Dearest Zann,

I took Ellewen up on his offer to visit him at the Public Bureau. “Ybel!” he said. I thought he seemed genuinely glad to see me. He nodded at his fellow clerks, Ebe and Rodaro. They waved him off, indicating they could handle things. I guessed Ellewen’s participation at the Bureau was voluntary and irregular.

“I’ve brought you back your things,” I said, holding up the sphere and ring that had helped heal me.

“Yes, thank you, come on back,” he answered, leading me to a door around the corner. I followed him. Inside was a small shady room with a large window looking out on a grassy little cranny in the side of the Comet Halls. Chairs and table, some books, some plants, a divan. A border-bridge set. “You’re looking well. You move stiffly, though. Do your wounds still trouble you?”

“Only a little,” I said. “Thanks to you. No, the stiffness is because one of my underlings feels the need to punish me with stick-fighting drills every day.”

“Of course. Please, sit.”

I sat, and put the sphere and ring on the table. “It was lucky for me that you came along when you did. Tell me, please, if you don’t mind, what is your role here at the palace?”

“Ah. No, I don’t mind. Well, perhaps I have no official role. I am something of an embarrassment to my people. You see, I first came to Crideon long before the rest of my kin did. I’ve always been curious about it, you see. The city, and your people, and your ways. Fascinating. It’s not an attitude most of us have. They’d like to pretend I’m not here, but my knowledge is just too useful. Generally my talents are best employed down here at the Bureau, where I can, oh, translate between the needs of the people and the ideas of the Valnelatar court.”

“Oh,” I said. “I didn’t know that. I didn’t know any of you ever came here. You… what should I call your people? You know we call you ‘laurans’.”

“Yes, it’s very funny,” he said, pouring some of that cloying honey drink for us. “Well, our proper name is–” and here he said a word with a lot of Ls and Rs and things in it, and a couple of birdcalls and the scent of peonies “–but you should just say ‘greenkind’. That will never offend.”

“Why ‘greenkind’?”

He sipped. “We pretend a great affinity for plants and trees and other growing things. And, having pretended it, we are very proud of it.”

“Oh. Well, then, greenkind. Thank you. So, you like it here?”

“There is much about the Crideon lands to admire. It’s like our home in many ways. But it isn’t really home.”

“Then…” I could feel him looking at me. And I decided not to ask the next question. He probably wouldn’t answer it. And what if he did? Maybe some other time. Instead, I said, “Some time ago, I met another… greenkind. Down at the docks.”

“Oh, yes?”

“He was having some supplies loaded on his foamcraft. But he seemed sick. And sad. His foamcraft was in bad shape, too; stained with algae and filth. I wouldn’t mind speaking to him again; do you know who he could be?”

“How strange. No, I’ve no idea. Would you like me to see if I can find out?”

“Yes, please, if you can. Is there any service I can do for you, in return for all your kindness?”

“You can tell me what you think,” he said.

“About what?”

“About anything. Whatever’s happening in the palace, in the city, in your life. I think our peoples must begin to know each other. But my kin are stubbornly uninterested in that. Well, perhaps I can remedy it, a little.”

It sounded a lot like spying. But, I thought, I could just not tell him anything sensitive, assuming I knew it in the first place. “Happy to,” I said.

Then we played border-bridge. I lost both games, which is normal, but I thought I put up a better fight than I usually do.

Love,

Zann

Beloved Zann,

My guard shift today at the palace wasn’t until late afternoon. Yes, corporals still have to put in regular guard shifts; we’re on the wheel. So are the lieutenants. Not the captain, though. Anyway, I thought I could sleep late.

So I was surprised when Srix woke me up by kicking me in the leg.

“Ow,” I said.

“Get up,” he said. “We have a lot to do today.”

“No, we don’t.”

He kicked me again. “You want to go back to sleep? Then stop me from kicking you.” And he kicked me again.

I sat up. “Why are you here?” Wande and Jhus were still here. I could hear them out in the other room. They must have let him in.

“Get up and I’ll tell you.”

“I’m a corporal. You’re nothing, you’re just a guard. Stop kicking me.”

He kicked me again. Same spot on my leg every time. It was really starting to hurt. “You’re wasting the morning.”

I got up.

When we came out of the sleeping room Wande was helping Jhus put on her shoes. “Day,” Wande said, as though nothing unusual was happening.

“You’ve met Srix here, I guess?”

“Ay,” she said. “It was a pleasure.”

“I like Srix,” Jhus said. “He has my favour.” I suppose that was inevitable.

“You’re not worthy of these two,” Srix said to me.

“Why are you here?” I asked him again.

“Day, Ybel,” Wande said as she and Jhus left. “Jhus, say day to Ybel.”

“I sha’n’t,” Jhus said, as the door closed behind her.

“Explain,” I said, pouring myself some water. I didn’t offer Srix any. My mother would have been scandalized by that, and so would Wande, but I have my limits.

“I’ve talked to Captain Candur. And Damsel Ambe. They told me what happened to you. You want me to be your guard. Not just a Rosolla guard, but a guard for you.”

“So?”

“I don’t know if I want to spend that much time around you. I don’t know if I want to put all that effort in to preserving your pathetic life.”

“Then don’t. Go home and let me get back to sleep.”

“Oh, no,” he said. “No, I’ll do it. But we’re going to do it my way.”

“I’m still the corporal here!”

He kicked me in the leg again. Same spot! Even though that leg was now on the other side of me. “Oh, you’re a corporal. Impressive. So you ought to be able to make me stop kicking you, yes?” And kicked me again. I tried to dodge and block, but he was too good at it.

“A little better,” he said. “I know you have some kind of religious objection to fighting.”

“It’s not religious.”

“But you’re a guard, and you’re going to be involved with fighting will you or nill you. I’d be a fool if I agreed to guard a man who couldn’t fight but insisted on going into battle anyway. So I’m going to teach you how to protect yourself in a fight. Without cutting or stabbing anyone, yes, I know. It won’t be as good as though you were a real warrior, but at least you won’t be working against me.”

“I can already do that,” I told him. “I came through the entire Sugarside siege without striking a blow.”

“And took a serious leg wound. And, no doubt, put your comrades at greater risk. And enjoyed much good fortune, I’m sure. Well, I’m not some upcountry bumpkin who will share your danger unwitting. You’ve been just barely good enough. You need to be better. I can make you better. It will take a long time, but I can.”

One of the reasons I recruited Srix was that he had a mind of his own. The rest of the day was very unpleasant.

Love,

Ybel

Most loved Zann,

The broadsheet I usually read is the Woodchuck. It has that writer I like, Emeraldo, and sometimes they have good comic drawings. Here’s what was in today’s.

• a story by Emeraldo about a roosttower with a new lauran landlord who is ignoring complaints
• an obviously made-up story by that pissard Mardle, trying to drum up hate against Amaydyans
• lyrics to a new tavern song, “Blood in the River”
• descriptions of new fashions for women, using gauzy lauran fabrics
• a comic drawing of a cat sharpening her claws on one of the new black spires
• a description of yesterday’s longball games out at Sarpan Field
• a description of the execution, at Blackfloors, of a man and a woman for “great crimes” that weren’t specified
• the latest chapter of a romance. It’s about a human man and lauran woman who have to travel to Omhelos together. I haven’t been following it closely. Every time I look at it there’s a storm that forces them to stay in some roadside hostelry where there’s only one bed available
• and of course the usual nonsensus in the personal column. “7 TBC m.” “Alleycat? Come to RR 12. Look for the red shoe.” “Clock flourish slow which.” Must mean something to someone

Not to get into parts of my past that I don’t want to talk about, but I do hear a lot about these broadsheets being used for political purposes, to build up support for this faction or that one, or to send secret messages. And it’s obviously true. I don’t care about any of it and I’m not going to join a faction, but it is nice to be able to read these things and remember what I used to care about. It’s one of the only things about younger Ybel that I can stand to think about.

Love,

Ybel

Dearest Zann,

Delega caught me after the meeting with the castellan. She hadn’t said a word to me the whole time, and I thought I noticed her looking at me angrily once or twice.

“How do you dare call yourself a curst corporal?” she said, grabbing my arm hard and shoving me at the corridor wall. “You shouldn’t be a guard at all!”

“The captain wants me to be a corporal,” I told her, as calmly as I could. “I’m going to do my best.”

“Your best is a bubble of piss! You can’t even fight! I heard what happened.”

I pulled my arm free. “Look, why do you care? You got promoted too.”

“Ay,” she said, “I worked for a long time to become corporal. I made myself good with my sword. And I finally made it. And you get the same thing after a few swings of… what, exactly?”

“Can I give you a piece of advice?”

“No. You can quit. You don’t belong in the Rosolla Guard. You’re weak and you’re going to endanger the rest of us and you’re going to endanger the palace. And you’re going to get hurt or killed yourself, don’t you even care about that?”

“I’m going to tell you anyway. The reason you haven’t been promoted before this is that you think the only important part of being a guard is swordsmanship. It’s not. Weren’t you listening in there with Senrralar? This whole palace is politics. And if you don’t start to learn about that, then you’re the one who’s going to endanger people.”

She stepped back from me. “You can tell yourself that,” she said. “Or, even better, you can tell Trall and Carsaduam, next time you meet them. See how well it works.” And swaggered off.

I hadn’t forgotten about Trall and Carsaduam. Also, Ambe’s scarf won’t work anymore; the charm must have worn off by now. I’d have to think.

Love,

Ybel

Dearest Zann,

One of the first things Candur did once I became a corporal was to introduce me to the castellan. He’s called that even though this isn’t really a castle. He’s the guy who handles all the details of maintaining the buildings, including dealing with the guards. Which is us. Well, us and the Immaculate Zone, whoever or whatever that is.

The castellan is an elderly lauran man with a twinkling eye, named Senrralar. When Candur introduced me, he said, “This person is honoured to know you, Corporal Ybel.”

It caught me off guard and I blurted out, “Which person?” and he grinned, which I had never seen a lauran do before or since.

“The one who is speaking to you, young warrior,” he answered, getting a detail wrong. “This person hopes your service here is long.”

So I got him to like me, by accident, I guess. Seems like a decent old fellow. Candur and Delega (another new corporal) and I spend about an hour with him going over palace details; there’s a lot of coordinating with non-routine events we have to do that I never knew about before. I guess Sergeant Vasro can’t be expected to do it.

One thing I learned was about all the embassies in the palace. There are many kingdoms and things that border Crideon, and they all have their people here, and so do some of the other places who deal with Crideon a lot. They actually live here, in what’s called the Green Hotel, down sort of near the water. I never had any reason to go down there; we don’t guard the ambassadors. They have their own people for that. But there’s a little courtyard off to the side where you can see the banners of all the different countries and things who have embassies here. It took me a while to figure out what they all were. But I got it. There’s

the Kingdom of Amaydya (to our south)
the League of the River (allied city-states upstream of us on the Crideon River)
Jephiel (also to our south)
Rin Sharuane (cluster of ancient forbidden ruins to our east. Of course it has an ambassador)
the Raness (almost completely uninhabited wilderness, to our east)
New Omhelos (powerful city, nowhere near Crideon. Way to the north? West? Northwest?)
the Duchy of Marannum (to our southwest)
the Masters of Despair Swamp (to our west)
Gallan Island (independent island in the Crideon River, downstream from the city)
the Ias Empire (huge empire far to the south)
the Principality of Kiyet (to our west)
Peiland (to our north)

You’ve probably noticed that Brebitze isn’t on this list. I don’t know why they don’t have an embassy here. We’re not at war with them. We’ve got a huge border on our west with them. The city is full of Brebitzians on every kind of business. Doesn’t make sense to me.

Love,

Ybel

Dearest Zann,

So a few days later I was back in Candur’s office while Srix and five other guards took their Rosolla Guard oaths. Or, rather, I brought them there, and then made an excuse to get away as quickly as I could.

I didn’t write about taking the oath myself, back when I first joined. That’s because I didn’t take it.

The problem is that the oath asks you to swear by the mysteries of Yskere. And I don’t know the mysteries of Yskere, because I don’t belong to the cult of Yskere. Yskere is the patron goddess of soldiers. All soldiers, if they’re serious about it and not just a farmhand carrying a spear because someone told him to, are supposed to join the cult. So I got recruited when I was in the army. All very secretive. Fellow named Smanick took me aside one evening and explained the basic idea.

First you get piss drunk. Then Smanick takes a paste of ground-up herbs and rubs it on your eyelids. Then you put your head in a box and Smanick and a couple of other soldiers bury you alive, not too deep, and they blow some kind of smoke into the box. And Yskere comes to you and shows you her mysteries, which are, I think, secrets about life and death and blood and sex. And you’re there overnight. In the morning Smanick digs you up and you’re in the cult.

So I did all that, but the problem was that when Yskere came to me, she was angry. “Never!” she shouted. “You will never learn! You’re no soldier; you would betray your comrades in an instant! I don’t know what you are and I turn my face from you!” And disappeared from my mind’s eye. It scared the drink and smoke right out of me and I lay there shivering until the morning.

Nobody ever asked me about it. Smanick was supposed to, but the Sugarsiders made a sortie that morning and he was killed. Everyone assumed that I was in the cult, but I wasn’t, and I’m sure not going to swear an oath that I am. From what I understand, it’s normal for warrior orders like the Rosolla Guard to require that their members all be sworn to Yskere. I just have to hope that it’s never important. And that Candur never finds out.

I wish I could say that I didn’t understand why Yskere was angry at me. But I do. Oh well; as long as I’m in the palace, that’s the important part.

Oh, I should mention that the other guards who joined this morning included three that Fafafa had sent me to. There was Akinis the Rider, Red Mallot, and Trrle Two-Flags. All three were very friendly and easygoing, had done a lot of this kind of work before, and seemed like they could kill me with a rosepetal at sixty paces.

Love,

Ybel

Dearest Zann,

The following night I was back at Kayar’s Tavern with Ostavon and Fafafa. I had just sat back down after singing the Grieving Mother Ballad for everyone (to polite appreciation from the crowd), when a thought came to me.

“Fafa,” I said.

“Ybel,” Fafafa answered.

“You know how I said I’m trying to find more people for the Rosolla Guard?”

He took a drink and shifted to face me directly. “I do know.”

“Is there anybody you know who’d be good? It is your line of work.”

He put his drink down. “It’s an interesting question. I know a lot of soldiers and warriors, yes. Some have their boots up at the moment. But…”

I waited for him to continue, but he didn’t, and I said, “But?”

“…But, what happens if I tell you that Jacko Swingsword is just the man for you, and you make him a Rosolla Guard, and then Jacko swives the captain’s wife or steals the wine fund or something? Because with soldiers, you never know. And then you may be in trouble for bringing him in, and it may cause a problem in our friendship. And I value our friendship.”

“That’s well said,” Ostavon said, tugging at his beard.

“What if he doesn’t?” I said. “What if he’s great? You wouldn’t want to deprive me of someone who’s great, would you?”

“Of course not.”

“And I can’t imagine anyone you name being the kind of useless smackarse who’d get me in any kind of trouble.”

“Neither can I,” Fafafa said, taking a careful sip. “Well. I will certainly find someone if you want me to. I’ll send a message to your roost tomorrow with some names?”

“Please, yes,” I said. “I appreciate it.”

“I think that’s the right decision, Fafa,” Ostavon said. “I think you’re doing the right thing.”

“Oh, I do too,” he answered. “I just hope it works out well for our Ybel.”

“Why wouldn’t it?” I said.

“You’ve been a soldier, Ybel,” Ostavon said. “You know that things don’t need a reason to go wrong.”

And that was the truth. Fafafa left shortly after that and we weren’t far behind him.

Love,

Ybel

Dearest Zann,

The manor where Srix worked was more than an hour away by longcoach. It was one of the new ones on the upstream headlands, usually owned by rich merchants. Most of these fellows had kept their money and influence under the laurans. I knew the type well from loading and unloading their barges: petty, cruel people. I hoped they were giving Srix a terrible time.

The priest’s directions to the manor were clear and simple, and when I got to the place I had no doubt it was the right one. That was nice. Usually when someone tells you how to do something, you get halfway through it and then say, “Wait. Did they mean…” But this was good.

I’m the sort of person who often plans out what they’re going to say in a conversation. So normally I would have spent the longcoach journey imagining what Srix and I would say to each other. But I didn’t this time, because Srix never cooperates with anyone else’s ideas. I might as well try to catch a butterfly in my mouth.

The manor had a strong and tall wooden gate facing the road. I picked up a stone and used it to knock on the gate.

“Hey!” a voice said from above. “Don’t do that!”

I looked up. There was a guard at the top of the wall, probably on some kind of inner parapet.

“You’ll scratch the master’s paint, with your curst rock! Just shout up to me like a normal fellow!”

“My regrets,” I called up. “Is Srix around?”

There was a pause. “What do you want him for? Does he owe you money?”

“I just have business with him.”

Another pause. “Piss off.”

I spend too much time dealing with guards. “Can you just tell him Ybel’s here? Please?”

“Is it important?”

Is it important. No, chafferhead, I came all the way out here for something frivolous. “Life and death.”

“Wait there.”

I waited there. It was very sunny so I sat down under a tree across the road. It was about ten minutes later when part of the gate unfolded enough to let three people through; very cleverly done. There was the guard I had been talking to, Srix glowering at me like he does, and a richly dressed woman.

“Do you know who this man is?” the woman said to Srix.

“I’ve never seen him before… oh, well. Yes, certes I have. His name is Ybel and he is a man of no account at all. He’s probably here to beg.”

“Then thrash him and turn him off. He’s disrupted my household enough.” And she turned away and went back inside the gate. Srix advanced on me. Truncheon on his belt.

“Wait, you’re not going to do it, are you? Srix!”

“The mistress gave me an order,” he said, clearly enjoying himself. “It’s nothing to do with me.”

“I’ve already been thrashed enough, look at me, for Mih’s sake. I want to talk to you.”

The other guard was back up at the top of the wall, grinning down at us. Srix reached out and tapped me on the point of the elbow with his truncheon, and then on the nose, both very lightly. “Look at you. I could break every bone in your body and you couldn’t do anything about it. Some guard.”

“Stop it. What’s the matter with you?”

“You’re worthless as a fighter. Do you have any idea how humiliating it is for me, one of the premier noblemen of Crideon, to owe you my life?” He tapped me again, one-two-three, in the groin, stomach, and heart.

“Wait, what? No, I–“

“That’s what you’re here for, right? To collect on my debt to you?”

“Srix! Stop poking me. You’re the one who saved my life, curse you, I’m here to offer you a job.”

He lowered his truncheon. “I clearly remember you putting yourself in the path of that red-bearded fellow. I was off-balance and he would have done me, no question, if you hadn’t hindered him.”

I didn’t remember the fight clearly at all. “If you say so. But you saved my life too.”

He waved that away with a jerk of his fingers. “The difference is, my life is worth saving, and yours is of no consequence. You owe me nothing.”

“This is why people don’t like you.”

“No. They don’t like me because I remind them that they have given their allegiance to the unworthy, and it makes them uncomfortable.”

“Well, we won’t argue. Any reason will do. I’m serious about offering you a job, though. I want you to work for me.”

Srix stared. “Doing what? Hoisting crates?”

“Oh, it’s better than that. I’m a corporal in the Rosolla Guard, and I’m going to be an officer. I need someone I can trust to be my assistant.”

He laughed harshly. And kept laughing. “How low the throne of Crideon has fallen, if they’re counting on you to safeguard their lives. You slithering worm. They’d never accept me as a guard. I’m their most hated enemy!”

“They will accept you as a guard. I guarantee it.” They would, too. I’d bet all the money in my pockets that the laurans have never heard of Srix’s curst family, and if someone told them, they wouldn’t care. Only I’d never find anyone to take the other end of the bet, except Srix, who doesn’t gamble. “And wouldn’t you like to get into the palace? Your people are out there on Birch Spit, cut off from all the palace gossip. Nobody tells you anything about what’s going on. Well, here’s your chance.”

I could tell he saw the possibilities. “And you think I’d work for you? You would trust me?”

“Why not?”

But he still wasn’t convinced. Then I told him how much it paid. Thing about the Vafeligs is, they don’t have much money left.

All my love,

Ybel

Most beloved Zann,

I didn’t sleep well. I didn’t dream; I just kept waking up. Which makes sense because of all the sleep I had had the day before. And when I woke I was sore and muzzy and in low spirits. But things did seem mostly normal other than that.

Wande and Jhus had already left by the time I woke. Wande had left some breakfast for me in the cold bin. Jaunelle preserves on the good bread. I ate that and bathed and dressed–and shaved!–and plotted out what to do today. I still wanted to track down Srix.

If Srix wasn’t working for Nangolt anymore, there was only one place I could go to look for him. And, like most sensible humans, I didn’t want to go there. It was the temple of Valx, out on Birch Spit. I trotted over to Enjar’s Street and caught a longcoach going that way.

So here’s the explanation of Srix and why he’s like that. He made me listen to it once and this is the part I couldn’t avoid paying attention to. A long time ago, the Crideon lands were ruled by the Vafelig family. Then the king died, whatever his name was. And he didn’t leave any heirs. So they had to have a grand council to decide who got to be king next. There were other Vafeligs around, but they weren’t closely related enough to the king to have a very good claim. Other families, because of intermarriages and whatnot, also had candidates with good claims. Eventually, and to hear Srix tell it there was a lot of sexy bribery and other kinds of corruption involved, the council settled on Ponesh, the first Talistag king.

But the Vafeligs weren’t happy, and didn’t just go away. They might have started a war to take the throne back, but they didn’t have enough support. So they started a religion. The remaining Vafeligs, and their few loyal supporters, became worshippers of Valx, the Lord of Rightful Rule. The god of being in charge by birthright, essentially. And since then they’ve been a fringe presence in Crideon society, trying to win as many people as possible over to the idea that the Vafeligs should be in charge because their piss has just the right smell to it, or something. Unsuccessfully, of course; nobody else has the slightest amount of time for them. Valx isn’t even a real god! You put his shrine in a fountainroom, it doesn’t glow no matter how many offerings you make to him.

(The Vafeligs have an explanation for this. It’s not worth the time it would take to repeat it.)

Srix, obviously, is a Vafelig, and he can’t shut up about his rights and how he and his family don’t get the proper respect. Especially now that the laurans rule and the Talistags are nowhere to be found.

This is why I wanted Srix: I know he’s not mixed up with any other criminal faction because he’s so committed to his own smackarse faction that nobody else would touch him. (Plus, he’s too proud.) I know he could watch my back against most regular danger because he’s a tall dark well-built fellow who’s quick with his sword. And I know he could shake me up if I needed it because he was always doing that. Not a fool, Srix, and a very uncomfortable man to talk to.

I climbed out of the longcoach about a block from Birch Spit, and walked out on Birch Road. The Spit was a sad little rocky point that stuck out a couple of hundred feet into the Crideon River. You couldn’t build much on it, but the Vafeligs had cleared some of the rocks and built a temple in green and yellow stone, the family colours.

There was a wide path through the rocks, but it was overgrown. I picked my way through, and ascended into the temple. Clean but dusty, and quite airy inside. Someone had put a bowl of flowers on the green altar. A man in yellow robes came out from a back room.

“Do you accept King Onyxal as your true sovereign?” he demanded.

Technically I could get in trouble for answering this, but nobody takes these people seriously, and you have to go along with it if you want anything from them. “Aye,” I said.

He was still suspicious, having been lied to about this thousands of times, but he was stuck with me as much as I was stuck with him. “Have you come to join us?” he asked. “Have you come to aid us in throwing off the cruel yoke of the Talistag’s lauran puppets?”

That was one I hadn’t heard before. “Not today, cousin,” I said. (One thing I learned from Srix: the Valxans call each other ‘cousin’. It’s significant to them somehow.) “I’m looking for Cousin Srix. I used to work with him.”

He glared at me.

“Cousin?” I said.

“We have a lot of people coming here, looking for information about our cousins. Sometimes it isn’t to their advantage. Creditors, things like that. Often they pretend sympathy to our views.”

“Oh, but I wouldn’t do that,” I lied. “Anyway, I’m here to offer Srix a job. Very much to his advantage.”

“As may be. We must be careful, though. I wouldn’t dream of telling you how to find Srix unless I was satisfied you were one of the faithful.”

“All right,” I said. “How can I satisfy you?”

“You must feed our Sacred Aunt,” he said. “She will be able to taste your intentions in your offering.”

“I don’t know what you mean by that.”

“No. Come with me.” He led me out the back door of the temple, through the grass down to the river, where there was an overgrown brick circle with a large trap door in the centre. He kissed me on the forehead (and, unlike me, he hadn’t bathed or shaved recently) and said, “Go with Valx.”

“What’s down there? Are you feeding me to a monster?”

He laughed. “Of course not. What kind of a way is that to grow a congregation? We’d never get anywhere! You’ll be fine.”

Good answer, I supposed. I opened the trap door, revealing a crude staircase winding around downwards. It smelled like the river down there, but also like something else. I wanted to turn around and just get the piss out of there. I was going through this so I could spend more time with Srix? Ridiculous. But I had to admit I was curious just what the Valxians were up to out here.

I climbed down, gingerly, my ribs and legs complaining the whole way. At the bottom of the stairs was a stone room, lit by a sunglass that must have been wired to the temple. There was a pool in the middle of the room, full of water. That was all that was here.

The priest hadn’t given me any food, and I wasn’t carrying any with me. How was I supposed to feed… their aunt? Nobody was here.

I looked to see if I could walk around the edge of the pool, but there wasn’t enough of an edge to balance on all the way around. I tried touching the water in the pool.

It wasn’t water! It was some other curst thing, and it rose up out of the poolbed in huge globs and glorps at me. “Aaah!” I said, and fell back on my chuff.

The giant watery blob wrapped one flollop around me and held me. I screamed for help. It extended another smorp of glup towards my face and I just screamed.

Cold and slippery, it forced its way into my mouth, and down my throat. I choked, tasting river slime, and tried to vomit, but couldn’t. My head and arms were held tight. The coldness of the scummy floop of blup moved all the way down my throat and into my heaving stomach, where it absorbed all the food that was in there.

Once it was sated, just as quickly as it had invaded my mouth and neck, it withdrew. I could once again taste the jaunelle preserves it had eaten in my belly. The thing, the Sacred Aunt, settled back into its poolbed and released my shoulders.

I fell back, scrambling and gasping. Climbed the stairs on all fours. The trap door was shut above me, and I hammered on it. The Valxian priest opened it.

“I see you were telling the truth,” he said. “The Sacred Aunt always knows! I’ll see what I can find about Cousin Srix.”

“Fuh… puh…”

“And you’ve now been accepted into our little family! I hope to see you here much more often, as we try to reclaim these holy lands from those who would defile them for our own purposes.”

I crawled back to the temple behind him.

“Lucky you had been telling the truth,” he continued. “If you had had ill intentions toward Srix, you wouldn’t have come back up! Poor Srix, it’s not often that someone wishes him well.”

I sat on the temple’s back stairs, breathing hard, enjoying the sunshine between lavender clouds. (I’d have to get inside early this afternoon, or the mists would make my hair fall out.) I made plans to stop at a fountainroom soon, so I could wash the Sacred Aunt’s taste out of my mouth.

The priest told me how I could find the villa where Srix was working as a guard and footman. I thanked him and went on my way.

Love,

Ybel

Dearest Zann,

I wasn’t exactly scared about being thrown off the bridge. The only bridge in that neighbourhood was the one over the Lafeas, a couple of blocks away. The Lafeas is a middle-sized river that joins the Crideon here in town, and it’s deep enough that you’re not going to dash your brains out. Even at that height, which is about forty feet. I imagine some people have died from being thrown in, but it wasn’t winter, and, unlike most of these city sorts, I can swim.

Still, it’s a pretty dirty river, and being thrown in wasn’t going to do my wounds any good, so I struggled as much as I could, until one of Nangolt’s men gave me a slap across the mouth that quieted me down. As we neared the bridge, I let them know what their wives and girlfriends were doing while they were at work, and they didn’t seem to appreciate it. When they threw me over the side, I was actually still rising as I cleared the railing.

In the middle of the day! Dozens of people were watching. None of the pissards did a thing to help me as I swam to the bank. Nobody called for the Qualison Guard. Nangolt’s brutes trotted back to his workshop satisfied with their morning’s work. I would too, I suppose; I never got to do anything as fun as that when I worked for Nangolt. Gods knew there were times I wanted to throw Srix off a bridge, if I had a bridge.

My problem now was that I was about thirty feet below the rest of the city, and needed to find a way up the stone embankments. Oh, I guess I could have just let the current carry me downstream until I was in the Crideon River, and then I’d be able to find some kind of wharf or something. But that would take forever, and nobody swims in the filthy Lafeas for fun. I spied a staircase set into one section of embankment, and swam toward it.

The passersby, seeing that I wasn’t going to die anytime soon, had continued with their errands, so nobody was there to watch me haul myself out of the murky water onto these stairs. I knew I looked like a muskrat’s orphan, but I was too far from home to change my clothes. My wounds didn’t seem any worse, and I hadn’t lost any of my belongings.

At the top of the stairs was a door, into a building that looked like any other Crideon building. I didn’t really want to go into it. But the only other thing to do was to try to climb across the embankment to an alley or something, and if I tried it I’d probably avalanche back down into the river and rough myself up pretty good while I was at it. So I tried the door.

It was locked, of course, and I was wondering what to do next when it opened from the inside. There was a lauran woman there. “Oh,” she said. “You’re all wet.”

“Yes, some men just–“

“It doesn’t matter. Come this way.”

And she led me inside, to a room where four other men were lying in bed asleep, with racks of mushrooms hung over their heads. “I just want to–“

“You can come to the front door next time. It’s easier. Are you sleepy?” she asked me.

“Am I what? No, I–“

“Then here,” she said, and breathed in my face. Smelled like honey.

“Uhh.” Suddenly I was very sleepy, and just wanted to lie down and close my eyes. “What… what…”

“That’s right,” she said, and helped me to an empty bed. I was asleep before my head touched the strawbag.

A lot of what happened after that I don’t remember well. I had to put it together myself from images and feelings. But here’s my best try at it.

While I was sleeping I dreamed about beauty. I didn’t see or hear anything beautiful in my dreams; I was looking for it. But wherever I went, it was always gone by the time I got there. I kept finding empty rooms and dug-up gardens. I think I felt sad about it, like I should have been able to find them, but they had been taken from me. I don’t know how long this lasted.

When the lauran woman woke me up, she moved a rack of mushrooms from above my head. I caught a glimpse of them. They weren’t grey or brown or white; they were swirled with all kinds of delicate rainbow colours that seemed deeply familiar to me. “Up you get,” she said, and helped me to my feet. The other beds were all empty, except for one, where another lauran was helping an old man in shabby clothes wake up. The mushrooms in his rack were all dynamic mixtures of black and gold, with red stars. She pressed a silver cup into my hand. “There you are. Now, don’t come back here until next swing; it isn’t good for you to give too often.” The old man was crying and I think I was too.

I must have stumbled out the front door of the place, wherever she led me, and into the streets. I know I gave the silver cup to the first beggar I saw. I remember wishing I had smashed all the mushrooms, but there’s no way I could have formed that intention at the time.

It took me forever to get back to the roost. I should have caught a longcoach, but I wasn’t thinking clearly enough to actually do it. So I walked the whole way, which put a big strain on my healing wounds. Also, it was late afternoon, so the mists were thickening, and I couldn’t stay out of them. They were yellow today, which meant that by the time I was home I had a thick coating of golden moss on most parts of my skin.

I did wake up suddenly from my doziness when I realized I hadn’t dreamed about trying to taste anything beautiful, and drenched myself in cold sweat when I realized what a narrow escape it had been. My heart has never pounded so hard.

But it was a strange experience walking through Crideon after whatever had happened to me. Everything felt unfamiliar. Things I had seen before, I still remembered, but I didn’t remember them seeming like that. Only the new black spires were as stark and inevitable as they had been. The towers of Blackfloors, had they always been proportioned like that? The carvings around the windows, always just so? The statue of Queen Modra, her arm curving so compassionately?

And then when I got home, and staggered into our roost, it was a great shock seeing Wande and Jhus. Had I ever really known them before? Had they always been this beautiful and I never knew it? Where had I been all this time?

I burst into tears and fell down and I guess Wande must have scraped my moss off and dragged me to bed.

Love,

Ybel