A week passes in Hammerheim, Caravan Day and the festivities of days following also pass. Furnax had paid a small amount, by his standard to allow Reigna, Will, and Lyraax to remain at the Lavaspur, undisturbed while he performed what magic he had to and contacted whoever he knew to find out where to find Jasper and Reigna’s parents. Reigna spent much of this time alone in her room, not even allowing Lyraax to enter. Each night Will would bring her meals up to her room, she’d open the door and he’d catch a glimpse of her face before the door would slam, an hour later he’d hear the clatter of the serving tray sliding across the floor and would bring it down to Marie.

  Will is standing before the fireplace swaying as he bows his viola, playing a rendition of an old folk song he heard once when visiting family in Mae’Andel. A simple, but poignant one-four-five-one progression in D minor. Lyraax is seated regally, like some nobleman’s cat on one of the plush armchairs, gently rocking his head to the movement of the music. The sound of footsteps descending the stairs snaps Will from his flow state, he and Lyraax turn their focus to the top of the staircase.

  Reigna descends slowly, leaning on the bannister for support. She’s barefoot and still in her night clothes, a set of soft green pajama pants and a baggy button-up shirt. Her hair appears dry and matted and her eyes are puffy and swollen.

  Will places his viola on the coffee table and runs over to her. “Reigna, are you-” He pauses abruptly, “No of course you’re not. Do you need-” She raises a hand to him.

  “I’ll be fine, Will. First I need a bath.” She pauses for a moment before staring confused at her empty hands. “I left my change of clothes on my bed.” Her voice is hollow and disinterested.

  “You go and run your bath, I’ll grab your clothes and leave them on the folding table in the laundry room for you, okay?” Will offers, a tactic he’s hoping she’ll fall for just to keep her from going back to her room.

  “That’s fine then. Thanks Will.” She passes him, offering him a gentle pat on the cheek before descending to the bathing area downstairs. Once she’s out of sight he casts a look over to Lyraax whose eyes are locked on the door to the basement, squinting with concern.

  “I’ve not seen The Lady like this in quite some time.” He remarks. Will nervously runs his fingers back through his hair as he climbs up the stairs to the first floor of rooms. Reigna’s is the third door on the left side of the hall coming up from the tavern floor. He enters to find the room in utter disarray. Scraps of parchment scribbled and scratched onto with illegible writing scattered all across the floor and small desk in the corner of the room. The trash bin is overflowing with the discarded remains of uneaten food which have started to fill the room with the sickly-sweet aroma of rot.

  Somewhere amongst the mess of papers and the unmade bed, he finds her clean clothes, neatly folded and carefully placed on a bedside table. The drawer of the bedside table is slightly ajar, as he reaches out to close it something inside catches his eye. A simple sewing kit lies open, sitting atop a row of neatly arranged spools of thread is a large, hook-shaped, leatherwork needle. The tip of the needle glistens with a single ruby pin-prick.

  “Oh, Rain.” He whispers to himself. A tightness forming in his chest and throat.

  He makes his way down to the laundry room and places her clothes on the table as promised before knocking on the door to the baths.

  “Your clothes are out here, Rain.” He calls. A few moments of silence pass.

  “Okay, thank you.” He hears her say from the other side.

  Once back upstairs, he approaches the counter, “Excuse me, Marie?”

  “What can I do for you, son?” She asks, flashing him a tired smile.

  “Where do you keep your cleaning supplies? I’m afraid my friend has made a bit of a mess of her room after receiving some troubling news.” His tone is firm but apologetic.

  “Oh well, I’m sure it’s fine. That’s what housekeeping is for.”

  “No, I’d like to take care of it. If you don’t mind.” He insists.

  “That’s fine, but why would you want to do our jobs for us?” She asks, her eyes scanning his face and, a look of tired, motherly concern falls over her face.

  “My friend is in a bit of a crisis and I think she may be feeling a little isolated.” He pauses for a moment, running his fingers back through his hair as he looks askance, a miserably attempt to mask his own worry. “I suppose on the one hand, I’m just trying to be supportive. On the other, I guess I just don’t want strangers to see the mess and judge her for it because a bad week isn’t who she is.”

  Marie adjusts her sleeves slightly as though a chill has just run through the room and ducks away into the kitchen. A few minutes later she returns with a bucket of soapy water, a mop, a broom, and a pair of heavy leather gloves with a matching apron. Will receives them with a polite bow and a softly whispered “thank you” before sliding on the gloves and apron and ascending the stairs, a mixture of anguish and determination on his face.

  Will spends the next hour emptying the trash bin, gathering all the sheets of parchment into a neat pile, making Reigna’s bed and sweeping and mopping her floor. As he does so he finds more things that leave him feeling cold and deeply worried. There are little patches of dried blood here and there all over the sheets and a pile of freshly stained bandages piled under the bed. Aside from the bloody needle in the bedside drawer, he also finds an empty bottle of a lavender bath water additive.

  He examines the bottle carefully and sits down on her bed turning it in his fingers. A wave of sadness crashes against his heart like a tidal wave, threatening to overwhelm him. He regains his composure to the best of his ability before returning downstairs with a basket of the dirty sheets under one arm and the bucket of dirty water in the other. He places them down to rest before moving the sheets downstairs and finds a cup of hot coffee and a plate of fresh rye toast and delicately sliced fruits.

  “Thought you might be a little peckish.” Marie says, entering from the kitchen and sipping from a mug in her hand. “I also figured you wouldn’t want anything too heavy.”

  “Much appreciated.” Will nods before sliding onto a stool at the counter. “I’ll bring those downstairs in a few minutes.” He says, gesturing to the bucket and basket nestled beside the basement door.

  “I can have one of the housekeepers bring it down for you. Just eat and relax.” Despite the calm cadence of her words, Will knows an order when he hears it and relents, nodding a concession and choosing to focus on eating.

  Meanwhile, down in the bath house section of the basement, Reigna sinks neck-deep into one of the stone tubs. The warmth of the water seeps into her skin, simultaneously alleviating some soreness and stiffness she’s acquired through bad posture and oversleeping this past week, and making her quite painfully aware of all the small pinholes she’s left around her inner thighs. She stares through the clear water at the scars she’s given herself, focusing intently and watching as a couple of them slowly close over a manner of minutes, leaving no sign that she’d ever made the marks. It still stings. I guess the effect of the elixir repairs the damage quickly, but takes a little longer to dull the pain.

  She raises her head and casts a glance around the room before standing to approach a cabinet mounted onto the wall. She opens the little door and starts sifting through the bottles of perfumes and essential oils until she finds a mixture made for hair and brings it back to her tub. She haphazardly empties the contents of the little bottle onto her head and massages it into her scalp, carefully combing her fingers through her hair to detangle little mats and kinks, occasionally flinching at the sound and sudden pull of tangled hairs either snapping or being unceremoniously yanked from their follicles.

  Once the soap has begun to bubble up and cascade down the back of her neck she leans back and slides under the water, shutting her eyes and listening to the way the water rushes into her ears. She lies there, at the bottom of the tub like a stone beneath a tranquil lake. The steady stream of fresh warm water from the faucet above her fills the tub with a dull drone.

  When I was still in school, we learned about the funerary traditions of some of the various Merfolk tribes. The Merfolk who live in Lake Syrril’s famous Crater Lake are said to take the bodies of their dead and cover them in coral and sub-aquatic fungi. They say that the coral and fungi create beautiful colors as they absorb their bodies and are later harvested for food or to be made into armor, weapons, and pigments. The soul is gone, but the body can still serve the community, I’d always wondered what that’d be like. To be a statue underwater or to possibly feel the earth take back my body.

  I’d always figured that if things had gotten too heavy or too desperate, I could always find a creative way to bow out from what Professor Eidelweiss had called The Great Stage, but I suppose that’s not an option anymore. Outliving my friends wasn’t something I’d ever considered as a possibility, and now it’s just my reality. I’m not sure how to feel about it. I guess I just feel empty. On the one hand, I have all the time I’ll ever need to get to where I want to be, on the other, I’m going to get to see everything and everyone I love grow old and die. I don’t want to be alone. Not like that. If I’m being honest, there are days where I lie down in my sleeping bag and think that I wouldn’t mind if I never opened my eyes again.

  Eventually she finds the strength to sit back up off the bottom of the tub, her hair sticks to her face as rivulets of water and residual soap trickle down her body, back into the tub. She parts her hair and stands up from the tub, grabbing a small stool and sitting down to run her brush through her hair. Glad I left this here last time.

  Once she has brushed through her hair, she steps out into the laundry area. As advertised, her clothes are on the folding table, still as neatly folded and pressed as they were when she prepped them this morning. She dries herself off and slides into them before heading upstairs. One more laundry night before we leave shouldn’t hurt.

  When she emerges from downstairs, Will is asleep in one of the chairs by the fireplace, his face contorted into a grimace and his brow furrowed. Lyraax is asleep in the other chair, his back to the chair’s arm and his front claws flexing as he snores loudly. She can see the basket of sheets, presumably from her bed and winces, a mixture of shame and embarrassment stirring in the pit of her stomach, followed immediately by a loud, rumbling growl.

  “You must be hungry, dear.” Says Marie from behind the counter. Reigna jumps at the sound of her voice and whips around to look at her. She just blinks slowly at her from above the rim of a pair of round reading glasses perched on her nose before returning to the page of the book in her hand. She motions to the counter where a cup of tea and a bowl of warm soup sit, trails of steam twirling and twining from them and reminding Reigna that despite her new found inability to die from hunger, food, especially the free kind, is never an unwelcome sight.

  She sits at the counter, slowly sipping at spoonfuls of soup. Despite knowing the Lavaspur’s food is great, her sense of taste feels dull and she can’t find any joy in this bowl at the moment. Despite that she finishes everything and sips at her tea, her eyes locked absentmindedly on a row of clean, white mugs on the back counter beside the various coffee paraphernalia. I think I should apologize to Miss Marie for the mess. The thought drops abruptly into her head.

  “You made quite the mess up there, hm?” Marie says, nonchalantly as Reigna opens her mouth to speak.

  “I’m so incredibly sorry, I know it must have been abysmal up there.” She bows her head in shame, staring daggers into her reflection in the rosy sheen of the tea.

  “Don’t apologize to me.” Marie sighs, finally looking up from her book and glancing over at Will. “Apologize to your friend, and thank him while you’re at it.”

  Reigna follows her gaze and manages to catch a slight twinge in Will’s hand when Marie says that. He’s awake, but doesn’t want to make it awkward.

  “Will cleaned the room upstairs?” She asks rhetorically.

  “Oh yes, the boy insisted that my housekeepers not be troubled with whatever you’d done. He said he didn’t want them to judge you.” The statement comes and goes in curt, matter-of-fact tone. Although not the complete intention, it sends a cold wave over her heart. Well, I guess it’s a little harder to feel hollow when you’re full of shame. She chides herself internally.

  “Did he seem upset with me?” Will tightly clenches his fist in his lap, trying not to be seen.

  “He seemed concerned and worried. He insisted that this was not a reflection of who you are but rather the result of a bad week and that you needn’t be remembered for a bad week.” Marie recants his words simply, squinting her eyes down at her book before turning a page. “We should all be so lucky to have friends who still believe in our capacity for good when we can’t find it in ourselves.” She stands up and stretches. “I’m going to lie down for a bit, if you need anything just go in the kitchen and ask.” She ascends the stairs, leaving Reigna, Lyraax and Will alone in the front of house.

  Reigna approaches the chair where Will is sitting, aware that he’s awake. She sits on the floor behind it, her back against the bottom of the chair and her knees tucked up to her chin. She takes a few deep breaths, trying to find the words and instinctively she just says the first thing that comes to mind.

  “Will, I know you’re awake.” No response save for the measured rhythm of his breath. “I know it was a nightmare up there and I should’ve thought about that before I agreed to let you get my clothes for me.”

  After a moment, she feels the chair shift as Will leans forward on his knees. “I had to. I-” His voice cracks for a moment. Reigna bites her lip. “I couldn’t let you go back in there. Who knows what you’d have done to yourself if you did?” He says, his voice quavering.

  “Will I just-”

  “No!” He barks, loud enough that someone in the kitchen drops what sounds like a piece of silverware on the floor, the sudden volume jolts Lyraax from his slumber, he stares wide-eyed and wordless at Will. “Don’t do that Reigna. Please don’t try to rationalize any of what you were doing in there.”

  “That’s not fair. I can understand you being upset with me but you can’t just shut me out and not let me explain!” She shouts, standing upright as quickly as she can and turning to face him. His expression isn’t what she expected.

  He’s standing there looking her straight in the face, gritting his teeth in frustration. His eyes are narrow and bloodshot, a stream of fresh tears rolling down both sides of his face.

  “Not fair?” He says, his voice low and hoarse. “You know what’s not fair Rain? For a week, you say nothing to me whatsoever. I bring you food, you just throw it away. You slam the door in my face, won’t look me in the eye. Then, when you do finally come out, you’ve turned your room into a trash bin and spotted your sheets with your own blood.” He stops to cough and try to regain some level of composure or something composure adjacent.

  “I told you the first night we stayed here that you’re not alone. You asked Furnax to help you find Jasper and you know they wouldn’t take it easy on you either. Rain, I always knew, even when we were back in school that one day you’d be gone.” He stares down at the floor. “You always had this gloomy disruption about you, it only really surfaced when you’d sing about love and family, but it was always there. I always thought you’d be gone for good one day, and I know it’s hard to hear that you’re gonna be the one to stay when we go, but don’t do this to yourself.” He takes a few steps forward and leans his head against softly. “Please don’t take the time we have left together away from us.”

  She wraps her arms around up and around his shoulders, resting her chin on the top of his head. “I’m sorry I worried you Will.”

  “Just promise you’ll talk to me or at least Lyraax.” He hugs her a little tighter. “I know it’s a selfish thing to ask you, Rain, but can we at least take some time to make some memories so when I’m gone, maybe you won’t feel as lonely?”

  “It is a little selfish.” She gives a tired laugh. “But I’m a bit selfish myself, Will. I wanna find Jasper because even if it’ll be a long time before you both go, forever is longer still. I need time with my people. You guys have always grounded me and in school I took that for granted.” She sighs, still holding onto him. “Do you wanna grab some drinks and humor me for a bit?”

  “Now that I got that out of my system.” He pulls away, wiping his eyes, his face red and puffy. “I’m sorry, I was just really worried. But can we not be terribly graphic?” He asks.

  “I’ll spare you some of the details.” She knocks on the kitchen door and places an order before settling down at one of the tables. Will and Lyraax each take up a seat across from her, waiting intently.

  “First, I’d like to clarify that I didn't do anything so drastic as repeatedly killing myself.” At her opening statement, much of the tension in Will’s shoulders seems to relax. Lyraax nods his acknowledgement, signaling for her to continue. “Furnax had mentioned that the elixir should accelerate my healing and recovery and, up until he’d mentioned it, I hadn’t noticed that my bruises and other injuries from the encounter on our way to Ifrita were already gone” She turns her hand over, displaying her middle finger which previously had the nail split open, revealing it to be back in one solid piece.

  “ Granted I still have some residual pain. So, I decided to do some testing. Just little things.”

  “That’s what you were using the sewing needle for?” Will asks, bluntly. She winces a bit at the question.

  “Yes, just a few pokes on my inner thighs so it wouldn’t be noticeable in case it left any scars.” She heaves a sigh. Hopefully he doesn’t ask any followup questions about why I know that. “It does not, however, repair any scars or injuries that were sustained before the elixir was administered.”

  “You have scars from the past?” Will asks, confused.

  “One of my teeth is cracked from an accident when I was young and I have a scar on my right ring finger where I cut myself in the kitchen I used to work in.” She says, turning her hand over to show the minor discoloration on a spot where she’d once almost sliced off the tip of her finger while chopping onions.

  “And the empty bottle of the bath additive?” Will asks,abruptly.

  “I diluted it with some water and spritzed it around my door to try and hide the smell of the rotting food.” She admits, as their food order arrives at the table. Again, her stomach growls loudly. I figured a bowl of soup wouldn’t be enough.

  Will sighs in relief. “Oh good, I thought you’d drank it to try and poison yourself.”

  Both Reigna and Lyraax give him a look of bewilderment.

  “Gods Will, that’s grim.” She says, her stomach contorting at the thought of swallowing infused liquid soap.

  “That sounds like a terrible way to go.” Lyraax remarks as he nibbles on a roasted carrot.

  “It is.” Will replies, quietly. “Someone I was friends with when I was young drank three small bottles of the stuff after a heated argument with her parents about an arranged marriage.” He stares at his fork for a moment before eating.

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Will. But no, I was trying to hide the smell, that’s all.”

  They eat their meal in relative silence. He asked me to leave out the more gruesome details so I won’t mention the rest of what I tested. Good to know I can grow back some body parts at least.

  “I was thinking we could do one more big laundry night before Furnax comes to give us the information he found.” Reigna says, placing the used plates and silverware on the window to the kitchen.

  “Oh, I forgot to mention.” Will runs over to the chair by the fireplace and retrieves an envelope. “Furnax had delivered this while you were, um, processing. He said to give it to you and that we can stay for as long as it takes for you to be ready.”

  She breaks the wax seal on the envelope and finds a handwritten letter and what appears to a set of boarding passes.

  The letter reads:

  Dear Miss Larkspur,

  Given the time I’ve had and correspondences with friends of mine overseas, I have located the people you’ve asked for.

  Talion The Fox can be found tending a bar in Port Atreya called The Siren Song. It would seem he has been in Port Atreya for nearly a decade now and shows no sign of leaving any time soon.

  Amaryllis Faberos is currently known as Lady Feigenbaum of House Feigenbaum. She’s married to a Regulan chamberlain and tends to host small gatherings for the other ladies and daughters of the Regulan Ton.

  Jasper Nachtstern has been in Alexandria for the last few months as the young lord that they serve has been there “indulging in various carnal pleasures” and intends to remain in the city until he has stayed for at least one week at each brothel in the city districts.

  Accompanying this letter you will find a set of boarding passes for yourself and your companions for the Leonis Exemplar, an airship that leaves from the town of Gimmerfrost in one month. The Exemplar will stop for three days to resupply in Port Atreya before continuing to Alexandria. I will continue to pursue any information about your condition and the strange man who may have afflicted you with it.

  I apologize that I could not do more for you at this time. Marie has agreed to accommodate you and yours until you are ready to depart.

  Best of luck on your travels

  Furnax, The Forger.

  Will watches as she reads, her face mostly neutral until something makes her eyebrows furrow in what seems to be a mixture of confusion and disgust.

  “What is it?”

  “Furnax located Jasper and my parents.” She pauses, handing him a boarding pass and tucking the letter back into its envelope. “Apparently my mother is married to another man. A Regula chamberlain, last name Feigenbaum.”

  “Hm, the name doesn’t ring a bell to me. Probably not someone who is commonly in the public eye.” Will remarks, sliding the boarding pass into his coat pocket. “I assume that’s what these passes are for then? To get us to Regulus?”

  “No, the ship we’ll be taking is heading for Alexandria and makes a stop in Port Atreya.” She clarifies, sitting on the arm of the chair.

  “Ugh, Port Atreya is a miserable place.” He sits down in the other chair, pinching the bridge of his nose.

  “I’ve never been there, but I know where it is. I’m guessing you’re not a fan?”

  “Absolutely not.” He leans back in his chair and takes a deep breath. “Port Atreya is a neutral territory and has three embassies for Ambria, Regulus, and Rsha respectively. They’re heavily guarded but what military presence from each nation exists there is very lax about what happens outside of embassy grounds.”

  “How bad is the area?” She asks, leaning forward and making no attempt to disguise the apprehension creeping into her voice.

  “Atreya has a Smuggler’s Hub, so a lot of illegal contraband moves through the place. On top of that, many of the people who pass through regularly or, Gods forbid, live there are typically slavers, bounty hunters, or traffickers of one type or another.”

  “My dad’s there.” She says quietly, her eyes locked on the floor. Will catches himself and manages to avert a tirade about the endless vices of Port Atreya and its veritable scum. “Why has he been there so long?” Reigna asks no one in particular. They sit in a solemn yet contemplative silence. I have so many questions, I suppose I’ll have to wait to get answers this time around.

  “When’s our ship leave?” Will breaks the silence, before biting on one of his thumbnails.

  “In a month, so considering we’ve been here a week, we have three more to kill in the meantime.” Reigna says, sliding into a proper sitting position on the chair. “We’re supposed to leave from Glimmerfrost.”

  “Hm, ship can’t be that big then,” Will notes, passively. “Glimmerfrost doesn’t have a huge airship terminal, so we’re probably getting passage on a small freight vessel.”

  “If it is a smaller vessel that would explain the three day resupply, I suppose.”

  “Three days in Port Atreya? Not the best vacation spot, but tis what tis.” He says, sounding more than a little unamused. “Either way, I’m with you, Rainy.”

  “Thanks Will.” She says, a small smile playing at the edge of her lips.

  “Do you want me with you when you go to see your dad?” He asks, his tone soft but serious.

  “You can come with me to the bar, but could you wait outside?”

  “Yeah, of course I can. And you’ll know if anything goes wrong because I’ll scream like a terrified piglet.” He jests, making a high-pitched pig-squeal before clutching his chest and pretending to fall back against his chair, his tongue lolling out of his mouth like some panting mutt.

  They laugh and eventually fall into a comfortable silence, listening to the crackle of the fireplace and basking in its radiance until a comfortable tiredness falls on Reigna and she drifts off to a quiet, blissful sleep for the first time all week.

  * * * * *

  During the final days of their stay at The Lavaspur, Reigna and Will make the necessary preparations for their expedition to the village of Glimmerfrost. The trip up the mountain path from Hammerheim is expected to last three days, barring any incident or inclement weather. Following prior experience, they make plans to leave two days earlyr allowing themselves, in the worst case scenario, a head start to compensate for any misfortune that may befall them and in the best case, a couple days to enjoy what Glimmerfrost has to offer tourists and travelers.

  The week prior to their departure is spent gathering supplies for the road such as dried meats and hardtack and a small supply of fresh produce and seasonings to prepare meals for their camp at night and utilizing the Lavaspur’s utilities, alongside Furnax’s gracious benefaction, to keep themselves fed and well rested and keep their clothes clean. Will delivers on his promise made to Reigna back at Tooth & Claw and teaches her the spell he’d used to topple the mouthy merchant and, as an extra precaution, the pair spend some time creating scrolls of some spells that they know.

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  “If we run into any trouble, not having to expend energy to use some spells is always useful.” Will states, carefully copying down a few bars of sheet music using a glimmering golden ink.

  “I’ve never considered creating quick-releasing spells, I didn’t even know we had that capability.” Reigna says, squinting down at her sheet of parchment and carefully penning her sheet music in a midnight blue ink.

  “Anyone who has studied a school or style of magic can do it, Rain. It’s just very tedious and the final touches vary based on your style.” Once his sheets have all been penned carefully and the ink has dried, he stands and bows his viola along to each song, leaving a few moments pause at the end of each. Reigna watches intently as the golden ink distorts as though viewed through a heat shimmer before flashing with an intense glow, the ink of the finished scrolls looks freshly wet once again, the pigments spiraling fluidly in place. When she leans down to inspect the finished work, she can hear the faintest echo of the music Will had played.

  “That’s so cool!” She exclaims. “Some of the mages I’d met convinced me that scroll making was just glorified transcriptionist work.”

  “Well, for mages it typically is.” Says Will as he rolls up his scrolls and slides them into a round leather case strapped inside his coat. “My uncle is a magical transcriptionist who used to work in Ambria. According to him, mages have to lay out all the material components for their spells in specially designed circles, copy the formulas onto paper, then recite the necessary incantations in order to capture the spell and ‘ready’ it.”

  “Oh, like loading ammunition into a firearm before pulling the trigger?” Reigna proposes. Will turns to her, looking surprised. “I stayed in Rsha and got friendly with a marksman who tried to teach me how to shoot.” She waves a hand dismissively, Will simply shrugs and nods agreement.

  “It’s an apt comparison, in all fairness.” He quickly glances around. “Where’s Lyraax, by the way?” He asks.

  “Every month he takes a one week sabbatical back to the Fae Realm to visit his demesne and assure his companions that he is still alive.” She explains, continuing her delicate transcription. “I told him to do it early this time round so he’d be on the airship with us in case something dangerous happens during the flight.”

  “How could he help? Not meant to be an offensive question, but I am curious.”

  “Well, he can create simple illusions to disguise or hide us if we get boarded by pirates, give enemies an overwhelming euphoria that will typically knock them out or drive them into a rage against their own people.” Reigna lists the possibilities in a concerningly nonchalant fashion. “Worst case, he can open us a small portal into the Fae Realm and we can traverse their land until we’re within a reasonable distance of our destination.”

  “Hm, considering what I know about Faeries, that may just be our worst option, but it’s not death by drowning, sudden impact, or a sword through the chest, so I guess I can’t complain too much.” He chuckles.

  “Careful Will, there’s at least a dozen Faeries who might find it fun to fuck you senseless before you succumb to exhaustion.”

  Will opens his mouth to reply before pausing to consider. “I think my statement still stands. I’ll take horny Fae over drowning six out of seven times a week with the seventh being drowning via Siren encounter.”

  “When we get to Alexandria, we need to get you laid, my friend.” She gives him an exaggerated unamused look before they both cackle at the idea.

  “As long as you’re paying, I won’t say no.” He says with a wink.

  “We’ll ask Jasper to get their Noble boytoy to cover us, then we can all have a good time. Gods, it’s been so long.” She sighs wistfully, finishing her first transcription.

  “Tell me about it.” Will agrees, looking over her music. “A minor memory charm?”

  “Yeah, the same one I tried to use on the merchant you mauled.”

  “Could be useful, I’ll try and follow your lead next time.” He looks away, mildly embarrassed. “Also, calling it a mauling is a bit much.”

  “Worst case, we make half a dozen of these this week and sell or trade them when we reach Alexandria.” She muses as she plucks her lute strings.

  “Oh, I hadn’t considered that! Good idea.” Will snaps his fingers excitedly and begins transcribing again.

  “Thanks, I have those every now and again.” She furrows her brow with focus as she carefully plays the melody in reverse from the page, the sound off key and dissonant.

  “Oh, that was unpleasant. Impressive, but unpleasant.” Will says, wincing at unsettling reversed crescendo.

  “It’s a charm to make those you’ve been talking to forget what you’ve said to them in the last five minutes. Well, five minutes is the maximum at least.”

  “Still, it sounds like a useful charm.”

  “It’s gotten me a couple second chances in bad price negotiations and has relieved me of consequences for the occasional faux-pas, so yeah, I’d say it’s pretty useful.” She sits to begin transcribing her next spell.

  They continue their transcription work for another three hours until finally taking a break to have dinner and tea. Will opts for his usual late night coffee as opposed to Reigna’s herbal tea. It’s odd, having been here for a whole month, just us and Lyraax and the staff. Furnax was kind to extend such an offer to us and Marie is equally so, she didn’t have to accommodate his request, although she is being paid one way or the other so I suppose it doesn’t matter to her. Still, a month of free food, laundry, and bathing, despite the bad news does put a shiny silver lining on my new found dark cloud. Plus reuniting with an old friend. I can’t complain too much.

  Reigna is snapped from her thoughts by the sound of Will placing the coffee pot back onto its wooden platform between them at the counter. When he looks over and sees that she’s back in the world of the waking, he sips his coffee thoughtfully before speaking.

  “Mind if I ask you an uncomfortable question, Rainy?” He speaks slowly trying to keep his tone neutral.

  “I think I know what it is, but sure.” She places her teacup down and turns in her stool to face him. He stares straight ahead over the counter, his eyes locked on nothing.

  “Are you sure you want to see your parents again after all this time?” The question comes as a cold wave lapping at the back of her neck, causing her spine to go rigid. “I’m not trying to discourage you, never that. I guess I just want to check in with you and see where your head is at.”

  She stares into the glossy varnish of the bartop, seeing the faint glimmer of light in her own eyes staring back up at her. She bites her bottom lip, flipping pages in her mental dictionary, desperately trying to find the words to describe how she feels about this endeavor.

  “I haven’t spoken to either of them in eighteen years. I knew they were alive, I didn’t know they weren’t together anymore.” The phrase lingers a moment, Will quietly sips his coffee, still avoiding eye contact. “I guess the idea that I could die and never know why they left me was always fine to me, especially if I died before them.” She pauses again. Will casts her a sidelong glance.

  “If I passed before they did, I always figured it’d be the kind of thing that would hurt them the way they had hurt me. They’d have to go on knowing that, potentially, I had died alone and they never got to see me again and they don’t know who I became or the life that lived or how full or empty it was despite or because of their abandonment.” She smirks. “I’d hoped that maybe if things had gone that way, they’d be able to empathize with me a little bit.”

  “So what’s changed?” Will asks. “Well aside from the whole you being on a strict Death-Free diet thing?” He says, his tone colder and more sardonic than is typical for him.

  “Well, now I know that I’m going to outlive them, and I can’t let them die without giving me an answer. I may never talk to either of them again after this, but they owe me that much.” She says coldly.

  “Will it help? Will it change how you feel about them?” Will turns to face her as he asks, his gaze softening and his mouth contorting as he bites the inside of his cheek.

  “I’m not sure, but I can’t live forever not knowing what drove my parents away from me and I suppose, what drove them away from each other.”

  “Then I guess we’ll find out together.” Will half smiles, further skewing the asymmetry of his now patchy beard as he reaches over and pats Reigna on the head.

  “Thanks Will.”

  “Of course Reigna.”

  The day of their departure arrives, their things are packed and ready. Marie makes them one final cup of coffee this morning which they enjoy in relative silence along with a light breakfast. Before they exit the bar and allow it to return to normal operating procedure, Marie provides them each with a simple packed lunch to ease their travels for the first day. They thank her and set off back through the red brick streets of the city’s hovering plate and across the arcing bridge back out to the main road.

  Immediately they are blasted by a gust of cold, early winter air sending them both into a fit of shivers. The total opposite effect of what had happened on their first day in the city. Quickly the pair find themselves rummaging through their bags for their coats. Reigna again slipping into her patchy brown, wool-lined peacoat and Will wraps himself snugly in a thick, charcoal colored frock lined with the distinct orange and brindle pattern of marten fur.

  “Wow, that looks warm” She exclaims as they follow one of the branching roads up the mountainside.

  “Oh it is.” He closes his eyes, smiling smugly. “I got a good deal on this last time I was in Glimmerfrost actually. Marten fur is tough and water-wicking so it doesn’t wear down easily and doesn’t soak through in anything short of a hurricane.”

  “Lucky, the wool in this coat wasn’t treated properly before it was used so everything soaks through. It is warm though.” Reigna concedes with a shrug, squinting to scan the path ahead. The dark hue of the night’s curtain is slowly diluting and evaporating into the endless clear blue of sunrise. The treetops ahead lie completely bare, save for the occasional evergreen, a cavalcade of naked grey-brown spears stand sentinel at either side of the road, quietly swaying in the gentle morning breeze.

  Unlike the main trade route from Ambria, the path up the mountainside is not nearly as well-worn. It still bears the distinct wear and erosion of being used and traveled with some frequency, but the usage has not yet dissuaded the grass from growing nor worn the smaller stones into dust just yet. The ground beneath their feet is hard, made even more solid by the dropping temperatures.

  We can at least be thankful it hasn’t rained or snowed yet. This path would be Hell if we had to traverse it under those conditions. Reigna quietly ponders to herself. Will stops and offers her a piece of jerky as he tries to catch his breath, the cold white steam of his breath escaping from the collar of his coat buttoned up to his face, like some strange fur-lined chimney.

  “Perhaps it’d be easier on you if you unbuttoned a bit so you could actually breathe, Will.” she remarks around the strip of pork belly jerky now hanging brutishly from between her teeth.

  “You know I hate the cold.” He retorts, his voice muffled by the aforementioned over-buttoning of his coat.

  “I do too, but we need to be able to see and communicate clearly in case something happens.” She gives him a flat stare, her eyes half-open as though she were bored of this discussion. Eventually he relents and unbuttons, revealing his mouth and chin.

  “Alright, you got me there. Take a couple of these too.” He says, handing her four small black stones that are warm to the touch.

  “Ooh, that feels nice, what are these?” She asks, jamming them into her pockets and turning to continue their ascent.

  “I bought these in Rosetta a few years back, travelers and sailors use them to stay warm.” He explains, producing one from his pocket. “They’re called bonfire crystals. I’m not sure where they come from but they sell in packs of a dozen. You can keep them in your pockets or tuck them into the foot of your bedroll at night. I usually leave a couple in my boots on nights like tonight so they’ll be warm in the morning.”

  “That’s a really good idea. I wonder if they’ll have them in Glimmerfrost.”

  “Hm, they might. I know in Rosetta they’re really cheap, about two silvers per dozen.” He says, scratching his neck and adjusting his cravat under his coat.

  “Well if they’re that cheap here, I’ll spend a few gold on them for that convenience. Do they stay warm the whole time?” She asks, carefully clutching the pair in her left pocket.

  “They stay warm for a pretty long time, four to six hours at least. After that they’re basically just rocks for another eight hours so it’s best to use them in small groups if you can.”

  “How many do you have?” She asks, suddenly concerned about the nighttime use case he’d mentioned.

  “Don’t worry, Rain. I did what you were thinking about doing and bought about six packs of them, we’ll have plenty for later.” He Smiles wide, reassuring her.

  By midday, they find a small footpath off the main road and into a clearing of trees. The path is wide enough that singular horses and smaller carts or carriages could be brought down it to the clearing and the indentation of wheels implies that to be the case. They take a few moments to examine the area, searching for traps, potential assailants, and signs of large, predatory animals. Their careful combing of the area reveals no signs of bandits or other large threats, and the tracks seem to be only a few days old.

  Perhaps some of the merchant caravans came up this way. Reigna considers.

  “If we had left a couple days sooner, maybe we could’ve made a little extra coin escorting the merchants.” Will says, completing her train of thought.

  “I was just thinking the same thing, please don’t tell me you developed telepathy.” She says with a shiver and a suspicious glare

  “Um, no? At least I don’t think so.” he blinks a couple of times in confusion before kneeling down to start a small fire. “Is Lyraax telepathic?”

  “He is, I think it comes with the territory of being a Fae. We have a strict agreement about him staying out of my head though.”

  “Must be useful though, you can communicate information without needing to speak out loud.” He says, producing a tinderbox from one of his pockets and igniting a piece of charred, black cloth.

  “It certainly can be. Along with some of the other magic he’s capable of.”

  “Do you ever borrow his power?” He asks finally climbing onto a stump as the fire slowly builds.

  “Only for escaping or avoiding fights and sometimes to add effects to performances. I try to avoid his specialty though, which is charming people. It’s another thing we have a strict rule about.” She says simply, fishing her flask from her bag and taking a drink.

  “I recall in school, some people believed your good grades were a result of you somehow charming the professors.” He shakes his head at the idea.

  “Yeah, I remember that too. I had to spend an absurd amount of time in the Dean’s office proving that I wasn’t. It was ridiculous.” She scoffs. “It’s not like I was one of the people actually trying to fuck Professor Karmilla to pass her class.”

  “That’s true, but considering her class was literally a course on the history of seduction and eroticism as a performance tool and means of negotiation, I think getting her to actively consider it was part of making the grade. Actually doing it would be a powder keg though.”

  “Okay, bad example. But you get my point.” She waves a hand dismissively.

  “Actually, did you even take that class?” He asks, opening the little boxed lunch provided by Marie.

  “I did in the second semester of the first year and immediately dropped it for a composition class.”

  “Oh, why?”

  “She had a specific dress code for her class days where she wanted the boys in suits and the girls in dresses and one of the class projects was going to be modifying the day one outfits to be more ‘appropriately inappropriate’ and I really didn’t want to have to dress like a courtesan on the days I had her class.” She flinches away from the idea entirely

  “To be fair, proper courtesans are very well educated and only ever have to engage with their clients if they want to.” He hands her a metal cup of hot tea.

  “It’s nothing against their trade, I assure you. I was trying to avoid the use of a word like whore or slut because I find that to be demeaning, especially considering Jasper’s preference for that type of ‘traditional barding’ as some call it.” She sips her tea and makes uncomfortable eye contact with Will. “It was my second semester at the school, I didn’t wanna show up to class with my tits out twice a week. Plus I hate walking in heels.” The pink of her face deepens a few shades with blush as she pouts around the rim of her teacup to take another sip.

  “That’s entirely fair, that kind of thing was never your style. I can respect that.” He says, spooning some rice into a small cup of warm soup.

  “Did you take that class?” She asks, partially hoping to get an equal response from him.

  “I did.” He says, staring down at his food. “It was a really helpful experience for me.” His voice is wistful and rimmed with something Reigna can’t quite place. “When I started at the school, I wasn’t the most confident person, honestly I’m still working on it. But Professor Karmilla’s class wasn’t just about how to fuck your way out of a tight spot.” He pauses a moment, taking a sip of water from his flask. “A big part of her class was exploring and understanding what she called your ‘personal charismatic charm’ and learning how to draw it out of yourself.”

  “So I’m guessing her class made a pretty big impact on you as a freshmen?” She asks, leaning in so as to give him her full attention.

  “You could say that. I was always a pretty awkward and quiet kid, Karmilla had each of us write a few pieces of poetry at the start of the course and perform them for the class. Based on that performance, she assigned each of us an era of fashion to explore. She told me that I should consider the fashion of the late Regulan Regency era, before the rise of Queen Almira I.”

  “ We spent a good portion of that class learning a lot of self-beautification techniques. Identifying good skin and hair care regiments for our specific hair and skin types, designing meal plans that would be good for in and out of bedroom activities.” he pauses to wiggle his eyebrows. “And pairing up with others in the class to help identify notable features in our appearances so we could further accentuate them. I learned a lot about how to really like myself from that class.”

  “I’m glad it was so valuable for you, Will.” She says with a small smile. “Maybe I should’ve taken that class. There’s a few things I could’ve stood to learn from her.”

  “No matter how unusual or uncomfortable it may seem, there’s something to learn from every experience.” He hums as he packs away the empty lunch box. “Besides, part of being an artist of any kind is learning how to capitalize on your own discomfort.”

  “Lyraax would agree. He always says ‘if you or your audience aren’t at least a little uncomfortable, you’re doing something wrong.’ I used to think that was a joke but I’m slowly learning that discomfort isn’t always a negative experience.”

  “Oh? Do tell.” Will leans in, cupping his hands over the fire and staring into her face as she watches the flames dance.

  “Discomfort isn’t just the feeling of dread right before something bad happens or you receive terrible news. Sometimes, discomfort is the excitement of standing before a crowd or the catharsis of doing something you’ve been putting off. It’s the way your heart races the first time your hand touches the face of someone you think you love.” She stops for a moment, twining her fingers together and rubbing the inside of her palm with one of her thumbs. “You feel just as uncomfortable before some of your best moments as you do before some of your worst and you never know which is which until it’s passed, and sometimes hindsight recontextualizes it and you can appreciate those moments more.”

  “I can agree with that.” Will nods. “It’s at the peak of discomfort that you can take a step in any direction and find out what you’re made of. The greatest disservice to yourself that you can commit is allowing the unfamiliarity of a moment or situation to prevent you from taking action. If you don’t walk, you’ll never run.”

  “If you don’t run, you’ll never fly.” Reigna completes the statement. The motto of their Alma Mater, the Lake Syrrill Bardic Academy: If You Don’t Walk, You’ll Never Run. If You Don’t Run, You’ll Never Fly. A phrase from a bard of The Classical era named Heward Silverstring and a piece of advice he was known to give to young, aspiring bards. It’s always been interpreted as a way of saying “If you don’t start somewhere, you never will.” This simple motto became the ethos of a school committed to training bards and artists of all kinds, giving them a place to start. Giving them a running start so they could fly.

  Maybe with a whole eternity before me, I’ll learn how to fly the way that Will has. At least, for the time being, I have someone to help me work on my sprinting form. She muses to herself as Will stands up and puts out the fire, carefully.

  “We still have a few hours of daylight, let’s put them to use, yeah?” He says cheerfully.

  “Yeah, may as well cover more ground while we can.” She agrees, packing away her teacup and flask and rising to her feet.

  They continue up the mountain path, the incline occasionally leveling out as the road twists and turns before continuing in a gradual incline. The bare oak and birch trees slowly blend into a see of evergreens whose foliage cast dappled shadows over the mountainside as the sun dips westward, slowly the patchy shade of the fir branches gives way to long, shapeless spires of shadow broken only by the final radiant spears of the golden hour. Reigna and Will agree to find a spot off the main road to camp for the evening.

  Once they find their spot Reigna grabs her lute and begins to pluck out a simple melody as she walks a circle around their designated space. Will watches, curious as to whether this is a spell or a simple habit. Once she has completed her circuit and plucked the final note, there is an abrupt hum as a translucent dome forms over them. Within a few minutes the space is warm and comfortable and well-illuminated despite the blanket of night falling over them.

  “When did you learn to do that?” He asks, impressed and surprised.

  “Lyraax had penned some spells for me to study before he left that he felt would be appropriate for travel. According to his notes, from the outside we should blend into the area and no light or sound from us will escape this space.” She explains, her mouth curling into a satisfied grin at her handiwork.

  “Almost defeats the purpose of having a tent.” Will remarks, slowly unpacking his gear.

  “Nonsense, why only have one layer of defense against the elements when you can have two or even three?”

  “Hm, as someone who generally hates the winter, I can’t argue with that. I can always stand to be warmer.” He agrees. They take the next few minutes to arrange and pitch their tents within the area so as to not disrupt the veil. Will’s tent is up and ready first, giving him time to begin building a fire for them to cook over.

  “If sound and light from within can’t escape, what about smoke?” He asks, arranging some logs from a small bundle into a neat, square pile.

  “I’m not sure, but I doubt it’ll be an issue.” Reigna shrugs “I don’t think Lyraax would suggest that I learn a spell that runs the risk of killing us via smoke inhalation.”

  “Goodness, I’d hope not.” Will chuckles. “I mean if the goal was to cause you harm or try and kill you, I’m sure he’d have more efficient ways if need be.”

  “I would assume so. Lyraax is hard to anger, but from some of the things he’s told me, I wouldn’ want to be the one to light that particular fire under him.” She shudders at the thought.

  “From the little chats I’ve had with him, he doesn’t seem so bad.”

  “You would think, but there are few creatures aside from demons that are more vindictive than an enraged faerie. A demon might torture you for a bit before killing you. A faerie will strip away everything that makes you a person and makes your life worth living and then sit and watch you struggle to find purpose for decades before you die unceremoniously of starvation.” She says, coldly.

  “Hm, glad I don’t owe any fae any favors then. That sounds awful, but not out of character to my understanding.” He stokes the campfire until it is fully lit and watches as the escaping smoke collides with the upper dome of Reigna’s spell before slowly dissipating across its surface and disappearing. “Huh, looks like the spell redistributes the smoke across its surface and then allows it to pass outside so we don’t have a big column of smoke to signal our position.”

  “That’s very useful, I do enjoy the practical spells.” Reigna nods her approval as she pulls a pot from her bag and sets it beside the fire.

  “Should we have a watch schedule?” Will asks, chopping carrots and potatoes and sliding them into the pot.

  “I would say so. We may blend into the area but, anyone or anything with the right knowledge or equipment, or enough presence of mind could still find us and dispel the dome and we wouldn’t want to be caught out.” She says, filling the pot with stock and setting it on a rack over the fire.

  “From what I understand, bandits are pretty rare around this area because of the presence of the Knights, but there are always things worse than bandits.”

  Their conversation trails off in silent agreement. Will retrieves a small journal from his bag and begins scratching down on the pages with a thin piece of charcoal. Reigna retrieves a sheaf of paper from her own pack and begins miming chord shapes over her lute strings and plucking notes from them, jotting down the arpeggiations that sound best in her head. Every so often she shifts the pot and opens its lid to stir the contents.

  Will lifts his head from his small, blue leather journal and stares at Reigna for a moment before glancing over her shoulder and out of their illusory dome. Somewhere, out in the darkness of the forest, he sees a shape slithering over the ground towards them. At first, he assumes it to be a snake of some kind, but as it draws nearer the slithering becomes less snakelike and the sudden realization that its shape lacks any dimensionality sends a chill down his spine.

  “Reigna.” He whispers. She looks up at him from her parchment and opens her mouth to speak until she sees that his face has gone pale and he’s holding a trembling finger to his lips. He motions with his eyes to the spot outside the dome behind her.

  She turns slowly, gently placing her lute on the ground. Beyond the veil of their little dome she can make out three amorphous, slithering shapes gliding across the ground and coming to a halt outside their boundary. They rise, as though bubbling from a boiling inkwell, their bodies slowly coalescing into a solid form.

  They stand five heads tall, no notable limbs to speak of except for their heads. Their bodies, if you can even call them that, are darker than the night itself, causing them to stand out like painted wooden hunting dummies. Despite their heads bearing no distinct facial features, somewhere beneath the thick curtain of blackness are the vague shapes of eye sockets and mouths, frozen in a perpetual agony, begging to be released from this suffering.

  Will carefully shifts the soup pot from the fire as the contents begin to bubble. Good plan, the sizzling or clattering of the lid moving would be bad. Reigna nods to him before turning back to where the shades stand, staring into what should appear to be nothing to them. Reigna quietly searches the area around them, looking for more.

  While she doesn’t find any more shades, all around them, blinking into and out of sight are ethereal blue lights. Fantastic. She bites her tongue.

  “Will-o’-Wisps?” Will whispers sounding both intrigued and terrified.

  “Unfortunately. And we don’t know how many.” Reigna confirms. Will-o-Wisps never fight alone and their constant flickering helps to obscure their numbers and patterns of attack. Many adventurers die either being led astray by them or by simply overestimating the difficulty of fighting them.

  “Only three shades, right?” Will asks for confirmation. Reigna nods. They both scan the area around them. While not common, sometimes shades and Will-O-Wisps can be pressed into service by necromancers, or, on some occasions, by wraiths.

  “They shouldn’t be able to enter, hypothetically.” Reigna says, her voice betraying her lack of confidence. “At least according to Lyraax’s instructions.

  “Well that’s a relief, so long as there isn’t a wraith with any magical capacity we should be fine then. Well minus being watched.” Will shudders. “They can’t see us right?”

  “Typically, no, but they’re undead so they can sense us. They don’t rely on sight.” Something she distinctly recalls about The Hangman Tree and that she can assume about these creatures since they clearly lack eyes.

  “Great feature to have I suppose” Will says, sarcastically.

  Despite their unwelcome guests, they manage to eat dinner in relative peace. After an hour of being left to their own devices, the shades eventually retreat elsewhere. The wisps stay an hour longer before their flickering lights desist. The duo heave a sigh of relief.

  “Remind me to thank Lyraax for leaving you that spell, Rain.” Will says with a shaking breath, collapsing back against his bag, by the look of him, his legs are all jelly.

  “Yeah, we’d be in for a pretty terrible night otherwise.” She agrees. “Do you want me to take first watch?” she asks, thinking it best he try and rest a bit after the scare.

  He mulls it over for a moment before nodding to her. “I would love to be a gentleman here, Rainy, but that scared the life out of me.” He admits, sounding more than a little ashamed.

  “Will, you don’t have to be a gentleman, you can just be Will. go get some sleep, alright? I’ll wake you in a few hours.” She helps him to his feet and pats his shoulder before stretching and walking around their campsite, mentally willing the light within the dome to dim a bit so that only the firelight remains. The night of the new moon casts a curtain of thick, imposing shadows across the forest, leaving everything beyond the light of the fire shapeless and depthless.

  Despite that, through the canopy of firs, the night sky is still delicately splattered with the white drops of starlight. The whole of the night’s canvas couldn’t be appreciated without the glowing alabaster of the moon's face. The distant twinkle of far off stars without the moon’s glow for contrast leaves Reigna feeling smaller.

  She returns to her parchment from earlier, scanning the bars of music and quietly strumming along to them. She hums a melody to herself encouraging it to form into words, an attempt to capture this apprehension in her chest. As her mind wanders, some part of her finds the words.

  It’s been so long since I last saw you.

  Do you remember me?

  Do you even care?

  Father dear, can you hear me?

  Did you miss me while you were away?

  Father, dear father, can you hear me?

  If I find you, would you ask me to stay?

  Father, oh father, do you love me?

  Am I still the fire that lights your soul?

  Father, dear father, did you run from me?

  Tell me, when did your fire run cold?

  Is there still a home there

  Inside of your heart where

  My mother and I are still your world?

  Did this world change you

  Was there ever a thing that I could do

  To bring me back to you?

  She stops. At a loss for what to say next. A tear welling up in the corner of her eye. She lays her lute on the ground beside her and tucks her face into her knees, trying to stifle her sobs.

  Inside his tent, Will lays on his side staring into the darkness biting his bottom lip and trying not to make a sound. I’m sorry Reigna.