Harriet says nothing. The guests stare. Elizabeth’s eyebrows shoot up, and I can see shock flicker across her features before she quashes it.

  “Alain,” Winston says warningly, drawing closer. “Don’t make me throw you out.”

  “What?” I say, before I can stop myself. So where's the catch, beyond the madness of the offer itself? What's the scheme? It's enough to make my tail twitch. “I assume you'll want the furniture too?”

  “No, we won't take a thing! This is all our fault, after all.” Alain says gently, clasping his hands together. He’s got a fire in his eyes that makes me want to punch something. “We may wish to buy a few select items from you. The ones that specifically willed to us may be of service, you see.”

  The will. Of course. It’s come up a few times now, and I’ve cottoned on. “A House of Healing,” I repeat slowly. “And that’s really why they want it?”

  “To benefit the Church and Craumont, yes,” Alain continues, “And we’d make a more public apology than the one we did five years ago, squarely accepting blame. This, I’ll swear on the Restoration for.”

  I clasp my hands and turn around. I’m a bit worried I’ll try to bite his head off if I keep looking, and for all my anger, I will not indulge this urge to . Adamantine doesn't approve of unjust acts, and I don't either.

  Yes, Ada and Markus would have wished for that. Probably. They’d never been particularly kind, often only speaking to me about new tutors or to send me off to get Olivia’s medicine.

  And Olivia had always needed medicine.

  “You did mention that, yes,” Harriet says dryly. “But have you gone mad? Will we need to call up a healer?”

  “Ha! I am sane, Harriet. Quite sane,” Alain chuckles. He spreads his hands, wide, gesturing to the room around us.

  “It would... set everything right, Dame Crawford. We’ve been as stuck as you are, unable to move forward,” Alain says quietly. “It would be for the best, I hope.”

  “I...” I’m at a loss for words. A growl starts building in my throat, a low rumbling that leaks from between clenched teeth.

  “Take your time considering the offer. Your parents went about it wrong, but what they wanted was—”

   he.

  The room smells like wind after the rain, like the breeze after a thunderstorm. My body sputters with dregs of magic, and a heartbeat stretches into infinity.

  Blackened claws graze against the man’s bare, vulnerable throat. It would be trivial to slam such a fragile human against the wall, to roar in their face and force their submission. My anger would be sated, and I would be bothered no further.

  The sensation of my claws pressing into his flesh stops me in my tracks, and I rock back on my heels. I do not needlessly, no matter how angry I am. There is no justice in cruelty, in lashing out. Goddess, forgive me.

  I release my instinctive hold on the magic, and watch as Alain staggers back. His hands flash up to his unmarred neck, fear and confusion warring on his features. Nobody steps forward when he trips, stumbles, and falls to the ground.

  “Oh, you’d know exactly what my dear Mother and Father wanted, wouldn’t you,” I snarl into the sudden silence. The words pour out molten and raw, searing my throat from the inside. “Better than I would, at that. After all, they spent more time at your Adamantine-damned farce of a Church than they did at home, and they wouldn’t notice if a second Collapse started. Gods above, when Olivia died, they didn’t even attend the funeral— my butler and I buried her ourselves.”

  I snap my jaw shut with a . I can still feel the dirt under my nails, the... chill, of her skin. The rawness of my voice when they left to to their damned God. I should’ve died that night, kneeling in the bitter winter cold, but Adamantine’s warmth sustained me long enough to see the sunrise.

  “Amelia?” Elizabeth calls out, as if discussing the weather. “I would appreciate it if you left the poor man alive. It would be a terrible way to end the night.”

  I spare a glance at Elizabeth, then look back down at Alain. I’m looming over him, hunched, with claws bared. him? Gods above, she’d better be joking. I don’t look like I’m about to murder a man, do I?

  Still, I step back and take a breath, straightening. My tail curls in front of me, drawing a line between myself and Alain. “If I had my way, I’d see you run out of town. I won’t take your deal, and you won’t see so much as a loose thread from the Crawfords as long as I live.”

  I pause to count my breaths before I continue. “And don’t you dare ask again.”

  “He won't have the chance.”

  Winston's hand rests on Alain's shoulder, his lips twisted into a subtle scowl. “I'll deal with him, Iv- Amelia. Alain, you'll be escorted off the grounds. I expected better from you.”

  I swallow my fury, douse my anger, and stalk away. I can already hear the gossip stirring in my wake, I can feel the gazes of the servants who’ll tell tales to their friends. Good.

  All the more reason to get out of town the moment I can.

  Despite ending the evening, metaphorically speaking, my evening isn’t over yet. Winston still has his piece to say, even if I'm tempted not to hear it. He's trying to drag me along like a dog on a leash, even if that's not his intention.

  I'm stewing on the balcony, steaming, even. He wants me here for some Gods-awful reason, and he knows that I don't play well with the Church. Maybe he's got a scheme, planning and plotting like every other politician or noble. Harriet's in on it, too; he keeps hovering around me and making sure I'm calmed down. My tail is slowly swinging from side to side behind me, dragging the tip across the wood flooring in a steady .

  I breathe in, I breathe out. The air is crisp and cold, filling my lungs and banishing the creeping fatigue. The Moon hangs over, cut by clouds but still bright enough to see the shapes of hills and trees by. Beautiful, meditative, and enough to distract me from twinging muscles and unpleasant thoughts. I've been using little bits of magic all evening— and now, I'm starting to feel it.

  “I let him get to me.” I manage, speaking slowly.

  Harriet hums. “You did. I don’t imagine that was his , though... Are you alright, then? By Winnie’s account, your time here has been fraught.”

  . I manage a dry smile at the understatement, looking back over my shoulder. “It’s been a long day, Harriet, and it’s not over yet. Because you two have your own plans, don't you.”

  “And we are sorry about that, Ivy. I mean it.” Harriet says gently. “But it’s the best time for it... and we do need your help.”

  I bite back a few acidic comments; I’ve already let my temper get the best of me twice today, I refuse to give in again, no matter the temptation. “Hire a Delver without a history here, then. If it’s big enough, hire multiple.”

  “Ah... What if that history is important, then?” Harriet replies. I can hear him pacing, now.

  “No, it's not, unless you're planning to blackmail me,” I cut back, then pause. He's dancing around the truth, pushing and prodding at everything he . “Stop dangling the problem out of reach, Harriet. It's aggravating.”

  I punctuate my words by thudding my tail against the floor.

  "I'm trying to prepare you, so you don't threaten my husband." Harriet's voice takes a turn from soft to steel.

  My tail uncurls, and I lift it off the floor so it can straighten out. I don’t say anything, though; instead, I let out a long, low growl.

  Finally, with a sigh, he starts to speak again.

  "I know you like to keep to yourself. But Winnie, he... we, we're just looking to make things better. So don't think you can start snapping at him."

  “He'd deserve it, and I can, Harriet. I left Craumont for a ,” I say bluntly. “But I won't. , Harriet, I'm out of patience. What do you want?”

  “... I believe you, then,” Harriet murmurs, clearing his throat. “It’s something we'd rather nobody overhear, I'm sorry. We’ll make it worth your while... and I doubt something like tonight will happen again.”

  I cannot help but snort, curling my tail back in around my boots. “Is that a promise or a threat, Harriet?”

  “Oh! Eluvial above, no, no. Not a threat.” He almost cuts me off in his haste to reply, and I can hear the chuckle building in his voice. “We don’t plan to have you and members of the Church at any gatherings. Considering they’re just as bad as you about it, nobody will bat an eye most times.”

  “And you’ve already decided I’ll stay, Harriet?” I follow up, caught between a snarl and a laugh. “I don’t plan on it, but you should know I don’t come cheap, either.”

  “Now there’s something I don’t understand. You know that a third of the area’s taxes go to you, yes? You’re far too mercenary, Ivy.”

  I sigh, getting off the balcony and turning to face Harriet. Gods, if I had that sort of gold, I'd hire another Delver to do this for me. Maybe two!

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “Why would I take tax-coin when I do nothing for Craumont? Benny sends it back to the city's coffers. The rest goes to the Manor’s maintenance, because sending coin to me would be ridiculously expensive.” I flash a half-smile, pushing away my frustrations. Why didn't he know this? “It’s a bit hard to get gold sent to me when I’m, say, up in the Ancadian peaks, trying to buy a gem off a drake. You'd need a gryphon courier.”

  He snorts, then beams at me. It's a bit blinding, actually. “Truly? That's wonderful, Ivy. Winnie's always called you a generous soul, and I agree with him.”

  Bleh. Too sweet. How do people expect me to respond to things like that? “Thanks.”

  “...You said you bought a gem off a Drake. Do more of your sort live in the mountains? Do you like high places?”

  I fake a grin back at him, showing off my teeth and claws. Maybe today is awful, but this exact moment isn't bad at all. “No, I’m talking about the flying, scaly, fire-breathing things with four legs. Lower case ‘D’. Plus, they’re usually greyer or greener than I am.”

  Harriet gives me a considering look, glancing from my eyes to my tail, and then he leans in. “Do breathe fire, then? I hear all about Magebloods and their differences from normal people, but I’ve not seen any quite as changed as you before.”

  I spread my arms wide, thumping my tail against the floor again for emphasis. “It takes time and work to change like I have, and no, I don’t breathe fire.”

  “Unfortunately?”

  “Unfortunately,” I agree with a soft chuckle. The sound actually surprises me— I feel a lot lighter than even a few minutes ago. “Just Wind and Lightning for me so far, and Fire hasn’t agreed with me in the past. I try to breathe Lightning though...”

  I trail off with a hum, tapping my chin. It’s a fun idea to experiment with! I could use my breath as a guide for a cone of air, made luminous by Lightning; not far off from proper Fire breath, at that point. Or maybe I could... hm. No, raw Lightning from my mouth wouldn’t work. Too hard to define the path without accidentally searing my tongue.

  He puts a hand over his mouth, chuckling. There’s a gleam of excitement in his eyes. “I didn’t expect the answer to be a of any sort. I’m curious, though: Is that because you’re a Mage, or because you’re a Delver? Or a Mageblood, if it’s more innate.”

  “Oh, I’m only a decent Mage, if we want to break things down,” I say quickly, spreading my hands. Memories of training on complex structures rush through my mind— and about how I could never quite handle the more abstract spells, despite my ability to visualize them. “I trained my Magecraft enough to become a Mageblood, but I only got good at channeling magic this way once I’d Delved enough.”

  I gesture to my tail and smile wide, baring my teeth. “Comes with a few perks, too. I can bite through softer metals like brass, not that I’d want to.”

  “I imagine you don’t partake just for the flavor.” He raises an eyebrow, then waves towards the couches. Catching his drift, I follow him over and we sit ourselves down. It takes a moment for me to locate a chair I can actually sit in, and in the pause, Harriet coughs and speaks again. “And yes, I do realize we’re getting far from the beaten path with this conversation, but it’s better than standing around and getting antsy, is it not?”

  “I appreciate it, though I'd say I'm more annoyed than antsy,” I say, voicing my thoughts. “How much longer do you think he’ll be?”

  “Not much longer, I hope, he’s just hammering out a deal with Elizabeth,” Harriet frowns, chewing on his lip. “We might as well go to him, if you’re amenable?”

  “And get this evening over with?” I sigh, running a hand through my hair. Harriet glares at me, and I glare back. Having a bit of fun doesn't excuse being dragged around the way I have. “Yes, let’s go.”

  “Let’s get this done with,” he nods, and I just barely bite back a huff. Come on, can we be less ominous, here?

  The heavy oak door before us is a familiar one. Simple but elegant, with brass bands and a brass knob, it stands out against every other door by virtue of its countless tiny scratches and dents.

  There’s the dent from when we played ball inside, there’s the scratches from when Winston’s grandfather’s hounds tried to get to the treats we’d hidden... old stories, old memories; and they stir uncomfortable feelings within me.

  I reach out and rap my knuckles against the door three times. “Winston? We're here.”

  Papers shuffle, and then Winston's muffled voice carries through the door. “Yes? Come in.”

  My hand wraps around the doorknob, and a twitch works its way down my tail. The knob feels almost too small in my hands, a feeling that doesn't really fit my memories of the looming door and an irritable old lord.

  “Nervous, Ivy?” Harriet says softly. “I understand.”

  Snorting, I shake my head. Winston's family was downright gentle, compared to my parents. “No. Just some old memories.”

  The door creaks open, and there is Winston, looking a decade older as he pours over paperwork in the warm crystal-lamp light of the study. His horns shine dimly in the light, and even as I watch he runs a hand over one of them.

  “Please, come in, take a seat if you'd like,” he starts, still looking at his desk. I can hear Harriet slipping in behind me, and I tug my tail in so that the door can swing shut. He spares a glance upward, eyes passing over me and focusing off to one side. “Harriet, dear, if you could handle the estate duties while I handle this...”

  Handle . Whatever they're telling me, it's a . Or maybe I'm the thing, a Mageblood with claws and fangs to remove a problem. I'll hold my tongue, though; at least until Harriet leaves.

  Harriet sighs softly from behind me. “Of course, dear, I'll be right back. And stop talking like that, you're not helping matters.”

  The door clicks closed behind us, and I take that opportunity to close in on Winston. He, in turn, gestures toward one of the plush chairs near his desk.

  I don't take it. Just like everything else around here, I wouldn’t quite fit in.

  “You're not helping things. In fact, you've made today a right headache.” I say finally, clearing my throat and locking eyes with Winston. “I don't appreciate getting dragged about, Winston.”

  “And I'm sorry, Ivy. We’ll get on with things shortly.” Winston holds my gaze, tilting his chin up. "You let your temper get the best of you, Ivy, and we won't be bringing that—”

  . Winston’s half-right to say it, but being talked down to like a child who stole cake is enough for me to cut him off with a raised palm.

  “Don't put this all on me, Winston, and it's not like I really hurt the man.” I grind my words out, locking eyes with him. "You what they put me through, and you went out of your way to invite me anyway. Was this worth it?”

  Winston sighs, softening his posture. “I'll have grievances about this from Dongbaek tomorrow, I'm sure—”

  “Answer the question, Winston,” I cut him off, shaking my head.

  Grimacing, Winston looks down. “No. I didn't expect him to make such an absurd offer, and I've had him banished from the grounds.”

  “Good.” I pause to think, tapping my tail against the carpet. “But let’s get to the point, Winston. Whatever problem you two have, if you’re trying to keep me here for it...”

  I gesture towards the curtains, and to the city that sprawls out beyond them. “...I'd better be getting paid for it, and you'd better have a damn good reason.”

  Winston takes a drought of his wine. “Of course. Yes, we’ll pay you, Ivy. I’m not accounting for room and board, because you own a heavily enchanted manor, but you’ll be paid.”

  “That’d be acceptable, assuming you can convince me to stay rather than just hiring another Delver,” I raise a finger on my free hand, curling my tail around one leg.

  I’ve been thinking about this a bit, and no matter how tempting it is to leave Winston in the lurch, I'd feel awful doing so. “And you wanted me to teach a Mage or two to work with Delves, I know, but I’m not really a good teacher. I’ll... find some useful books from the Manor’s library, and hand them off to you.”

  He inclines his head and frowns, setting his wineglass aside. “Thank you, Ivy, really. We'll negotiate the details later.”

  “You’re asking me to assume I’ll ,” I counter with a sigh. We’ve circled around whatever Winston wants a thousand times, I swear; spiraling inevitably towards the truth without ever touching it. Anger only goes so far before it turns to exhaustion, and I'm at that point. “Get to it, or I'm walking out the door.”

  Winston takes a steadying breath; I square my shoulders and calm myself. Still, the anticipation builds, and it’s going to drive me mad.

  “Something is wrong with Craumont’s wards. Very, very wrong.”

  Winston’s words hang heavy in the air. He runs a hand between his horns, and when he looks at me, his eyes are dark.

  “You’ll have to be more specific,” I say dryly. Even so, I lean forward, both hands on the back of the seat. There’s thousands of wards in Craumont-- any number of things could be wrong with them, but he’s only saying this because it’s somehow my problem. Something a Delver can fix, rather than a cadre of Mages.

  “It’s... complicated. I didn’t even realize it was happening, at first. Imperial wards wax and wane with the seasons, after all.” Winston says quietly, putting his hands down and pushing himself up. “You’ll have to see them yourself.”

  More vague statements, more ominous dragging-out, and worry is starting to win out over impatience. My tail curls more tightly around the chair. “Show me, then.”

  The air shifts. Wind and Water wash over me, barely dense enough for me to feel them. Wind is an old friend, swirling around me; Water splits upon me like ripples against a stone.

  "I will. Reach out," Winston murmurs. Through the Wind and Water, I can feel his magic reaching for me, climbing up my skin and waiting at my heart. "Trust me."

  I snort. Of course I trust him. A flick of willpower draws my magic together, much like it would before reaching into a Delve’s mechanisms. Our abstractions clasp hands—

  Down, down, we go.

  We plunge through the Craumont Manor's enchantments, their laws parting before us like fish in a pond. Like servants before a king.

  We dive deeper. We press against the taut surface of enchantments, gentle as they are; quiet things that blunt the wind and feed the parks. Something rumbles underneath, churning like a steam engine, each stroke rippling the surface.

  Winston reaches in, and the enchantments part before us. They will obey their Lord.

  And there, beneath the skin, a dozen stitched wounds are laid bare. Twelve punctures in the shimmering, roiling foundation of Imperial magic, plunging deep into the World. Each would be a Delve that someone had to seal, and the freshest wound no doubt corresponded to the Delve I’d sealed this morning.

  Or, no. That the freshest wound. There's three, no more than two months old, and it's hard for me to tell which one was mine. Out in the wilderness, that'd be normal, but here? In a warded city?

  It's hard to believe even with all the information in front of me.

  “And these are all ? Or do these just take a long time to heal?” I say, or perhaps think. I can hear the alarm in my voice, but it’s a distant thing. “Too many more and something’s bound to crack.”

  "It takes them six months to heal, each. We usually get one or two Delves a year... and we’ve had twelve in the last ten months," Winston says softly. "Harrie and I, we tried... look closer, Ivy.”

  “Just tell me what’s going on, rather than pointing me at it,” I snap, sharp teeth clacking together. Still, I look closer at the Delve-wounds. Are their edges starting to fray? Is Craumont already at risk of—

  No, no it isn’t. All the Delve portals have been sealed shut, and I’m not familiar enough with wards on this scale to tell if the wounds are widening or closing. There’s nothing to ‘look closer’ at, unless he’s implying I can draw conclusions from the number of Delves.

  Oh.

  “You think someone is causing these Delves to form artificially,” I say evenly, my heart sinking like a stone. Is this what he wants me back for? “That’s absurd.”

  “We both know your parents knew how to do it.” Winston replies.

  His words pour over me like icy water. I sever the connection with a snarl, clawing my way up through the enchantments and back to reality. I stalk towards Winston, dragging my tail noisily along the floor, and Gods above I do not care what damage I might be doing to the carpet. “And they’re very, very dead, Winston, and they died because they opened up a Delve they couldn't handle. Explain yourself.”

  He comes back too, blinking rapidly and shaking his head. It’s enough time for me to calm myself down, just barely. “I don’t think it’s them, Ivy. I think that who knew about their research is causing the extra Delves. Maybe it’s someone inside the town, maybe not.

  Either way, between breaking the enchantments and monsters flooding the area, it’ll kill the city and almost everyone in it.”

  I stare at him wordlessly.

  “I don't just need a Delver who can dive deeper than most, and who won't be so easily killed if things get complicated," Winston continues, chin tilted up. "I need someone who I can trust with the city itself. You.”

  I should say no. Turn down the pay, walk out of this insane city, and stay out of its problems. I wouldn't have to put up with this branch of the Church, or with the countless people who remembered me as a different person altogether.

  Maybe I should send a message to the higher-ups, get Winston connected to even tougher Delvers.

  Getting wrapped up in this would tie me down for months. Years, even. I'd be stuck here, not pushing my Delve record or exploring new places.

  Instead of doing the sane thing, I take a deep breath in and square my shoulders.

  I think we both know the answer. It was always going to be yes, after all; I just don’t know how much I’ll regret it.

  “Fine. What’s the plan?”

  that, everyone, is the end of my first arc! It's been a ride getting here, and I'm excited to show off what's next. Thank you so much for reading. Comments and reviews are greatly appreciated!