This was the first time Emalia had ever been in an Armagnian city. Delues was large and overwhelming to someone who’d spent weeks mostly in the wilderness, but as a resident of Nova, it was certainly not the metropolis the arrogant denizens seemed to think it was. Still, there was a certain sense of hurried anxiety that left her feeling uncomfortable and out of place, even without her robes. She was at an inn, seated at a table in the back across from Sovina as the rest of the group dined, drank, and made a general ruckus at the front. Not that she minded—it was, perhaps, the first time she and Sovina had been alone together since their brief moment in Drazivaska.

  Emalia drank from her cup of wine, savoring the nostalgic flavors she’d missed from home. When she set the cup down, cheeks warming with the effects, she saw Sovina was watching her. Her companion smiled and extended a hand across the table.

  Emalia took it, fingers interlocking, palms touching. Sovina had small callouses built up on her thumb, index finger, and upper portion of her palm near the first knuckle. They weren’t jagged to the touch but firm and rounded. They were oddly comforting. Emalia gave a silent laugh at herself at the thought, shaking her head.

  “What is it?” Sovina asked, a quirk in her lips.

  Oh, those lips. Traveling with the others, trying to remain subtle—it was exciting, in a way, but almost entirely frustrating. All the months, perhaps even years of unaddressed desire and affection suddenly released but barred by others made trying to sneak moments of fondness like resolving all-consuming curiosity with a rare excerpt from a tangentially related tome.

  “I was admiring how lovely you are,” she said, winning a cute blush and a momentary glance away. “I then was amused by how smitten I am. It’s embarrassing, really.”

  Sovina gripped her hand tighter. “No, it’s not.”

  Emalia smiled, then looked toward the others. “We haven’t spoken of what comes next.”

  “Need there be something next so soon?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We’ve been moving since Nova. You deserve a break.”

  “I don’t need one,” Emalia said, sitting up straighter, pulling her shoulders back. “And there’s too much going on to sit and rest. What about Daecinus?”

  Sovina pushed aside their cups and reached over, putting both her hands over Emalia’s. “We can’t go back. I know you want to speak to him again, but it’s too dangerous.”

  “He won’t hurt us. He risked his life to save me from the… from the Spirits.” She shook her head as if to banish thoughts of that day. “We owe the Column enough to try.”

  “We don’t owe them anything. Not after how they treated you.”

  “But were they wrong?” Emalia asked, letting the question hang. “I was possessed. It wasn’t Raizak; it was a lie forged by Souls seeking control.”

  Sovina shook her head, glaring off. Fury simmered just under the surface, Emalia could see. “The high priest knew of the Crown of the Column, yet what did they do? Where was the help? If it were up to them, you’d be killed. If they found us again, we’d die.”

  “They wouldn’t kill us.”

  “Well, I don’t care to find out. Either way, they don’t deserve our help.”

  “I was dangerous. I can’t blame them anymore for how I was outcast.”

  “But I can.” Sovina sighed and squeezed her hand. “Besides, Daecinus can’t be reasoned with.”

  “How can you be sure? He’s a reasonable man, I think.”

  “Because he lost everything to Vasia—a long time ago, maybe, but not for him. If someone took you from me…” she trailed off. Her face settled into something grim, features hardening like stone, jaw tight and sharp. Her eyes fell to the table. “I would never forgive them. And I know I wouldn’t change my mind for anything.”

  This time, it was Emalia’s turn to squeeze her hand. “That’s… I don’t know if I would want that.” She tried searching for the words, but it was difficult. On the one hand, part of her fluttered at Sovina’s devotion and care, but another part felt uneasy. This wasn’t some abstract feeling to be left in isolation. Revenge from any source—be it love, devotion, care, or responsibility—always leads to more violence. It never truly ended anything unless one side was entirely destroyed. And she couldn’t let that happen here, for that would mean all of Vasia. “Maybe he can change. Maybe if we find the right information. What if we don’t go to Daecinus? What if we go to the Column?”

  “What? Why?”

  “There might be information there that could convince him. It was as I was saying in Drazivaska! Maybe somewhere out there, some part of his people’s descendants lives? With how differently he ages, maybe someone he knows? He mentioned a sister, didn’t he? I don’t even know if that’s possible, but how can we say without trying to find those answers?” she said, words coming out faster and faster. “If there’s anywhere in the world that might have all the answers, I would bet it would be the Column. Drazivaska might have had a few old scrolls, but it will be nothing next to the heights of the Column’s archives! Maybe even Smychnik would help!”

  “We can’t go back. Not as we are.”

  “You mean without something proving my visions were actually from Deus and not delusions?”

  “You know what I mean,” Sovina said, leveling a steady look her way. “We return, and we will be locked away from all resources and not allowed to leave again, if they don’t kill us. I doubt even Smychnik would help you escape a second time.”

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “He would. I know it.” Emalia held up a finger. “Besides, you would be right about all of that if I wasn’t such a thorough planner.”

  “The catacombs will have been secured.”

  Her smile spread. “There are many routes through the catacombs.”

  “All the routes lead to one entrance in. They’ll be guarding it.”

  “Yes, but I have you. Maybe the others. We can do this, Sovina.”

  She sighed in response. “You know how I feel about this. It’s a big risk.”

  “And yet, bearing your warning with all due consideration, I ask anyway.”

  She was quiet for a long moment, looking off, giving it thought. Finally, she said, “If you believe in this plan, then I will not dissent. But if it comes to it, I won’t let them capture us, even if that means violence.”

  “Very well.”

  A small smile spread across her face; it was wistful and almost sad. “When this is done, we will take the break I spoke of, if we can.”

  “Very well. We shall.” Emalia smiled, and her thoughts returned to the feeling of Sovina’s hand in hers. How it felt. And then, their location, and the privacy afforded. “But while we are here, we should take advantage of this city, I say. Why don’t we spend some of our coin on a bath? And then after, take up a room?”

  While Sovina was not a prude, necessarily, she was embarrassed easily, and so she looked away with heated cheeks, though she was smiling. “That sounds… wonderful.”

  Emalia leaned forward, feeling confident, and, for the first real time since Drazivaska, she felt sure of herself, whole again. And so, bridging the distance between them, she whispered, “Why don’t we sort this bath out now?”

  Her companion, seemingly struck as she was, did not disagree, and they left the common room with all the speed they might dare, grinning like fools.

  …

  Oskar fucking hated Armagnians. Well, that was perhaps a bit much. On second thought, with some more conscious deliberation put in, hazy with drink as it was, he concluded he didn’t hate Armagnians, but just generally despised the way they chose to behave. Specifically fleecing him out of his hard-earned silver in complicated games of cards.

  He shook his head, scowling at the memory. He should have swung at the smug merchant ass. But no, he listened to his better conscience and let the rat bastard get away. The only upside to it all was that a bit of Armagnian wine helped ease away the tension, and soon, he mostly forgot the whole predicament that afternoon. Now, it was getting somewhere into the evening, probably, and Oskar was fairly certain he’d not remember much of what was to come by morning. Still, he had some young woman on his lap, pretending to be attracted to him because he’d paid her so well, and enough wine in his system to kill a normal man.

  But I’m no normal man, he thought, then figured it a good pronouncement and shouted out, “No normal man!”

  The rest of the band—those still conscious, at least—cheered at his words, though few likely knew what he said at all. He’d been talking to… He’d been talking to someone, then the lady, then just enjoying the scene, letting his hands roam as she dug her somewhat bony ass into his thigh and crotch. It’d been quite some time, so the jabbing didn’t dissuade him. By Neapoli, if the priestess hadn’t made them run off to help Daecinus in Levanska, who clearly didn’t fucking need it, then maybe he’d have gotten some there… Oskar belched, shook his head, and stared around the room. Where is she? The two of ‘em? Weren’t they here before? Not anymore, it seemed. Oh well, Sovina knew how to handle herself.

  Strange women, he thought, shaking his head. They’d been all quiet and keeping to themselves after Drazivaska. Not that he could blame Emalia, all the shit she’d gone through. Still, something was up with them. He squinted off into space, trying to figure out what.

  The young woman pushed another cup into his hand, laughing. Where was his old one? This one was full, however, so he took it, grinned, and drank deep.

  When he lowered the rim, his vision swam and his head felt like it was stuffed full of wool.

  “Bloody sheep,” he muttered, pulling the girl in.

  She squealed and giggled, grabbed a fistful of his tunic, and whispered something rather tantalizing in his ear. A wonder she even spoke Vasian, broken as it was. Armagnians were arrogant bastards when it came to languages, he learned. Still, wasn’t a second later he was up, holding her against him as much for pleasure as stability so he wouldn’t topple over, and stumbled over to where his room might be. Found it after some searching, almost tripped once or twice, then actually fell upon knocking his foot against the doorway frame.

  He muttered a string of curses and pushed his way to his feet, just to be shoved into the bed by the woman. This fall he didn’t mind. She climbed over him and gave him a wicked grin. The kind that most men might kill for. The kind money and little else got you.

  Then something poked against his neck, and that sexy grin seemed to turn a whole shit of a lot more sinister. “Where gold?”

  “Eh?”

  What he assumed to be a knife pressed in a bit harder. “You men have throw it like north copper. Where is?”

  “Huh?”

  She began patting him down with her free hand. He lay still for a few moments, trying to remember if he’d seen a knife on her earlier. And it’s a big bloody thing. How’d I miss it?

  “Hah!” she laughed, snaking out a hand from his trousers where he’d had a special pocket meant to stop would-be thieves. Between her thumb and forefinger, a ruby. His ruby. “I knew you riches. You smelled of. All pride and waste.”

  “That’s mine.”

  “Where is rest? The gold?” That knife bit at his skin again, drawing a trickle of blood.

  “Oh, ah,” he muttered, making a show of shaking his head in rememberance. “I’m the boss, see? The chief? I have it.”

  “Where?”

  “Just there,” he pointed off behind her, and the dumb whore turned to look. So he elbowed her in the face. Pinned down as he was, it wasn’t the strongest one he’d ever thrown, but fuck him if it wasn’t a good one. She fell back to the floor and scrambled up, nose bleeding and a little crooked.

  “Rob me?” he slurred out, sitting up in bed. “I was paying you, dammit!”

  She rushed forward at him and earned a mean kick in the gut for it. She doubled over and wheezed out a gasping, desperate breath. He took his time to stand, get his bearing so he didn’t vomit, and pried the mean little piece of iron from her hands.

  “I’ve killed Greyskins and druzhina alike and all and more. You think you can… you can rob me? With this?” He waved the knife in front of her face. She lunged for it, snatching his wrist, bending it. But he yanked away before she could get a good grip, slicing her hand. Oskar resisted the urge to stab her and settled on aiming the blade at her. That settled her down promptly.

  “Don’t kill me, please,” she begged after a few seconds of gasps, trying to get her breath back.

  “Course not.” He smiled. “Earned your lesson, you did. Now, my ruby.” He extended an open hand, and she reluctantly placed it in his palm. After pocketing it—making sure to stuff it deep this time—Oskar reached down and grabbed the would-be thief by her hair and hauled her out into the tavern room. “Men, check your whores for blades, yeah? News of our prosperity has reached the, uh… the ears and more of enter- enterprising women of the city.” He shoved her outside into the street, which was darker than he had expected. How much time had they passed drinking? “Sit on my lap again, and I’ll break more than your nose. Oh, and I’m keeping your blade. Get a bigger one next time.” He waved the little dagger and stuck it in his belt. With that, he turned and marched back inside, feeling mighty impressive. He didn’t make it ten paces before vomiting all over the wall to a chorus of laughs and the holler of the angry innkeeper.

  Some damn glory this was.