“That’s not helpful.”

  “What would be helpful?” They tipped their head to the side.

  “Breakfast.”

  Ikmae blinked. “Breakfast?”

  “For a start. Then you can fix the armour. And show us the way out.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “You lied to me.” Vertiline stalked the corridors, not caring if the god kept up. “I’m done with you. The school? It’s gone.”

  The corpse that held the soul of Ikmae bustled by her side. If it weren’t for the horror eyes, the sabre teeth, and the claws, she’d be fooled into thinking it was just a man. Another lie. “The school lives. It’s … troubled.”

  “I mean, I’m done with it.”

  “That’s why it’s troubled. You were done with it before it started.”

  She whirled on Ikmae, hand on the hilt of her sword. “I did my part. I taught them everything I knew.”

  “Not everything.” The god didn’t seem to notice her hand or sword, or perhaps they didn’t care. “You taught them your hate and anger. You didn’t teach them to love.”

  “Love?” Her laugh was flat, hard like iron. “There is no love in war.”

  “There is only war if you don’t love.” Ikmae shrugged. “It’s not that hard.”

  Vertiline realised her jaw was clenched tight enough to crack teeth. She breathed, relaxing her shoulders. “And I should have given them flowers?”

  Ikmae put their hands in their pockets, then continued walking in the direction Vertiline travelled. “You should have given them a family. If you’d done that, who knows how many would still be alive.”

  “Is this a test?”

  “There are no more tests for the High Justiciar. You’ve passed them all. Your sash is heavy with ten gold bars of the Storm, married to the ten silver of the Sway.” Ikmae turned a corner into a room lined with dark stone. The glower of a forge hunkered against a wall. An ordinary anvil hunkered, and smithy’s tools lay alongside devices whose purpose Vertiline could only guess at. Ancients’ sorceries. Sinners by another name. She tasted the bitterness in her mouth. The god didn’t seem to notice her expression, in the same way they’d ignored her hand-on-sword of a moment ago. “But the teaching must still be done.”

  Vertiline tore her attention from the irritating fuckwit and took another look at the room. She smelled something besides the heat of cooked metal. It was like the air after lightning struck. On a workbench was a disassembled suit of armour. She knew it well; they’d carried the worthless, broken thing half-way around the world. A door against the far wall opened, and through it came Tarragon, followed by Sight of Day, Sands Apart, and last of all, Evanne. Tarragon and Evanne were still recovering from some hilarity in the prior room, the cats half-smiling in benevolent tolerance. Tarragon carried a shaped sheet of golden metal, and the foursome gathered about the bench as the once-fairy fitted it against the breastplate of the broken armour.

  “They can’t see us?” Vertiline looked between her daughter, friends, and the god.

  “Or hear us.”

  “I don’t like this trickery. I should not be spying on them.”

  Ikmae gave her a small, sad smile. “Mother of the Three, you are not spying on them. You’re here for something completely different.”

  “Don’t call me Mother of the Three.” She settled some. “It reminds me too much of her.”

  “Geneve? She was always our daughter.” Ikmae gestured to the four before them. “Watch. Listen.”

  I’ve got nothing better to do except be angry. Vertiline crossed her arms, and tried to think what Iz would have done. He’d no doubt say something like there is a lesson in everything, and she’d have wanted to punch him for it, but he’d not have been wrong. The only things he’d ever been wrong about was the value of the Chevalier at his side, and believing he could love his daughter from a distance.

  The group continued working on the armour. Sight of Day flipped the torso section over; it was clearly heavy even for the Feybrind. Vertiline caught the words stencilled on the device’s back. Itikari Stardrive. The cat fussed with something, and a hatch opened, revealing a nightmare of devices and wires. Golden eyes widening, he pressed his fingers together. {I wonder what all these things do.}

  Sands Apart pointed at a silver tube. {That appears to be a cylinder. We’re making progress.}

  Tarragon laughed. “It’s a synergy buffer. It’s for catching dreams.”

  Evanne hunkered close to the once-fairy. “Why would you catch dreams in armour?”

  “When people die, they release all their dreams. Everything they were is given back.”

  “So, the armour collects dreams?”

  “I think the armour gives them to the pilot.” Tarragon bit her lip. “This is as much protection as weapon. It needs power to soar. Dreams might be a part of that.”

  {Magnificent. Another device of horror. What wonderful people you were.} Sight of Day put his hand on Evanne’s arm. {You do not need to wear this.}

  “There is no one else. We know it killed Hitch. Or ate bits of him. He died because of the last demon he fought. Maybe he died because he hadn’t killed enough people for the synergy buffer, so it snacked on his body.” The others fell still, and Vertiline wanted to step forward, to take Evanne in her arms and say this wasn’t her fight. That Vertiline, not Evanne, should wear the armour. The god’s hand settled on her arm, stilling her. Evanne looked at her three friends. “I am half-Vhemin. And half-human. This will kill a Vhemin outright, and a human will be consumed. I’m the only one who can be tolerated within, and whose body will heal the hurt.”

  Sands Apart gazed at the bard. {Just because you’re capable doesn’t mean you’re obliged.}

  “You guys don’t get it.” Evanne scrubbed rust-red hair. “If I don’t go inside, then you all die.”

  “A chip off the old block,” Vertiline groused. “Just like her mother.”

  Ikmae eyed her as they walked. “What do you mean?”

  “I was always the last to volunteer. I was only there because…” She trailed off. Because of a man, at first. “There was no one else.”

  “You are the only one who didn’t give up. That’s why we picked you.” Ikmae stopped before another doorway. This one worked well enough, not too much stiction in the jamb, and it hissed open with only the faintest stuttering nodding to its age. Somehow, the inhabitants of the room failed to notice. “You started a school by a demon gate because your sister of the blade asked you to wait.”

  “But I didn’t go in. I didn’t go after her.”

  “Perhaps you’re just looking for reasons to feel sorry for yourself.” As Vertiline rounded on the god, they held up a hand. “Listen. It’s starting now.”

  The room held two men: her student Amir, and her husband, who had been her teacher these many long years. She yearned for his embrace, a single moment for them to sit beneath a shady tree and share ice wine. Listen to him talk to her about how it would be all right. Him, a Vhemin from the blasted plaguelands, giving her, the High Justiciar, advice. And so heavy with wisdom it was, all simple matters that came back to blood on the sands. Whose it would be, and whose you’d protect from spilling alongside.

  She let her eyes drift to Amir. “He is my most promising student.”

  “And yet he thinks he is the least of you.” Ikmae shrugged. “I wonder where he learned that?”

  “He leads with his heart too much but uses wit as a feint against his cares.”

  “Hmm.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Amir, oblivious to his audience, bent over the table between them. Armitage had broached an ancient cask of wine; she could tell her husband’s work by how the rim was ragged, torn, yet retained enough roundness to avoid spilling a drop. The Knight Adept held up a finger, eyes owlish with drink, perhaps unaware of a Vhemin’s ability to metabolise hard liquor. Or, he is aware, and sets himself the challenge anyway. It is what a Tresward would do. “You shee, I mean, see: behold, there is a bottom to this cask.”

  “I didn’t say there wasn’t.” Armitage scooped another fill from the cask, drank, then wiped his lips with the back of his arm. “I said the wine wouldn’t run out.”

  The Knight Adept considered his almost empty cup, then filled it. Sipped. Thought. “How does the wine not run out if the cask is empty?”

  “You think in straight lines, baby Knight.”

  “I think there is an empty cask.”

  “Yes, your eyes work well enough, but it’s your brain I’m worried about.” Armitage nudged the cask. “This has friends.”

  “There are other cashksh? I mean, casks?” Amir’s eyes widened in delight. “How have you kept them hidden?”

  “The only one I need to hide them from is Evanne.” Armitage looked about, conspiratorial. “She stole four bottles of summer wine we’d laid in for the winter. Drank the lot in one afternoon.”

  “The lying bastard,” Vertiline mused. “He told me he drank them.”

  “She has a tolerance, then?” Amir retrieved the cask, pouring some into Armitage’s cup, then his own. “Like her father, no doubt.”

  “Like Vhemin, I guess.” Armitage shrugged, those massive shoulders rolling like the ocean. “But she’s wily, like her mother. A Vhemin would have taken the wine and challenged any who denied their right to drink. Evanne waited until we were before hearth, then broached the topic like a child might. Her eyes, so wide. A babe in arms, asking why there were six bottles less in the cellar.”

  “Six? But you said four.”

  “I drank two,” the Vhemin admitted. “It was her doorway in, see?”

  “And you didn’t call her on it?” Amir frowned. “I’m going to need more wine to understand this.”

  “I was already in trouble.”

  “He was,” Vertiline said. “He didn’t share.”

  “See, I’d just wanted a taste, then that led to the bottle, and then two, and then the afternoon was gone. I knew I was cooked, and Evanne knew it too. And she wanted to see if I would take the fall.”

  “And whether you’d take her with you,” Amir offered.

  “Nah,” Armitage said. “She already knew the answer to that. Can read people, my girl. Can read ‘em like one of Tilly’s books.”

  “Then why’d she do it?” Amir and Vertiline spoke at the same time.

  Armitage leaned back, then pushed himself upright. “I’ll get more wine.”

  Amir’s hand shot out, fast as a cobra. No, fast as a Knight of the Tresward. His eyes were no longer dull, his speech firm. “Why did she do it, friend Armitage?”

  The big man laughed. “She had a girl she was sweet on. Needed the wine for a good cause.”

  “She had no such girl,” Vertiline hissed. “I’d know.”

  “’Course, her mother never knew. But the sands did, and they’ll tell you if you know how to listen.”

  Vertiline hunched. She straightened with effort, because the pose was unbecoming of the High Justiciar, let alone anyone north of fifteen years old. “I don’t like this.”

  “The universe doesn’t much care what you like.” Ikmae hunched right along beside her. “Imagine being a god and seeing it all before it happens. And it still blindsides you.”

  “Hope for the best, but plan for the worst?”

  “Hope is for fools. Planning is for gods.” Ikmae hunched further. “I still hope, though. Even though I shouldn’t.” He brightened. “Ah. Here we are.”

  They’d arrived back at their shop. Or the shop of someone who died a long time ago, leaving a god to take over the corpse of a monster and play grocer. Some shelves were still in disarray, but change had come like the coming of spring after a hard winter. Some of the knocked over stands were upright. The mess on the floor had been tidied. It was so clean you couldn’t even tell dust and debris had been here. There was no fixing the giant hole in the wall where they’d made their entrance, but the giant chunks of rock and metal had been stacked. Vertiline blinked. “Someone tidied this up? To what purpose?”

  Amber made his entrance from the doorway leading to Ikmae’s bedroom, kitchen, and washhouse. He carried a bucket made of a matte material, water slopping over the edge. “Come, sister. There is still much to do.”

  Jade joined him, a mop in hand, hair swept back beneath a kerchief. Where Amber was enthusiastic, she was grudging. “We are leaving tomorrow. Why are we cleaning up?”

  “I asked that,” Vertiline offered, but of course the siblings couldn’t hear her.

  “Someone else might come. They will want to see wood stocked for a fire and water drawn from the well. These are the tricks we caravaners have used since the dawn of⁠—”

  “You’re a caravaner. I’m a caravaner’s sister.”

  He put the bucket down. “You’re a caravaner true, mop in hand, with a fierce will to share the road as you found it. It burns within your heart.”

  “I’ve got something burning in my heart.” She brandished the mop. “Why aren’t you doing the scullery work?”

  “It’s not a scullery. That would imply a kitchen and dishes. This, wise sister, is janitorial.”

  “I should have drowned you in the bath when we were younger.”

  “And forego this learning experience?” Amber beamed. “While you’re mopping, I will be packing.”

  “I could pack.”

  “Yes, but then we’d starve.” The brother continued smiling like a star. “You’d stow too many herbs and not enough oats.”

  “You’re not wrong about that.” Jade sniffed. “I don’t even know what an oat is. In its natural habitat, I mean. I’m familiar with gruel.”

  “Not familiar enough! We shall remedy that on the road.”

  As Jade mopped, perhaps overacting the sulking in Vertiline’s eye, Amber made a show of going through shelves and selecting supplies. She noted how his eyes were always moving between his sister and the hole in the wall. How his brightness was a sheen, not even skin deep. She turned to Ikmae. “Why do they come? They will surely die.”

  “They live in this world, too.”

  “There are others better suited to fighting.”

  “There are none better able to show you what you fight for, though. Oh, I know about hearth and home, the child you cherish, and the husband you stand beside. This,” they gestured at the siblings, “is a smaller thing. But greater for it.”

  “You don’t make any sense.”

  “Perhaps you should start thinking for yourself rather than asking for answers all the time.”

  “You’re the one dragging me through this warren.”

  “Hmm.” Ikmae turned from her to observe Amber and Jade. “You’re not my favourite, you know.”

  “Thanks.” Vertiline snorted. “I don’t like any of you Three, so I guess we’re even.”

  “Your daughter is my chosen. She is made of oil and water, earth and light. Things others might see as uncomfortable so close together, but they miss the mark. Being made of two things gives power.”

  “Like you?”

  “You’re thinking of the wrong sort of power.” They stepped back as Amber walked through where they’d stood. “Evanne chooses for who she fights.”

  “Her family.” Vertiline nodded. “She is stubborn and wilful and I love her for it.”

  “She fights for everyone’s family. Even these people here, because she can see them, Justiciar. She knows them. She lived as the odd one out, not comfortable in her skin, seeking clarity through the lives of others, and so knew them. Your daughter calls herself the Half-Made. Tarragon calls her Well-Made.”

  “I call her perfect.” Vertiline bristled, unsure why. The god wasn’t casting stones at Evanne. “What’s your point?”

  “We’re just talking,” the god offered. “The point is for you to learn.”

  “I thought you said there were no tests left for the High Justiciar.”

  “Learning doesn’t mean there is a test.”

  “You’re the annoying middle child, aren’t you?”

  That got a small smile. Ikmae nodded. “Come. We have one more stop to make.”

  The dragon was in the large cavern, because Myryntir couldn’t fit into the corridors below. He was curled, nose to tail, but not asleep. There were no bodies left about, and Vertiline didn’t have to think too hard to guess what had become of the nightmare monster corpses. The dragon’s blue eyes tracked her. //SHHH. SHE SLEEPS.//

  Atop the dragon’s back was Pakhet. The grey-striped super-sized tiger was stretched out, much longer than Vertiline would have guessed even such a large cat could be. She lay with her belly facing the cavern’s ceiling, eyes closed, the dragon her pillow.

  “You can see us?”

  “Dragons do not miss much,” Ikmae said. “Some find it charming.”

  //I AM MADE OF CHARM.//

  Vertiline closed the distance to the dragon’s nose, and put a hand on Myryntir’s muzzle. The heady heat of his bellows breath teased her hair back. “Hullo, dragon.”

  //HELLO, VERTILINE, SHIELD OF THE WORLD, INCARNATION OF THE DAWN MAIDEN, AND MOTHER OF OUR SAVIOUR.//

  Vertiline let her hand fall. “The what?”

  //SHHH,// the dragon said again. //THE CAT NEEDS HER SLEEP.//

  “The cat is either feigning sleep or dead, as they can hear your voice in Imshir.” Vertiline sighed. “Evanne is not your saviour. She’s my little girl.”

  //SHE CAN BE MANY THINGS AT ONCE.// The dragon eyed the god. //WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN DOING, SLEEPING? I EXPECTED YOU TO HAVE COVERED THIS GROUND ALREADY.//

  “She’s a difficult student,” Ikmae murmured.

  Vertiline did the mental calculus on how long they’d been here. “Have you been laying here for two days?”

  //YOU DO NOT DISTURB A SLEEPING CAT ON YOUR LAP.//

  Vertiline kicked a small piece of granite, and watched it hop into the gloom. “We are going to fight Wild Sur. He is, by renown, a Feybrind.”

  //SOME CATS USE THEIR CLAWS MORE OFTEN.// The dragon yawned, but Vertiline noticed he didn’t arch his neck, perhaps to allow Pakhet undisturbed rest. //NOT ALL OF THEM ARE GOOD.//