Chapter 163

I sat alone in the bailey staring up at the night sky.

It was late. The others had long since gone to bed. I probably should have too. But the events of the day kept circling through my head, refusing to settle into anything coherent.

Nyssira’s outburst hadn’t surprised me.

What surprised me was that, as I walked away, I thought she’d actually started thinking about what I said. Somewhere beneath all that rage, greed, and paranoia, there might still be something worth saving.

I’d always believed in second chances. Or maybe more accurately, I believed people could change. At least up to a point.

There were people who didn’t want to. People who convinced themselves they were above everyone else - above morality, above consequences, above basic decency. Eventually forgiveness stopped being mercy and started becoming permission.

I just didn’t know where that line actually was. It kept moving on me.

And I hoped Nyssira didn’t run out of chances before she figured out how to stop being a monster.

The strange part was that I thought Sszarik’s odds of changing were actually worse than hers.

Nyssira was a god. Gods rarely changed. But Nyssira hadn’t spent her entire existence as a murderous psychopath. Her crimes were the result of trying to become something different.

Sszarik’s crimes came from trying to stay the same. He resisted every change forced onto him. In some ways, I understood it. His whole life had been uprooted when his family moved away from the naga villages. New culture. New laws. New expectations. New people.

When everything around you changes, holding onto the old version of yourself can feel like survival.

But he was also young enough that he should have been able to adapt.

Maybe some of it really was hormones and teenage stupidity. But that didn’t excuse murder. Or manipulation. Or betraying someone who trusted you.

And if I was being honest with myself, a big part of my anger came from what he’d done to Issa. He hadn’t just broken her heart. He’d broken her trust. Not only in him, but in everyone. He’d convinced her that love itself was a lie. That affection was manipulation waiting for the right moment to turn cruel.

And that hurt worse than the attempted murder.

Issa had already seen too much darkness for someone her age. She’d lost her parents young and grown up in an orphanage. Cultists kidnapped her because they wanted to kill her and turn her bones into weapons. She’d fought in wars. Seen Myrddin tear people apart. Been forced to protect herself and the ones she cared about again and again.

And now this.

She didn’t take the sentencing well.

I couldn’t even tell if she thought it was too harsh or too lenient. Hell, she probably didn’t know herself.

The moment Mirri told her the verdicts, she locked herself back in her room.

I doubted she’d come watch the punishments tomorrow. I didn’t want to either.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t a luxury I had. I was part of the village, and whether I liked it or not, I needed to stand beside the matrons even if I hadn’t passed judgment myself.

The moon had already slipped behind the mountains. Stars glittered overhead in the cold, cloudless sky while the red and blue bands stretched faintly above the horizon.

Then the stone beside me shifted and Iolite rose from the earth.

She looked more like her old self again. The mountains didn’t have the rich soil of Caldris, so there was less of the smooth, almost flesh-like shaping she’d started developing. Here she was unmistakably elemental - rough stone stacked carefully into the approximation of a woman.

Still, she’d changed.

The shape of her face had been smoothed deliberately - a narrow crack for a mouth, a ridge for a nose, recessed hollows holding little pebble-like eyes. Her wrists and ankles articulated with dozens of tiny stones that rolled and clicked softly when she moved. The larger stones of her limbs had become almost skeletal in structure.

And she still had the two tiny gravel points on her chest she’d insisted were nipples.

The biggest change now was her hair. Or something trying very hard to be hair.

Dark stone layered over the top of her head and spilled rigidly down her back in jagged spikes. It looked somewhere between broken rock and anime hair that had been sculpted by someone who only vaguely understood the concept. But it was unmistakably intentional.

“I like your hair,” I told her.

Her hand immediately rose to touch it, almost self-consciously. “Thank you,” she said, giving a tiny rumbling purr that sounded like pebbles shifting together.

I patted the stone beside me and she sat down heavily, resting against the curtain wall the same way I was.

“You are upset?” she asked.

“Sort of,” I admitted. “There’s just… a lot going on. And I’m not really sure how I feel about all of it.”

She was quiet for a moment. “Do humans experience emotional pain physically?”

I let out a dry little laugh. “Sometimes. Sometimes it is physical pain. Sometimes it isn’t, but it feels close enough that you can’t really tell the difference.” I shrugged lightly. “Humans are complicated.”

“Affection appears to cause much of your emotional instability,” she observed. “Does affection always create instability?”

I slipped an arm around her shoulders. The stone was cool against my skin.

“That’s a pretty deep question,” I said. “I think affection always causes some pain eventually. But it’s not there all the time. If you’re lucky, it’s there very little.”

“Then why continue relationships if instability is inevitable?”

I smiled faintly.

“That one’s easier.” I looked up at the stars again. “Because most of the time the instability isn’t there.” I thought about Mirri. About the kids. About all of them. “Most of the time there’s joy. Companionship. Trust. A sense that you belong somewhere.” I squeezed her shoulder gently. “That’s important.”

Silence settled between us.

“You are important to me,” Iolite said.

I smiled softly. “You’re important to me too.”

A tremor ran through her entire body.

I frowned and looked over at her.

She stared back at me, unreadable as always because her face couldn’t truly move.

“This interaction has become geologically unstable,” she announced. Then the force animating her vanished. Her body collapsed instantly into a heap of stone and dirt.

I stared at the pile for several seconds.

Iolite was always awkward. Social interaction for her was basically advanced anthropology mixed with guesswork. Earth elementals didn’t have facial features. They didn’t have families. Based on the questions she asked, I was possibly more alien to her than she was to me. But I didn’t think I’d ever seen her completely short-circuit before.

I sighed and rubbed at my eyes.

Then I added emotionally unstable earth elemental to the ever-growing list of things I needed to worry about.

* * *

The next morning we had breakfast as a family before everyone scattered to their duties.

Serah gathered the older children in the common room to begin lessons. Elise took Morien and Briva into the demesne for playtime.

Torvek needed to report for guard duty. Mirri needed to check on a sick family in Mudcross. Ashlara planned to spend the day hunting. And I needed to speak with Master Iriandor.

The four of us had just gathered in the bailey when Faith flared.

A faint scent drifted through the air.

Perfume.

Something warm and familiar that tugged unexpectedly at old memories. Jennifer used to wear something like it.

Mirri stiffened instantly.

Ashlara’s hand dropped toward her axe.

Torvek blinked in surprise as the air ahead of us rippled softly, like the surface of still water disturbed by a falling drop.

Then a woman stepped through it. Not from a portal. Not from a tear in reality. It looked more like she had been standing just beneath the world and leaned upward into it.

The distortion settled behind her in slow concentric waves.

She was tall and graceful, carrying herself with the effortless poise Serah had when she wanted a room’s attention without asking for it. Her skin held a perpetual flush, as though she’d just been complimented. Her lips were painted a deep blood-red edged carefully in black. Waves of wine-black hair spilled freely to her shoulder blades, framing rich burgundy eyes ringed with gold. Dark liner sharpened her eyes.

Those eyes landed on me with immediate, subtle hunger.

Not predatory. Interested.

She wore layered robes of black velvet and deep red silk trimmed in muted gold. The fabric draped loosely around her figure, elegant without trying too hard. Aside from a single ring and a delicate gold chain around her throat, she wore no jewelry.

And around all of it moved her Faith. Rose. Orange. Black.

The colors coiled around her like smoke rising from a fire - blending together, separating, curling back in on themselves in slow hypnotic motions. Beautiful and unsettling all at once.

She smiled warmly. “My apologies,” she said. Her voice was smooth enough that I immediately distrusted it. “I am Oriselle. I come on behalf of the God-Kings.”

“And what does Pyraeth want?” I asked flatly.

To her credit, she didn’t seem offended. Instead she gave a small shake of her head. “He opposed this meeting,” she admitted. “But he is diminished, and the others felt you’ve become too important to continue ignoring.”

Her eyes lingered on me thoughtfully. “Too powerful,” she corrected softly.

“On behalf of the God-Kings,” she continued, “I apologize it has taken this long to formally reach out. Contrary to popular belief, we are not especially unified.”

“Ok,” I said. “So what do you want?”

“Nothing dramatic.” Her smile widened faintly. “Conversation. Understanding. We have largely stayed out of your affairs and intend to continue doing so.” She folded her hands loosely before her. “But those with the power to alter the course of the world should not remain strangers to one another.”

Her gaze flicked briefly toward the mountains surrounding the keep. “For all our disagreements, even we still speak with the High Witan. Refusing dialogue invites catastrophe.”

I didn’t answer. Mostly because I was still trying to decide whether this was diplomacy or the setup to something much worse. Probably both.

Oriselle inclined her head politely toward the others. “I won’t take more of your morning,” she said. “I’m sure you’re all very busy.”

Then her attention returned fully to me. “Should you ever wish to speak privately, you may seek me out.”

Something about the way she said privately made Mirri’s eye twitch.

“There’s a small city on the eastern coast of Caldris called Silvermere,” Oriselle continued. “It used to matter quite a bit. Now it’s slowly crumbling into the sea.”

A wistful little smile touched her lips. “At the edge of the harbor there’s an old bathhouse built into the sea caves beneath the city. Marble columns. Red lanterns. Terrible wine.” Her smile deepened slightly. “Wonderful music.”

Her burgundy eyes held mine. “Go there after midnight and ask for the Ninth Curtain. I’ll be there.”

She dipped into a graceful bow. Then stepped backward.

Reality softened around her like disturbed water swallowing a reflection, and she vanished.

The ripples lingered for a few seconds before the air finally settled.

Silence hung in the bailey.

“I hate her,” Mirri announced immediately.

“I’m glad I’m not the only one who wanted to beat the shit out of her,” Ashlara muttered.

Torvek looked between the three of us in confusion. “Why?” he asked. “She seemed respectful. Nice, even. Especially for one of the God-Kings.”

“That’s exactly why I hate her,” Mirri snapped. “She’s manipulative as hell. She just wants close to Seth because he’s powerful.” Her arms crossed tightly over her chest. “People like that don’t care who they hurt as long as they get what they want. And once she gets her claws into somebody, I bet they never get free again.”

“Don’t know about all that,” Ashlara said. “She’s just got a punchable face.”

* * *

“Another village has become infested,” Master Iriandor told me grimly. “Silvarae. A hundred miles south, near the Esmori border.”

He let out a weary sigh. “There were reports of a human traveler shortly before the second Lethirae Vaelthorn appeared. There are nine now.” His expression darkened. “A dozen people have gone missing. And the Pathwardens have identified three gallowborn so far.”

My stomach tightened. “What happened to the gallowborn?” I asked.

“Two were discovered alongside a human male. Not the traveler described in the reports.” His jaw flexed faintly. “When the Pathwarden attempted to apprehend them, all three were killed.”

Not captured. Killed.

Iriandor clearly wasn’t happy about it either.

“As for the third,” he continued, “the local Pathwarden managed to secure him alive. He had not yet been briefed regarding imprinting, but the situation remains contained.” He folded his hands behind his back. “The gallowborn was relocated to the capital for his own protection.”

And for everyone else’s. That implication hung silently between us.

“The Pathwardens are finally taking this seriously now,” Iriandor said. “Every warden has been briefed and placed on alert. Future outbreaks should be identified and contained much more quickly.” He paused. “That should minimize casualties, reduce the number of gallowborn created, and limit the Covenant’s ability to move among the people.”

“Assuming they don’t start using elves to plant the trees themselves,” I said. “Or begin imprinting the gallowborn more aggressively.”

“That possibility has already been discussed,” he admitted. “Anyone from affected villages will be relocated strategically and kept under observation.”

I frowned immediately. “That’s going to create resentment,” I warned him. “These people are victims, not criminals.”

“They are both,” he replied evenly. “And pretending otherwise only gives the Covenant more opportunities to hurt others.”

He rubbed at the back of his neck, exhaustion creeping through his composure. “They’ll be cared for,” he added quietly. “We’re not monsters, Seth. But this situation must be brought under control.”

I exhaled slowly. “You’re right,” I admitted. “Sorry. None of this is going to be easy.”

“No,” he agreed softly. “It won’t.”

Silence settled between us briefly before I asked, “What about Caldris? Have your scouts found anything?”

“Nae,” he said with a small shake of his head. “Most of our efforts have remained focused within Ilyr’Vaeneth.”

“Any official contact with Caldris or Esmori?”

“Messengers were sent,” he replied. “I’m not privy to the responses.” His mouth tightened faintly. “And I have few reliable contacts across either border.”

“I understand.” I rested a hand briefly against his shoulder. “I’ve already spoken with Arvellia and Morentis. Hopefully one of them turns something up.”

Iriandor nodded once.

“Keep me informed,” I told him. “I’ll do the same.”

He gave another tired nod.

Then I stepped home.