pants become labored breaths to keep me sane. The world keeps coming back. My limbs are heavy and slack. I can't move. I don't want to move. My length softens against my thigh. Bernhard hiccups and coughs, before kissing my bruised soul through my thighs.

"Good girl," her murmurs, "Good girl."

"Don't fucking say anything," I pant, "Just shut up."

"Is that anyway to talk to me?"

"It is. It fucking is. How did you get so good at that?"

"No clue. Maybe you're just easy."

"Shut up. Here's what we're going to do. We're going to Lauro and opening a brothel. You'll be the only whore and you'll just do that to every Gaisgeach in the country until your jaw breaks."

"But if that happens, then you won't get that again."

"I'll be rich in Gaisgeach gold though. That's something."

"If you say so. How are you feeling?"

"You really have to ask? Fucking amazing. Stars, I needed that."

"And the injections?"

"No clue. I just came my soul out and I am fighting to keep my eyes open."

"Then go to sleep. I'll still be here."

"You better. I don't think I can live without that pretty mouth anymore."

He laughs at me because he is a bastard and I must look like the most pitiable thing in the world. I mange to roll onto my side and feel the flames on my back. He slithers my way until his hands go over my side. Our fingers meet and slowly entwine. I just let everything go and fall into a beautiful sweet darkness as the recovery begins.

---

Comisario LaPlanta,

I know you have been in contact with Mitford. I have as well. I do no pretend to know what that entailed, but I can speculate. I confide in you that our Gaisgeachs are missing or escaping. I know that you have a sudden crop of them within your borders. I know that she is having the same problems I am with talent obedience.

Do not try this. Do not do anything with them. I do know Mitford's position that the best thing you could do with those things right now is a mass grave. I am of similar mind. At best, you now have a population influx that is not contributing in any significant manner. At worst, you now sit on a powder keg that is more than willing to resort to violence at a moment's notice. They need a heavy hand to be manageable and you do not have that. That is not an insult. That is a fact.

I will not belabor the point. You know what you're doing, as do we. Your actions now will have consequences later and I am not completely sure what they will be. I know my responses and I believe that you do as well. We are on a path set for us and we will all see it to its end, unless you come to your senses.

Grand Cardinal Nerus

---

Bernhard and I have fucked so much and it's the best. It's just the best. Every morning I awake to his hands roaming my body and easing another hard release out of me. I fall asleep entwining our lengths until he joins me in that eye of the needle. The horses are the only thing that make sure we are still moving. They whinny and stomp at us. They want to move. We have to appease them or we would be stranded in the middle of nowhere and as nice as that sounds, we would very quickly dehydrate and mummify. Not the worst way to go, but it would be much better to do that in a bed. I imagine abandoned shacks would just let us rot.

My joy now resides in riding along and feeling his gaze undress me as I bend for his pleasure. That just excites and disturbs the horse. I pat his mane and make sure his ego is intact. We're both bigger than him, but he doesn't know that.

The storm was, so far, the only bit of bad weather we've come across. Some gusts that have pushed us along, some drizzle and spits to get us cold, and a few days of too bright sun to hurt our eyes. Our world is indifferent, not hostile. That alone is a grand boon that we are thankful for.

"So," Bernhard asks, "If there's already a brothel in Lauro, what's the plan then?"

"There's always room for more brothel," I say, "especially in Gaisgeachton."

"Is that what it's called? I thought it would all just be Lauro. Bet there's already a bunch of brothels there. There has to be something else we can do. Farming? Everywhere needs farmers."

"Everywhere does need farmers. Kind of hard to eat without farms. But there's the port too. There has to be something else. Is there a type of person who just lays around all day?"

"Nobility, but that's what we're getting away from, so I don't think that will be met with grand approval if we figure out how to make that there. Tell you what. Book binding, they probably have words and they need those words written down. I can do that."

"And what would I do then?"

"Make ink. It's not that hard, probably. I think comes from plants."

"So we're back to farming, just ink plants instead of food plants. Pass. I'll just laze around and beg. That's my niche. I'll be the lazy Gaisgeach. All will be fine and dandy and everyone will hate me."

I seem to have to displeased him, judging by his shaking head and exasperated sigh. He's smiling, however, because he knows that's what I'm best at and it will be glorious. Everyone will be proud of me. I will be a revolutionary. That's what the letters said I should be and this is my way to do so. He sighs again and sits up a bit straighter in the saddle.

"I think this is the farthest I've ever been from the castle," hes says staring at the horizon.

"Lies." I say, "Complete lies. You've been to Lauro. You've seen the Celestial Cathedral. You've traveled. Not like me."

"I wouldn't consider that outside of the castle. That was always with mother and whatever husband she liked that week."

"I would almost say that's worse than an operating cell."

He looks to me with those weighted stone eyes. He doesn't believe me and I don't really believe myself either. At least he figured out what the sky was before I did. My prison was out in the forests, thick brambles and howling winds. Winter would come and bury us in snow while I caught frost bite. I run the injection site through my cloak. A knife presses into the skin and I stop. The new rounds have been good to me at least.

"Hey," murmurs Bernhard, "Hey. Are you ok?'

"Yeah," I sigh, "Yeah. Just brought that on myself really. Said the magic words to make me feel bad."

"You're not going back."

"I know I'm not. And neither are you."

"We'll get there and plant the shadiest tree with branches so low you can pluck the fruit without standing up."

"And they'll ripen into brandy, right on the vine."

"Drunk and fat and slowly withering away under the desert heat. That's the fate of all Gaisgeachs once they've slipped the leash."

"That sounds amazing. It's the paradise we all deserve at the end of the day."

I like our false paradises where we can sleep all day and do nothing. Everyone wants to do nothing all day and be right for doing that. Everyone agrees that's the morally correct thing to do for themselves, but that blessing should not extended beyond the self.

I notice something on the road. Tracks, relatively fresh, with an accompanying wagon to set the lines. I point them out and Bernhard sits up straighter. I don't know why. They won't be anyone to impress. They'll be random travelers, maybe some merchants, maybe some bandits and maybe we'll have to fight them off and run off with our good deeds done. It would be better if it were night, but we still have a few hours till that. I just fold myself deeper in to my cloak. There aren't that many things that can mark us at a glance, but there can always be fewer.

"Help," I hear the gentle wind carry, "Help us please."

"Trap," I say, "Absolutely a trap."

"Are you sure?" asks Bernhard because he has a too big heart and a too empty head.

"Absolutely. Million percent. Wagons don't break down and anyone dumb enough to not have the tools to fix them on hand is not prepared for a journey."

"Kind of cruel, don't you think?"

"And you're saying that you've never been ambushed before? I've looked over the routes your carriages have taken. I've been briefed on the security."

"Help," says the wind again.

He's mulling it over. I am not. I am feeling every throwing knife I have in there. It's a sequence, top to bottom, left to right, and that particular rhythm is reassuring. He's not even eyeing his bow and quiver. He's just going to waltz up to these guys and get his throat slit. I know better than what to stop this. We are on this course and we will see it through.

It's a covered wagon pulled off to the side. There's a woman in a simple dress, a man in simple trousers and a child looking bored as all hell with this scenario. The woman brightens up as she sees us, all the way to eyes. Bernhard does his best to looking regally normal as I try to find a shadow to slip into. The best I can do is a low stone wall and that's not nearly enough cover.

"They have a kid, Ellyn," he whispers, "And where could anyone hide out here?"

"Fine," I say, "We'll at least hear them out."

"Hello there," he says, turning away.

"We don't need help, Killian" says the man under the wagon.

"Niall," says the woman, "You've been under there for an hour. And who knows how long it will take."

"We still don't need help. I just have to get this back in line and we'll be on our way."

Their horse in front whinnies and snickers as he catches my scent. I drift back deeper and deeper, hands still on my knives. At least Bernhard has the good senses to stay on his horse.

"Don't listen to him," she says, "We need help. Some of the boards gave out and the axle's off center. He's been trying to pop it back into place and he just can't get it."

Niall swears and I see whatever he tried failed. The vibration crawls through the entire thing and I am surprised that the whole thing doesn't break down into splinters.

"I'm ok," he says through the swears, "I'm ok."

"Let them help, dad," says the kid, who is just moments away from picking his nose and poking his brain.

"We'd be more than happy too," says Bernhard with a smile that actually gets me to obey. He's also making the foolish move to break away and dismount. I am forced to go with the act. At least my knives are silent under all their padding.

"Fine," says Niall, "Just fine."

"Thank you," Killian says.

"I just need a bit if space to work. If you can lift the body then I can probably get it."

"There's just two of them dear. I don't think that will work."

Bernhard glances to me and I hate the sly look on his face.

"You're really going to have me do this," I sigh.

"I'm sure between the two of us we can get it," he shrugs.

"No, no. It's fine. I'm sure there's another-"

I don't listen. I just walk over, next to their nameless kid and grip the sturdiest thing I can. Bernhard has to hurry over because I am already working my angle out.

I'm not the bulkiest make. I'm not designed to be a hammer battering down walls or cleaving horses in half. I'm leaner than that. Underneath all that difference is still the same core. I don't count, I just lift, feel the muscle fibers enlace and strengthen until we have a bit of clearance. Bernhard helps as best he can, which is more than nothing. He certainly has the bow to thank for that and there is a bit if weight that he is actually getting before I can take it away.

Even more to my surprise, it feels better now. I've had my feats of strength under all those injections, but this one is pure. I feel the burn instead of it being subdued. It feels heavenly. We get the back wheels off the ground and the faceless pair of legs belonging to Niall get to work.

It's over in a moment. I hear one deep thunk and the carriage responds with a satisfying groan as we set it back down. The world has been righted with just a moment of pain and that's all anyone can ask for.

The kid's looking at me in raw wonder at what I can do. He should be. I'm very impressive. Bernhard is looking at me in a similar way, but there's a streak of smug satisfaction running underneath it that makes me want to hit him. We did a good thing and no one got hurt. I need to open my heart and feel the world with ever fiber of my being.

I don't see either of them. I'm more focused on the stare down that Niall is giving me as he gets to his feet.

Weathered but not old, thick mustache and a dusting of stubble, and certainly feeling the effects of having a kid, having a wagon, and the endless tick of the years slipping by. The most damage comes from the base level. Soldiering, the impacts of blades and shields, seeing the banners fly along the hills as the field is watered by the little people's life blood. He knows. He sees me and the form I take, whatever odd glint that is still in my eye. He judges it. He takes all that information and runs it through what he knows and that's the conclusion he comes to.

He turns as a hand to my knives and I'm faster. I allow him to pull a hatchet from the wagon. I step between him and Bernhard. That's what the injections used to tell me to do and over the years, I've come to agree with their assessment over the time we've spent together.

"Stay back," he says. I've missed good old soldier talk. Gruff and mean, straight to the point. The kid's scared, the wife's confused and Bernhard's surprised. I draw a set of knives held between my knuckles. A fan to his chest would get him staggered while I rush and go for the throat. He'd be down while Bernhard goes for the wife. I'm not too worried about the kid. I can take care of him with a twitch.

"Niall," yells Killian, "Niall, what is wrong with you? Put that down."

"That's a Gaisgeach."

That one little world stops time for us all. The kid's beautiful awe is now tinged with just a drop of fear. It's still the kind of that spurs further observation and adulation. The wife, though, that is a pure change of heart. Concern and pacification to recoil and disgust.

"Friends," says Bernhard, "I don't understand. We can-"

"Don't bother," I say, "We're leaving."

Niall wants to chase the monster, but he lacks the mob. He's responsible enough to know that his wife and child lack the will to set me alight. Killian cowers, but the kid is still brave enough to stare at me. There's the old wonder, the new fear, and a burgeoning curiosity. Here I am, a fairy tale monster right in front of him and I do not have wings or horns or a tail. I just have a tired bit of rounded fury that I thought I could slip under for a moment.

I saddle my horse and the husband does his best to do what he thinks he should do with his fangs bared. Bernhard saddles up as well. All my knives slip back into my cloak, almost disappointed at their unsated bloodthirst. As we slowly canter away, Bernhard's hands go to his bow, just in case. I'm proud of him, in a way.

To my surprise, the kid raises a hand a gives it a modest wave. To my even greater surprise, I find my own hand returning the gesture.

---

To my dearest mother,

If you haven't already, I imagine that you have sent someone out to fetch me and Ellyn. I wish you wouldn't but I know that I cannot persuade you at this point. I don't know if I ever could. I don't know if anyone could. I wish you won't do this, but since when have you cared about my wishes?

I am unhappy here. Perhaps ungrateful as well, but your chastisement will not sway me either. I can be stubborn, as you know. The fact of the matter is I have chosen something other than what you wanted for me. I have chosen a life that I do not know and may well come to hate. But it is an uncertainty that I wish to pursue as I am certain that I hate what I have been given.

You may find us. You may have us back in court in chains. You may separate us and you may even kill us. You can let go, however. You can just let this note slip into some forgotten corner of the castle, a hidden room for a son you never mention as we disappear to a far off corner of the world.

You like the games you play with rolling heads and iron fists. I don't. I know that you don't actually want anything to do with me beyond stuffing me into shirts and parading me to dances so that I can court some other porcelain doll some other toy maker has spent a lifetime perfecting. Just let these already cut strings fall. You have more toys.

Your son,

Bernhard

---

These new people are either dumber than the last set or much more apathetic. I'm leaning towards apathetic. If they were dumber, then they'd probably try and pull something and that would end with with a good scrap and some bloody knives and us on the run. I prefer this. It is just as small and cramped as my old room, but Bernhard and I get to share. We have a bed and a mattress that we share with rows and rows of dark glass bottles we are not to touch under any circumstances. The horses have a stable with other horses to do whatever they want with. The people milling out on the street above us have their lives to lead as we are hidden and secret.

It's just me though, all on my lonesome. Bernhard has decided that it is his turn to do some daring and that means meeting a contact at a smithy under the pretense that he would like to purchase some iron arrowheads to further improve his arsenal. He has given me the location and the approximate time at which I should start a beautiful streak of violence across the city if he is not by my side. That's still a few hours away. If no one is compromised, the smithy should have the response to the code that was at the bottom of a mezcal bottle that, by chance, we had drunk to gather the courage to actually map our our route.

I'm pacing. The poison is almost all gone and my own venom is making me strong. It's also making me energetic, pent up. There is more to the world than a small room underneath a vintner's shop. I'm even a bit hard because my mind keeps wandering back to Bernhard. We didn't get the chance to play this morning because he was worried about the street hearing us. I also have my suspicions that the proprieties would not appreciate any attempts at destructive affection so close to their stock.

My ears pick up the back door opening and a set of hurried steps. They match Bernhard's gait. I know that. I know every sound he makes down to the contented sigh he gives when he sees me sleeping into the morning. I keep pacing. That wonderful thought just spurs more heat.

Carefully, so carefully, he makes his way around the fragile bottles to our nest. I don't wait for him to say anything. As soon as I can make out his frame, he is encoiled by me.

The bastard has the audacity to laugh at me. I just bury myself in his neck and make sure the he knows I have teeth and that we need affection.

"You're not even curious on how it went?" he asks.

I shake my head and keep kissing his neck. He knows what I want and he is refusing to give it to me.

"'I can see the light even after the sun goes down.' That should get us across the river," he says like I care. I can humor him at least.

"That old song?" I murmur.

"Apparently. It does lend this whole affair a bit of theatrics. Can you let me go for a second? I have a gift for you."

I relent. I can be soothed by trinkets and baubles. He has more than just a something for me. There's a bundle of clothes on his back as well as a small pouch jingling on his hips. For me, though, he pulls a short leather sheath, with a handle of treated walnut.

I have enough knives, from any sensible point of view. Bernhard knows better. I can never have enough. Still, there's a bit of confusion. It's not for throwing or fighting. It's a drop point, simple, plain almost boring. He's given me a tool. Carefully, I take it from him. Good weight, good balance, good edge once I get it free, definitely worth whatever he had to pay. The knife sits odd in my palm. It shouldn't. It's the same thing as anything else I've held in there at the end of the day.

"Is it the wrong kind?" he asks, "I asked for something with a lot of utility. Not sure what the border's going to have, but the smith said it should be useful."

I just slowly put it away and fold him back into me.

"I love it," I say, "Thank you."

His arms go around my waist and he is pulling me just as much as I am pulling him.

"I got us some clothes too," he says, "For once we're there. We're already standing out a bit judging by what everyone else is wearing."

He's so beautifully smart and perfect. I know what motions he is taking me through and that soft jolt of panic is just eased away with the way he strokes my back. I recognize the way he kisses my cheek. It means the needle is coming. The gift smothers it and I accept my next bit of pain.

I hold my arm out and lay back on that wonderfully soft bed, letting Bernhard attend to me as he should. He's getting even better at all this.

"How many more times are we doing this," I say as I put my free arm over my eyes.

"We have two more vials to go through," he says, "We'll be good by the time we hit the border."

"And then I'll never have to do this again?"

"I imagine so. Unless you want to. Don't know why you would, but I'm not judging. Arm please."

I obey. I stretch out the cars and show him everything that I am. I don't want to see what he's doing. I don't want to be reminded of what is going on. I just want to feel a bit of pain and be done with it.

Bernhard rummages around because all the vials have been jostled. It's pleasant in a way, all that tinkling glass. It reminds me of the ice crystals hanging from the castle parapets as the dance in the wind. He's humming again, mindless and tuneless, just something to do.

"You want to ask," I sigh, "so go ahead and ask."

"I don't want to ask anything. Except have you seen the needle? I can't find it," he says.

"You want to ask more than that. But also, check my bags. I might have hidden it from you."

"I don't really. There we go. It was in your coat. I take it back. There is something else I want ask you now. What was this doing there?"

"It got scared and I wanted to care for it. It gets all shook up when it rides with you."

'"Awwww. That's sweet of you. Arm please."

I grumble and groan, but I do as he says. At least I get to feel his hands on me again. They trace the muscle and bone, outlining my strengthen in calm reverence. He goes down to the crook of my elbow, down my forearm, down my wrist until his hands are interlocked with mine. He presses his lips to the back of my hand.

"That's not injecting me," I sigh," I don't want the foreplay right now."

"It's not foreplay," he says, "We never have to do it if you don't want to. I'm just trying to get you to relaxed. You're still so tense."

There's still no needle in my veins and I consider that a mixed blessing. I am not injected and that's great. However, that also means that the shot is still coming. I have Bernhard to hold me at least. We'll stay with that and deal with the rest later. He traces my muscles again.

"You like those don't you," I murmur. He says nothing. I'm too intoxicating, It seems. He falls into me again, all the minute parts. He ignores the scars. I want him to touch those too. We're making new ones together and those are much more important than anything else.

He goes to my hand again and puts a bit of force against me. I bend with him and then there's an odd pressure under my fingers.

"Oh stop showing off," I say.

"No," he says, "You love them."

He's right. He's so fucking right and I want to punch him right in the nose. He's flexing his arms and making me trace the shapes like he did to me. I can't get my hand around the width of his arm. He's flexing to make the muscle hard. It's a task to get my imprint on him. He fights it. I do not, even with my new found freedom as his hands leave me. I trace up, up to his shoulders and cross his collar bone. His breathing is nice and calm. My palm rises with his chest.

The weight around me shifts and changes and he is now lying next to me. There's a hand on my stomach, pressing against the hard slab of muscle. Then it creeps lower and lower. All of it, all that pressure on my length and I let out a shaky breath.

"This is mine," he whispers in my ear.

I shudder and shake and lean into the voice. There's a broad chest for me to find and I press my forehead into his sternum. I feel his heart beat against my body, all of him and all of me.

"Is that how you want to play it this time?" I hum.

"I think it's what you want. Am I wrong?" he whispers again.

"I have no clue anymore."

He stops and that's terrible. We have space again as I feel his lips flutter against my neck.

"You just seem kind of out of it," he murmurs in between those wind soft kisses.

"Ever since the wagon?"

"If we're cutting to the quick, yeah, since that. I'm just trying to make you feel better."

A warmth blooms in my chest as he says those stupid words. I am apparently that easy. A bit of pressure somewhere sensitive and that just makes me crumble. A pat on the head and a 'good job' after the softest of blows and I melt.

"I appreciate it," I say as an understatement, "I don't know why, I just thought it would be different outside the castle. Not better, just different."

"We are still in the father land," he says, pressing more and more into me, "The salt of the earth here is always bitter."

"I've read the letters too. Don't need to get all flowery on me."

"It's not their fault."

"Don't play defense for them. They got mad cause they saw a Gaisgeach out and about and not being ground under their boot. That's all that was. Just let me simmer through it and I'll be fine. Get your hand back down there. Tell me what else is yours."

He doesn't do that right away. He pulls out, gives me space and I feel him rise up and over me, shadow across my cheek.

"You're right," he murmurs, so sweetly, "I don't know. They're idiots, but they're also people. That's just what got me through holding court for so long. But you're right. And I don't know, I feel bad for forcing you to help."

"You didn't force anything. Stars forbid I actually do something helpful every once and a while. How dare you assume the best of some strangers on the road. It's really all your fault. I did nothing wrong."

He bites my chin. I laugh because he is is not strong enough to break the skin. My neck was right there. He could have ripped out my throat and we'd be in a much more interesting place. He kisses my neck and maybe he actually has a bit of fire in him that could melt me to ash.

"You really didn't," he murmurs in between those beautiful bits of pressure. He loves it. He loves every part of my body. That alone is almost enough to make up for the hellish pattern of actually getting it where it is now. It's worth the double takes and side yes so long as he keeps touching me, kissing me, holding me. That little swell of rage quiets once it knows that I am here in his hands, being molded and shaped to suit his needs. He still hasn't claimed more than the most obvious feature, but it is all his in the end.

"I like that about you," I say, "It's stupid and will probably get us killed."

"It's nothing that special. I'd just rather be the guy who helps than the guy who doesn't."

"Congratulations. You have cleared the lowest bar. Shame that so many people don't."

He kisses me again because he is the best of all of us. There's no point hammering this out anymore. I have him and he is kissing me. I kiss him. There's a calloused palm on my cheek and that's something that is fine. I probe a bit and find a finger that goes into my mouth. I'm gentle with it, running my tongue and making sure that he knows that there are teeth in there too. He knows. He has to know. Especially when he finds that he wants to stay there at that moment of pain.

"I think that's mine too," he says as he keeps playing with my lips, "I don't think I've used that before."

I shudder with the thought and just let it settle in my core. I lurch along my length. I want that. I need that. I want more, and he gives more more. He kisses me more, everywhere he can touch with that gentle pressure. The trail has made him rugged in some ways. I don't think I like it, that bite of stubble on his cheeks. I much prefer the soft touch of naked skin. I get that in some ways with his arms glancing along my body.

Those hands leave my mouth and I take in a breath to grow myself wide. He doesn't go to my breasts. Those are his too, if he wants. He doesn't take them, verbally, but there is a hard pinch and grope, just so we know that it is unsaid but not untrue. Then he goes to my stomach, pressing hard. My breath catches and stills.

"Is this mine?" he says as he just keeps pressing. I nod meekly. My length throbs and bucks. It's still under those terrible pants and it needs freedom. I need freedom. He needs to do all this tom e so I can get what I need. He just gives me his hand on my stomach. I whine.

"What was that,? he murmurs. There's no edge to his voice, just a simple declarative of what he wants to know.

"It is," I manage to choke out. He kisses that too, right below my navel and my whole body jolts.

"That's so fucking mean," I whine. He laughs again because he is a monster who deserves to be hog tied and bled out from the parapets.

"I don't think so. I just think it's a part of you that's been neglected. That's what I want to do with you. There's still so much that we can do together. Have you ever had this part before?"

I shake my head and feel him hum in response. He can go so deep, so tectonic with how he can move. He presses that harder and harder.

"I like this part of you," her murmurs. His hands keep wandering again. To his credit, he does what I need him to do. His palms are rolling along my length with the familiar urge. It's still never the same as it was before. The venom sings differently. Just as strong, just as intense, but fuller. More of me is into the act that we keep finding locked away. It's in my legs now, down my thighs, down to my toes. It bounces back up into my stomach and find s the glowing bit of starlight that remains of his lips. He touches that spot again and a whole pang makes me jump. He laughs. He laughs because it is the most beautiful thing he can do.

I break from the whole stasis and I help him. It's hard to get all this settled even with the helping hands. I feel the burning heat brush against the back of my palm. I'm sure he knows exactly what he's doing to me as my prerelease starts to flow. He laughs again when he feels the flow through his fingers.

"I haven't even given you the needle yet," he says, "Do you want that now? Or do you want that after?"

He dares me to make a decision because, as I often forget, he is a bastard who deserves to die and then be resurrected in a beautiful thorn where I can there to kiss and hold him forever.

"Now," I say, "I want this over with."

I chose poorly because that means he has to go away, just for a little bit. He comes back to me. He always comes back, even if it has to be with a needle and a tincture. He kisses the soft spot of terrible pain

The pinch comes again and I feel the cold poison slip into my body. I almost like it now. I know what comes through it. I know what happens afterwards. I know that the gentle hand doing the pain is there with love and care. It is all minimized and soothed away. The needle runs dry and the pulses start again. A quick cloth to wipe away the blood and another kiss to ease the pain.

"There we go," Bernhard says, "Are you ok?"

I don't answer. He's close enough to strike and that's his grand folly. I scramble before I find his shoulder and that's enough to lock him in and force a surrender. He kisses me and tastes the heat he has given. He feels every bit of pressure I am trying to burst through now. My length keeps trying to break more and more of the world around it, bucking and thrusting and begging for anything that would give it more release.

There's a hand on my length and that is perfect. A hard pulse and a long shot up to my chest and I just melt through all of it. His lips go beck to my stomach and back up to my chest as he worships me. I let it happen, balling the sheets in my fists, scrambling for purchase on the frame, but there is just him sending me adrift. The lips grow lower and lower, down under my navel. His hands never leave my length, slowly pulling more and more as all of him melts.

"No," I whine, "I don't want that."

That notion gives us all a bit of surprise, even the mice in the floorboards scrambling for cover. I know what I want and as terrible as it is to have him stop, I break away and start turning. There are still a few shreds of cloth on me. He protests it. He is just trying to help and he is perfect for that, but I have better ideas. It's a cold journey to run so alone, but I manage with the lingering heat of his touch and the way he looks at me. I raise my hips and I imagine that's where he is looking. He likes my thighs and that's just another angle of me. He is not touching me, but that's fine.

"I want this," I say. Hips high, shoulders pressed down, slowly swaying back and forth so that he is transfixed.

I get his hands again, hard against my thighs. He kneads the muscles and I just moan. I chase the callouses and nimble fingers. He spreads me and I moan.

"You are beautiful," he murmurs in between tasting my flesh, "Everywhere."

I gently squirm as he keeps his attention to my thighs. His hand's stroking me and I do a dutiful a job as I can to let him know that I am in dire need of him. My legs are wide, my preseed forms a puddle between my legs and his other hand is gently circling my entrance. I bite the sheets. A finger spreads me and fills me.

New, so vastly new, all the sparks colliding with the familiar ones as he gently explores me. It's not enough. It will never be enough, but it is a start. I angle and ride, desperate for more and begging for another. He gets used to the grip and I am rewarded. The sheets carry a dark stain of my saliva around my limps and all it serves is to deaden my sweet noise for him. Something rips and I think it's from my hands. I've taken to clawing at the fabric so that I have something to break. He's just playing with me. I know he's clumsy with it too. It's a new type of play for both of us, abut the fresh nerves more than make up for anything fumbled.

It's raw torture when he withdraws. Hollow and aching and endlessly pleading, I can just feel the suggestions of his movement. The mat under us shifts and moves until his hands come to my hips. A hard arc of my preseed joins the sea as I am joined with his weight. He stretches out long against my back. I feel his chest press into my shoulders and his voice in my hear.

"Are you going to be a good hole for me?" he whispers. Then he starts biting, gently, little love bites to give me pressure and pain, beautiful pain. I nod, slowly. There's finally that beautiful edge to his voice, a blunt tombstone of weight to bend the world around it.

"Say it," he commands. I obey.

"I'll be a good hole for you," I whine, shaking at the edges and pleading with the basic need of my body. A hand goes up and brings down an open palm against my ass. I yelp and moan, arms giving out and all of me collapsing.

Those beautifully gentle hands can be so perfect. I push back into him. I plead with him to do exactly what he wants. To my ecstasy, he's breaking down too. He's hard, so incredibly hard, laying across and then poking against mine. I'm bigger, significantly, but I don't care. I don't care at all. He's enough to spread me and break me and he knows it. His hands go back to my hips and he aligns us both.

A single blade stroke of white cracks my senses and I hear him swear as I tighten over him. That's enough. All that melted will I slowly stacking up again. He is afraid of what I am. He should be. I am still whining and shaking, but so is he.

Despite whatever resistance I give, it's easy for him. I make it easy for him. All that new sensation just feels so right. I was made for this. He was made for this. Any additions and time worn wounds only made us more compatible for this. He's big, beautifully big, stretching out my core and running up my spine. I shudder as I realize he's past my navel. More of my preseed spills onto the mat and he doesn't care. It's warm. He's warm, blossoming embers in my core.

No warning given, no warning needed, he hilts in me and holds. And then he's going back out, just as swiftly. The dance is there, back and forth, slow at first so that we can have the senses to savor and the fact that I am a bottomless well to draw from. He is doing everything he can to fill me. Instinct, raw instinct, forces me to chase him and find points where he breaks.

His hands are strong, pushing and pulling me and I can't break free. There's no where to run so I give chase. It's a fight. I know how to fight and so does he. It breaks down between us and I just roll through it. I angle my hips and find his rhythm just as he finds mine.

Plain and simple, the most banal designed rut, but that's the base form that we are all designed to be in the end. We are designed to claw against the ground, feel out muscles burn and bones snap, have everything we are slowly broken down until nothing else matters. There are no banners, no armor, only an animalistic shared passion with a body sharp enough to break me. I bite the sheets and feel my eyes roll up and back as his hands wander again against his rhythm. They find my length again and that's another grand instrument in our dance. He's so good to me. Up and down, in and out, so much of all of this to collide together and I am left to just feel whatever tatters are left of me blow away in the wind.

He slowly encircles and entwines. He's strong. I can break this, but nothing in me has the will to do so. His hands press into my back and pin me to the mattress. I mewl and squirm and add more of the dance to motions by my will. It's more. I want more. I have more. He gives me more. His hand is strong and sure, stroking me in time wile I continue to slowly crumble into sand. Tie tide of him and his work ebbs and flows and carries me out to see. There's a town outside somewhere with milling people and hawking vendors. They don't matter at all. I growl and whine and slowly feel that same tide come for me and drag me down.

Bernhard gives me teeth and that's enough. I'm gone, hard and fast and blinding. I howl his name and feel all that tension just snap. It starts with my release, my length bucking hard and slipping from his grasp. The flow hits me too and burns sweetly against my skin. The teeth become lips become teeth again. The hands roam across my stomach. There's a leg trapping mine. My arms collapse and I am just collapsing into the act.

My entire body rocks through all of it and I feel my hands grip something harsh and wooden. Slowly, so slowly, the wood breaks down into raw splinters. It's too much. It's not enough. I feel the sea grow beneath me and I keep biting at the sheets so I have something to rip.

His grip tightens and I feel him growl deep his chest. Warmth, rolling warmth starts to fill me and we are locked together in the throes of a knife cutting away everything else. The blade is sharp and we keep the edge shining and thing. No more thoughts, no mot re urges, we just ride the storm of our bodies and feel everything I am supposed to feel.

He kisses my ears and I bend to find something of his. I think it's his temple. Then there's a bit of a cheek and neck. I can't find more of him but this is enough. I feel his length pulse and fill me, past my navel, past everything I am. Everything is heavy and sluggish. Everything is designed to slowly succumb to the soothing venom. There are embers weaving in my between muscles and everything unwinds even more. Bernhard is beautifully heavy. Nothing else matters.

I think his slows before minds. I've lost count. I don't care. Everything's slack and number, the bed's soft and inviting, and I am nothing at all other than a broken puddle of senses slowly coming back into focus from annihilation.

"You did so good for me," he murmurs. Every syllable is a light dancing under my scalp, especially when a calloused hand strokes my cheek and tilts my chin. I'm so easy to please. A scratch behind the ears and a 'good girl' and I would kill for anyone. In my defense, it is a much better reward than a cold room in a tall tower and a set of chains.

"Shut up," I murmur, "don't say that."

"Am I wrong though?" he says in between kisses along my spine.

"It just feels so weird sometimes."

"Doesn't make it untrue. You deserve this. You really do. And I deserve this, but that's not really your problem. I can take care of my self."

He slowly withdraws and I feel the gentle ache of his absence. I take the cue to absolutely collapse into nothing. His weight shifts and breaks and falls next to me. It's a bit of work but I can kiss him and he kisses me back. We both taste of work and sweat and pure, endless exhaustion.

I look into him and that thin bit of sweat matting his hair to his forehead. I take it upon myself to brush it out of the way. He slips in a bit and kisses my nose. I kiss his cheek back and that's the game now. Little bits of shared intimacy, feather light and quick.

"You deserve this. You deserve more than this," he repeats because he needs me to know that. I sort of believe him. It's hard to assign any actual reason to anything like this. Whether or not there is anything behind the words, I think that's what I'm getting. For now, I just have him. I surprised that he kept me around this long.

---

To my friends, Juniper Mitford VI and Bruce Nerus,

I am afraid you are misunderstanding my position in all this. I do not want any escalation between us, emphatically and truly. I'm also not amassing weapons. I am not manufacturing them, creating them, willing them out of thin air. I am brewing another batch of mezcal and thinking of the day on the beach I will spend sharing it with my fellow Laurans or perhaps with you. I think I would like that.

I do not like the implications of what you would have me do to my fellow Laurans. I will not dispose of them, any of them. I do not have that power, as you say, but neither do you. The ability, maybe, but not the power. The actions you have performed in regards to your subjects are not truly my business, but from what I have seen and heard, they have been distasteful to say the least. I have held my tongue on this matter for the sake of our shared civility, but it appears by your words that we are done with part of arrangement.

It is more than distasteful. It is deplorable. Disregarding the creation process, the fact that you would have anyone merely discarded after they have served such a vital part of your conciliation speaks to a barbarity I cannot fathom. Lauro has not pursued the matter for several reasons, first and foremost a kindness you simply lack.

Should you chose, and it would be the two of you choosing, to escalate this further, then I do not know how else to play the hand on the table. You know that as well as I do. And you know what you would be up against. Our newest arrivals are well versed in warfare, and they tell me that your tools have dulled without their maintenance.

We do not have to do that. We really do not. Let go of the reins. Let yourself grow fat and happy on your larders. You do not even have to share them, really. I cannot force that, although I think that act would bring you great happiness as it has brought me.

There will be another letter that I hope puts this issue to rest.

Your friend,

Hector LaPlanta

---

The guide's late. We have a river to cross and a boat to catch. Our horses are gone, slipped their saddles and galloping out into the wilds to savor a freedom they may nor be smart enough to appreciate. They are strong enough to enjoy it. I'm smart enough to keep a small patrol around our spot, slipping through the shadows and keeping my eyes alight and on a swivel. We have birds in the trees, a few fish in the water, welling against the surface in undulating waves, and a streak of stars to light our way.

"Relax," Bernhard says softly, "We'll be good. It'll be fine."

I try to believe him, but we've finally cut all the venom out. At the base is a nervous woman waiting for a boat. I feel the nerves come back. There is no grand cliff to throw myself off of. There's just a slowly flowing river, probably shallow enough to wade through the most of it, but wide enough to be an issue. I could do it. I could take him on my back and we'd just run on the other side. The cage bars are right there and they seem so thin from up close.

"Ellyn," he whispers, "Please sit with me."

I huff and stomp and start pacing again by that wonderfully soft head of hair and those steady eyes make me break down and sit with heavy thump. Without a word, he carefully takes my hand and gives it a gentle squeeze.

"This is going to sound so stupid," I mutter, "But what if they don't like me?"

"Then we go somewhere with free Gaisgeachs that like you," he says like it's the easiest thing in the world.

"I've never seen another one like me before. I mean, There were a few I saw in the operating cells, but I wouldn't say it was a special bond. They were gone pretty quick."

He says nothing because there is nothing to say. He just gives my hand a bit tighter of a squeeze.

"I've seen other Gaisgeachs before," he says, "Mother thought it would be good for me to see the troops, just in case, y'know. This was before we realized that they were starting this whole process. The generals had this whole scenario set up for it, put them in the these really fancy uniforms. I'd heard about them. You kind of can't not hear about them."

"And what were they like?'

"Statues. That's what I kept thinking. You've put in so much work to make these statues, chipped so much away from them, burned so much to have them that way, and then you just send them out to get broken into pieces. I didn't understand it. And then I met you and I realized that they couldn't even get them to be like they wanted to be. So they just burned so much of the world to fail at making nightmares. They don't look like they want them to look like. They don't act like what they want them to act like. And they still just lie to themselves that these people are demons and that means they need to be tossed aside."

I press into him and just sit under the stars.

"They picked me up right before the harvest festival," I say, "My mom was going to make me this dress and my aunt would teach me the dances and I was so excited for the apple cider."

"We'll find some once we're down there. It might not taste the same, but we'll find some. You know I can dance and I'm sure we can get you a dress at least."

I take his hand and kiss the back of his hand.

"Why," I murmur, "Why are you doing this?"

"Because what else would I do?" Bernhard sighs, "I don't know where I got it from, but I don't want to be responsible for any more people getting shattered. Mother's going to keep doing it no matter what. I have no clue what my brothers are going to do. But that's their problem."

I kiss the back of his hand again and make sure that he knows that everything I want to do to him, but just can't. Another fish jumps and plays and does whatever it is fishes do.

"I don't want to shatter anyone else either," I say. He wriggles a bit until he get his hand free again, only for it to drape across my shoulders.

"I also want to stop wearing uncomfortable shoes," he says, "Maybe learn to play an instrument."

"You'd be terrible at that."

"Everyone's terrible at first. I doubt you were good at the knives thing at first.'

"Eh, maybe. Who knows? A lot of that time is kind of just gone."

He kisses my shoulder and that's enough. I see a twinkling light on the river and my eyes shift to lock it in. Small, a canoe, one man in the back with a long hook for the lantern and a thick pole to push the whole craft along. Bernhard holds his hands to his mouth. A sharp keen whistle, close enough to the birds around us to slip under the notice of anything antagonistic. The light changes and angles towards our shore. I stand. Bernhard takes my arm and that's one more thing I've done for him. My knives are still there. Bernhard has his bow and a full quiver. We have our scant things and that's us in a nutshell, one more slow walk down the dry bank and the waiting canoe.

We beat the ferryman, but only just. One strong push and he has beached himself. A short cough and he finds a match deep in his cloak. It lights a ragged cigarette and a thin coil of smoke joins the night

"'The night falls. The place where I belong,'" says Bernhard.

"Son, by the stars, who else do you think would be out here doing this?" the ferryman says with a ragged voice.

"Respond," I command.

"Alright, alright. Calm down. I' can feel the light, even after the sun goes down.' Does that work or did they change it?"

It works but it doesn't set my nerves at ease. Bernhard accepts it at least. I shoulder our pack and, like a gentleman, he tries to help me across. The ferryman takes out that long oar and blocks our way. I have three knives in between my knuckles before he can utter a word.

"Yeah, yeah," he sighs with a cloud of smoke, "You're very scary. Payment first. Then we cross."

"Not the deal," I say. I still have the knives. I can bend and twist that contract however I wish and there's nothing he can do to stop me. Bernhard reels me back in with a gentle hand.

"Half now," he says.

"Son, do you really think you're in a position to negotiate?"

"I'm not. She has the knives and your boat looks simple enough to figure out."

The old man sighs again, that little cherry pit of glowing ember in his hand tracing wide circles.

"That's what it always comes down to isn't it," he mutters, "Fine. Has it been sedated at least?"

"No," I say. That gives him a bit of a start at least. I take it, especially as it makes him lower that oar and allow us in side. Bernhard rifles through his bag and produces a pouch of jingling coins. He tips a few coins out and hands them over. I get my help and the ferryman pushes off.

"Do you serenade us now?" Bernhard asks, "Kind of feels like the night for it. Stars are out. Weather's nice. Do you have any wine on you by chance?"

"Don't be cute right now," the ferryman says, "We're just here for some business."

"Fair enough. So no wine?"

To his credit, that does get a little huff from our soft spoken friend with a big stick. It's quiet. More fish breaking the surface, snatching the invisible insects with gossamer wings. More of then snap the first veil and now they are dragged to the depths. I keep a slow survey of the water. I don't catch much with such low light, but I catch enough. The water reflects the stars and I am lost in the rebounding light. So many little motes flickering and dancing, weaving back and forth with the ripples. We are just a slowly march across a mirror. Bernhard, sweet Bernhard has his focus on the opposite shore. He can't see as well as I can given the circumstances, but he can certainly feel it.

I snap to the right, daggers in my hand. Silence, glass smooth water warping with the echo of the oar, but a gap in the reflection I glance to our ferryman with the cigarette in his hand. He takes it along a slow circle.

I break the veil and plunge a bite of steel into his thigh. He swears and shouts at the vacant shadow. Bernhard, to his credit, hits the deck and rocks the boat. Our ferryman sways like a drunkard and my knives slowly climb up the soft flesh. They bite and rip and break him a part in to thin ribbons. One in his side, one in his chest, one his his neck and then one back into his chest for good measure. I let the pain spread thought him and take away his gravity. He falls into the river with a heavy splash. Bernhard shoves his weight to the other side and keeps us upright. I fell the stars part above us as an arrow blots out a needle thread of light.

"Port," I whisper, "About 20 yards. Didn't get the size or number."

Bernhard nods and slowly readies his bow. My hand is full of knives and I feel safe now. Bernhard can swim. I might be able to figure it out before the river much fills my lings. But I don't want to find out.

We keep low and the other boat calmly slithers closer. My eyes flicker and flash. Three people, maybe four if the odd shape at the prow is someone else on their belly. Crossbows on the other two and a ferryman similar to ours in the back. Bernhard shifts a bit and rocks as he readies his bow. Another bolt cuts the space above us.

Bernhard, beautiful Bernhard, has it down perfect. Despite the water, despite the river, despite the cross fire, he lets loose a single arrow against the darkness and he finds purchase. Another gruff swear and we duck under another bolt. It doesn't work. He's safe. I'm safe. My eyes flash again and I throw out a trio of knives. At least one hits, judging by the reaction. Nothing on that side of the river is dead yet, but we're working on it. The blades find their alignment again and we are under cover.

"Boy," says the other boat, "It's not worth it. Hand it over and we'll do this civilly."

"Eat shit you worthless motherfucker," he yells back.

Swears don't work from his mouth, but I do appreciate the sentiment. He scrambles a bit for another arrow. He's running low. I still have knives. I still have fists. He still has teeth. It won't be pretty, but against the corner, there are still paths forward. The current wicks us on with its lackadaisical nature. It does not care. There are fish in its waters and reeds on its bank. The two boats firing darts at one another don't matter. Bernhard breaks another shot and it goes wide.

An odd bell rings out against the night. Clear, but bending along the stars, and I can see it. No color, no shape, but I can see it against the reflection. Halt, says the little bell of crystal. My hand fumbles and a trio of knives slip from my hand and into the river.

"Ellyn," says a rock solid line against the weaving noise, "stay with me."

It makes a good point. I should stay with them. I should sit under the prow of the boat and count my breathes. It is a winter chill to the bone, the conflicting orders. I hold it slow and even. I am told to stay and that's not in conflict with the bell. Something hits the water nearby and the nice, calm voice becomes a bit more frantic.

A hand on my cheek and a I see a pair of dark eyes swallowing the darkness. The bell comes again and it is screaming at me to be still and quiet and just hold until this is all over.

"Your eyes," whispers the stone, "Keep them on me."

There's a face, a calm, easy face. It doesn't focus for a moment. The head and the hand and all the other parts of the face culminate in a single loosed arrow. Something doesn't like where it lands and I hear the echo of a swear and a gurgle and a deep, heavy splash.

The face comes back as I taste a rush of affection dance though my chest. There is something to love in the simple act of violence done on my behalf. It could be more. It could absolutely be for me, all that rage and it cuts through the bell. My arm works on its own and pulls another set of knives from my sheathes. I am balanced again.

"You're better than this," says the voice of endless rock, "You're not in a cell. And I need you. Can you be here with me?'

I take a breath and taste a sluggish river laden with thin muck and benign reeds. An arrow, a cross bow bolt spans above me and I get sharp bite across my skin.

I yell. A soothing hand wipes away the pain, pushing down shape of my body like I am wet clay. Smooth wet clay where I feel my shape change and bend and work into something more like myself. There is a set of changing forms I am and I am better than what I once was. I press into a hand and feel another arrow graze our little hole of beautiful silence against.

"Go," he whispers, "Just for you."

The bell rings out louder, frantic with need for me to be what I was and I have that coiled demon thrashing around my skull. I breathe. I calm and I still, feel the breath under my struggle.

Swimming, I am swimming in my own cold sweat. Nothing breaks, nothing slips away, my hands are full knives and I am smiling. My chains have slipped away.

"You look so beautiful like this," Bernhard whispers. He is the best of all of them, all of me, seeing the wild, unchained animal, still scared and cowering in the corner and be able to see it as beautiful.

I rise in our low canoe. I waver and sway, moving past the slow bolts lobbed so carelessly. They do have a good bit of aim, but they are just so sluggish as they try and break against us. Something breaks to my left and I trace it back, arm already arcing. A set of three knives glint like comets through the space between the stars and their reflections. The targets climb up a shadowy body like a ladder, on on the stomach, one on the chest, one in the neck. The body falls and I have fulfilled my purpose. I bend in the slight breeze and feel a shot break to my right. Bernhard pokes up from his cover and hits something on the shoulder.

I laugh. I laugh because the bell is silent and one last clawing beast made to drag me back is failing spectacularly. One more body, one more terrified shadow in the night frantically ringing the bell like it will do anything to me. There is no more poison in my veins. I am full of raw burning strength. A cold line across my back where I am bleeding out, but that is just steaming away as the bell keeps ringing its useless song. I nudge Bernhard with my boot and he takes the hint. Carefully, he pokes up his head and sees that nothing is coming to tear him apart. I have him entwined and safe under my steel fangs. I let a single blade dance along my knuckles. And slash against the dark with pure starlight.

Bernhard does even better than I asked, picking up that oar and slowly pushing us along. The last shadow starts running and we drift in silence. The knife in my hand stops and I let it fly, a perfect arm, a perfect path, and it impales against the shadows hand.

"Fucking monster," I hear the shadow yell.

"Just let this happen, friend," I say, "There's nothing here for you anymore. This is the risk, right? You're fishing for Gaisgeachs. Why are you so surprised that one if them is biting?"

"Just let this go," he yells.

"No, I don't think I will. Here I am, right on the line. All you have to do is reel me in and get that bounty. I assume there's a bounty, right? A bit of a weird thing to do pro bono."

Frantic, just raw frantic urges through him, paddling the sluggish water with his hand. Bernhard hits ramming speed and we make contact. I take a single step across the gap and find myself staring down a simpering shadow.

To his credit, he takes a moment to collect himself and face me down. There's still a bit of panic in him that makes him want to bolt into the water. He can still make it. There's a life waiting for him at the end of all this. It will take a lot of pain and a lot of work, but he can simply waltz back to his little home and while away his remaining years knowing that he has done everything right. The line of ink on the map must not be crossed.

He does not plead. He just closes his eyes as I press the knife into his neck. One last bit of pressure and he fights it, that scared animal coming to the front to save the rest of the being. It fails.

I toss the knife overboard. I have so many more, especially the one with that simple drop point blade. I just slowly rise into another shadow, a few flecks of blood drying on my fingers. Something small and glass shatters under my heel. Silence fills in the rest. I let out the last breath I have of what I was and take in something new.

"Ellyn," Bernhard whispers soft as the starlight, "We need to go."

I hate that he is such a level head about all this. We're still on the water and we have another few stops before we can finally, finally rest. I step back into our boat and let Bernhard do the work.

"Is this part you serenade me?" I say as I stretch long in the bottom of the boat.

He laughs and that's good enough for now. My hands slowly stop shaking as all the echoes fade away.

---

You did not kill us before. You will not kill us now.

Bahtko Finn the Raven

---

I like my ass. He's stubborn sure, kind of of slow and plodding, but he doesn't snort at me or try to throw me off. He's annoyed, but the grumbling complacent annoyed that just makes him more determined to get this entire thing over with so he can go back to gnawing dry grass and swatting flies with his tail. I imagine that's what asses do for fun.

I also like Bernhard's ass. I can stare at that decently well in our local colors. Nothing tight, everything breathable, it looks good on him. He says it looks good on me. I certainly appreciate the extra room and now we get wide brimmed hats to keep the sun out of our eyes. I like them. I even like the thin sort of blankets to keep the dust off.

I do not like the heat. That was always a slow ramp up on our way down, but here it seems ever present. It's just the trade off of what will certainly be a pleasant winter. Maybe. They might not have those here. As far as I know, Lauro could have completely different seasons with the rain falling up and the clouds being made of rocks.

We're here. It doesn't feel real, but we're here. We'll live here, make food here, sleep here, and watch the years tick away here. There are no roots for us, but I feel the cracked earth and that means we might have room for that. We'll make it work.

Bernhard's in good enough spirits, even if he can't ogle me like he should. The heat's novel enough to not be unpleasant and the endless sunshine is a drastic change from endless rain. It will settle in time and make us miserable in new, unique ways. There will horseflies the size of apples, hail the size of boulders and an unidentifiable plant that will make us all break out in hives. This entire this will surely end us all and we'll be begging for the castle within a fortnight.

"Undersea fortress," he says breaking me out of whatever spiral I was on the precipice of, "That's what it's going to be."

"We're like 2 days from the beach," I say spurring my for once cooperative donkey to come closer to his.

"The entrance is here. We have to ride another two days back, but then we'll be under the sea. Since they don't have the wings or the venom, they've changed to be able to breathe water."

"That would still leave you high and dry."

"Then I get to live in a boat and you'll have to visit me every day least I be consumed with the madness of the sea and fixate on whaling. Or I practice holding my breath and we go from there."

I shake my head and he has nothing in him, not a slightest hint of fabrication. There will be an undersea palace of ruby coral, shark butlers and dolphin maids.

"No," I sigh, "No, it will be in the clouds. Eagle guards and falcons running drills as we all lounge on the wind."

"No wings remember. They'd all fall through the rain drops."

"Not if we're fast enough. Just a run down to the pub, dancing on rain drops and snow flakes. I can carry you on my back and we'll get drunk on hail ale."

"You just wanted to say 'hail ale."

"It's fun. They make liquor here. Good liquor. And they should have ale. I've never had ale. Or liquor for that matter. Just that white wine your mom likes."

He goes silence for a moment and stares at the sky. His hair's gotten so long. I don't know if like it right now. It needs to be wilder.

"I'm never going to have that again am I?" he asks the world. The silence is the answer and he is going through the motions that keep spiraling at me since we crossed the border.

We sit in that silence and let the weight bolster us. We can't turn back now. We just can't for a million and one reasons. We'll never have that wine again. We'll never have the rainy nights snuck away in the towers, idling waiting for the lightning to strike the tower and bring it all down to the foundations.

We will at least have decently maintained roads with comfortably worn cart grooves. That will certainly make our new agrarian lifestyle a bit easier. The fields also seem well taken care of, although not in a way that is familiar. They mix they plots so that the sparse orchards supply shade to the lower lining leaves. At least harvesting would seem to be a shadier affair given the endless sun. It's not enough, but it's something.

The farmers in the field seem to have it down though. Similar hats to mine and Bernhard's thinner bits of fabric, hard gloves for the thorns and the blades, all of them tanned and weathered. That part is a bit more universal it seems. I still haven't seen any Gaisgeachs in the fields, though. The people wave to us and say 'hello' with an accent that seems soft and warm.

Despite our grandiose ideas, they're just people. I don't know what else I expected. There are people in the fields, sweating under the sun and growing old and crooked with the work. No grand parapets, no unseen servants to unload our work and lay us up our velvet thrones, no fountains of wine to swim in until we grow fat and numb to our own bodies. We pass a herd of goats being prodded along with a commanding dog and a bearded man more interested in the pipe between his lips than the animals under his care. I like them and their

Our ride continues up the most recent hill. The donkey's don't mind. I don't mind, really, even if there's another rising bit of anxiety in me. This is supposed to be the last one before we reach the town and finally start whatever it is we are going to do. My breath catches and holds. Bernhard stiffens in his seat, eager to meet the end of the world with a straight back and a stiff upper lip.

We crest the horizon and the moment stretches out beyond the curve.

It's nothing. It's another set length of well trodden roads, lined with low stone walls penning in the same mixed orchards and grazing fields we've been seeing for the past several hours. The only difference is that now there are low houses of baked in bricks, the same color as the earth. They have banners here too. Blocky things from set in planks, warm colors with a few splashes of blue and green and purple when there is the need. I like them. Much better than the elaborate livery of godly rays and noble beasts. Off in the distance, a twin set of windmills catch the sluggish breeze and turn slowly.

Much more important, we're coming to a crossroads and we're not the only ones. A parent and child, carrying a deer like it weighs nothing at all. The parent has a long spear in hand held like it's a baked in part of existence. The child has an adult's bow about as tall as her. Both have the same head of jet black hair. The parent smiles down and I see her entire face break into gently worn wrinkles. Laugh lines, mostly, but a few across the forehead to mask the scars. The light catches their eyes in the oddest way.

A bolt runs up my spine. They're Gaisgeachs, both of them.

"By the stars," I whisper, "We can have kids. We can get wrinkles."

Bernhard looks to me. He is smiling. The Gaisgeach, the parent, is smiling. With no effort at all, she shoulders the deer and scoots the little one off. She shoulders her too big bow and bounds over to us.

"Hi," she says, pointing back to the deer, "I killed that."

I follow the line and there is indeed a small arrow hole in the things neck. There's also a much deeper hole in the chest that seems to be much more effective.

There's a little Gaisgeach talking to me. She has dark hair, but nothing darker than what is theoretically possible. It's in the eyes, just a bit too green to be something that Bernhard can produce. They catch the light and turn much, much darker, slipping into black and then brighter into a gold like the sun. She's looking at me, not nearly as confused as I am. I'm just another Gaisgeach that's bigger than her. There's a lot of those apparently. Bernhard's the odd one out. His eyes don't change color and he doesn't seem to have the dense musculature that he is supposed to have.

"I can see that," he says, "that's very impressive. Is that your bow too?"

The little one beams with raw pride. The parent shakes her head a bit with that same worn smile.

"It is," the little one says, "Mama and Ma don't know how to use one, so I had to teach myself. I can teach you too."

"I would love that. I had a teacher where I came from, but I didn't like him that much. What's your name?"

"Rowan the Eagle. What are yours?"

"I'm Bernhard and this is Ellyn."

"That's it?"

I guess our confusion is evident judging by little Rowan's glance back to her parent. That one just kind of chuckles and gives us a wry grin.

"You can chose your name here," she says, readjusting the deer, "Most just tack on an animal at the end. Rowan the Eagle. Cam the Boar. Finn the Raven. But it's your choice. For what it's worth, I think Bernhard and Ellyn are fine."

I don't think Rowan agrees with that single jolt of a sour face. Bernhard turns to me as if I am an expert on naming things and all that entrails. To my surprise, it does come to me rather quickly.

"Ellyn the Viper," I say.

It's subtle. I don' think Rowan picks up on it, but Bernhard, the parent and I certainly do. A mote of dust falls onto the ground. A butterfly flaps its wings an ocean away. A drop of water enters a river and begins its whole journey out to the sea. The world is better now. A piece quietly slots into place and it should have always been there. My vertebrae realign and I am made whole in a small way that I always was. Rowan approves of this change of state. She turns to Bernhard so that we may all witness his own apotheosis. It's even quicker than mine.

"Bernhard the Viper," he says with his best smile.

My first instinct is to leap from my mount and tackle him to the ground. I would then proceed to mount him and teach little Rowan some very important life lessons, whether or not their parent approves. We're all Gaisgeachs here. We all know our true purpose in the grand scheme of things. It's the same as everything else really. I even get a bit of a jump going before my donkey decides that it is much more interested in trying get at something growing in the cracked earth. The parent laughs and Rowan is pleased with her little treasure fact to add to her ever-growing hoard.

"We're going to have that for dinner," Rowan says pointing back to her grand accomplishment, "Mama's a good cook. You can come by if you want. You can meet my sister too. She's not that good with a bow yet."

"We might just take you up on that," says Bernhard. Rowan is endlessly pleased with herself and bounds back to her prize.

"Head to the center of town," says the parent, "Ask around for Laoise and Dorrin. They'll get you a roof over your head before we can start building you one of your own. The mill needs some hands to grind the maize since that field has been kind to us. But if you think something needs doing, start doing it. We'll figure it out. That's worked out pretty well for us so far. We'll get the donkeys back to Hector eventually. Don't worry about it."

They share the burden and leave us to stare wide eyed at them. People are here, slowly growing into the dry earth until they bloom with hardy petals. It will be rough and uneven, winds howling and parched days. I look to my hands. They grip the reins of my wonderful donkey gently. The poor thing is much more interested in the scraggy grass than anything going on my head. The Gaisgeachs turn one last time as the take their split path to some other nondescript home. Both of their eyes glow like firelight. The parent cracks a slight smile and says the words that I imagine she's spent her entire life wanting to hear.

"Welcome home," she says.