"Why do I have the feeling I'm about to be poked and prodded like some sort of zoo exhibit?" Rastaban said to Dheneb out of the corner of his mouth. It had been insisted upon that all the guests from Durai accompany Leven to the throne room. "But, I guess it's better than being looked at as a perspective bride, eh Orchid?"

She rolled her eyes and didn't dignify the comment with a response. Dheneb remained silent, thinking about what Leven said about the Electra throne room. Agamemnon kept the chamber under strict anti-magic wards. Leven wasn't sure how it would affect Witches, but it gave Dheneb unpleasant memories of Talia putting that magic dampening collar around his neck. He knew he was squeezing Rastaban's hand a little harder than necessary.

"It'll be fine," Rastaban whispered in his ear as half a dozen male servants pulled open the grand double doors leading into the throne room's antechamber. From the strain on their faces, the doors were as heavy as they looked. As soon as he stepped across the threshold, Dheneb knew if the wards were going to affect him, because his knees buckled, and he lost all feeling in his extremities. Because it was also affecting Rastaban, he couldn't hold up Dheneb, and they both fell to their knees.

Rastaban shook his head, clearing his vision. He'd never felt anything so… strange, as if his soul were being drained from him. He wasn't quite as used to being a Witch as Dheneb was, so he was able to stand under his own power. His fingers felt strangely cold and numb, like he'd slept on them and they'd lost blood flow. He crouched down beside Dheneb, and took his hand. Dheneb's skin felt jarringly cold compared to his usual body temperature. "You okay, baby?" He whispered.

Dheneb slowly nodded, panting slightly. "Yeah… just kinda feel like I got punched in the stomach. If I didn't have the lunar core, I'd probably be passed out." He only needed minimal help from Rastaban to get to his feet, but he did lean heavily on his lover.

"I wonder…" Orchid murmured, looking into Dheneb's now pale green eyes. The wards had sucked all the magic out of his appearance. "If these wards affect you thus, would it do the same for Auriga's telepathy?"

"Well, we can only hope," Rastaban murmured, flexing his tingling fingers. "His telepathy isn't really magic. It's something he was born with, like Anessirra said. But, Dheneb was born with his magic, so it could be the same."

Rastaban's comments were just white noise in Wezn's ears as he looked at Dheneb. It was like he was looking through time, looking into a world of might-have-beens. He was looking at himself at that age. He was looking at the normal son he could have had. He was actually seeing Dheneb as a human being for the first time in his life. As the rest of them moved forward to the second set of double doors, leading to the throne room proper, Wezn was rooted to the spot.

"Ughasy?" Leven called when he noticed Wezn wasn't beside him. "Do you need help?" He was walking with Wezn in case he needed help, since Imre or V'thaller, as servants, weren't permitted in the throne room.

"No, no…" He trailed off, voice cracking. "I'm fine."

Dheneb hadn't noticed the way his father was staring at him. He didn't think such a thing would matter to Wezn. Instead, he was looking at Rastaban's handsome profile. He'd been so used to the gradual change in the other man's appearance from the magic of Xarastar that he hadn't much noticed it, but now that it had vanished under the anti-magic wards, he could see the transformation. Rastaban's skin had grown like distant starlight. A light more powerful than a thousand suns, burning so far away that it was only a faint glow to brighten night. His eyes were their usual pale blue with garnet encroaching, but they now didn't look like a gateway to the afterworld. There wasn't that feeling of pure life and the passage of it in his gaze.

"Let me do the talking," Leven reminded them. "Agamemnon's temper is extremely streaky, and he's also quite paranoid, so may think you've come from Durai for invasion." Leven's lilac eyes trailed across the servants as they heaved and pulled to open the second set of doors.

Inside was blinding white and glittering gold. The path to the throne dais was completely covered in snowy hyacinth petals, which actually made the walk quite slippery. The white marble gleamed, and gold banners with the Electra family crest hung between polished pillars, veined with the finest gold Rastaban had ever seen. When they reached the end of the walk, they all bowed, and kept their heads low as Leven had instructed them earlier.

"Ah, General Leven," Agamemnon's reedy voice boomed, echoing through the cold chamber. "You have finally decided to grace us with your presence. And, you have brought your… friends…" His voice became a whisper. "Rise," he commanded, still whispering. However, it was so silent that even this quiet utterance rumbled through the room.

They did so, stealing a look at the infamous King Electra. He looked much like his youngest son. The Electra hazel eyes, the weak chin, the crossed eyes and the stooped posture. He had risen from his throne, and they started to bow again when he snapped "I said rise!"

They all stood again as he limped down the dais, and came towards them. His hunched stance was accentuated by the extremely heavy cape he wore, made of thick velvet, adored with jewels and white fur. His metallic gold nails flashed in the whiteness of the room. He slowly circled them, murmuring to himself when he looked into Orchid's eyes.

"I told you she was pretty, Father!" Aegisthus exclaimed from his smaller throne, beside that of Queen Clytemnestra. He looked at Orchid with utter adoration. Rastaban found himself staring at her as he was examined by the King. Her only real resemblance to her husband/cousin and her son were the same hazel eyes. She had a pinched looking nose, a high forehead, and a cupid's bow mouth that was painted gold. She wore a high-necked gold gown, and he was surprised she could keep her head upright under the elaborate gold headdress she wore atop her dark brown hair. Orestes must have looked more like his commoner father than her, for Rastaban saw little resemblance.

"Ah… to see the faces of Ahlixar and Xarastar with my own eyes. I forgive the wards, but one must not be too careful, My Lords."

"We are honoured to be invited into an audience," Dheneb murmured, bowing his head, trying not to swoon, a grand headache buzzing in his head.

"Your Highness…" Leven began.

"Ah! This is the accent of Durai. How charming! And, you have brought your father. The Holy Lord Ahlixar resembles you greatly, Ughasy."

"Th-thank you…" Wezn murmured, bowing. Taking the compliment seemed much simpler than going into a long explanation of the strain between himself and Dheneb. And, he wanted those dull hazel eyes to look elsewhere. They left him uncomfortable, like he was looking into the edge of mania.

"Your Highness," Leven said again.

"My son spoke highly of your beauty, elf of Rhianonuit." Agamemnon ran a finger over Orchid's shoulder then down her arm. She stiffened and sharply took in her breath.

"You recoil at my touch?" He asked. The question seemed playful, but there was a dangerous undercurrent in the words.

"Your Highness!" Leven said firmly. "There is a very urgent matter at hand."

Agamemnon's crossed hazel eyes glared at Orchid for a few moments. "You recoil at my touch…" He trailed off. He suddenly reached out his hand and slapped her across the face, metal nails scratching her cheek enough to draw a thin line of blood. Leven looked over his shoulder and glared at Rastaban to stay his hand when he saw the blonde man's hand ball into a fist.

"Okay, Leven." Agamemnon sat on his throne, hands splayed on the armrests. Aegisthus was looking at Orchid in horror. He started to stand, wanting to go to her, but his mother put her hand out to keep him in his place. "What is this urgent matter? That you defeated the Tsiiva tribe? I already knew this. And, you could have told me such if you'd come when I asked you to." His voice was like a snake slithering in the grass.

"The Tsiiva tribe have been decimated, Your Highness, but their threat still lives." Leven ignored the barbs. If one kept distracting Agamemnon, he couldn't become focused on something long enough to fall into a towering fury about it. "Particularly from their leader, Auriga. Your Highness, the Electra family is in danger from him."

"From some savage rabble?" Agamemnon laughed, Aegisthus echoing. Clytemnestra remained as a statue.

"Your Highness, there is no easy way to say this. Auriga is no savage. He is your son, Orestes."

Agamemnon blinked his dull eyes, staring at Leven as if he'd never seen him before. He then started laughing. "Oh, Leven. It's so amusing when riikarra try to be funny."

"I am completely serious, Your Highness."

"Orestes is dead," Clytemnestra finally spoke. She had a very quiet, breathy voice that sounded strangely flighty. "He was executed for treason."

"You believed this to be true," Leven said soothingly. "Did you ever know that Orestes had… special powers?"

"Special powers?" Agamemnon echoed with raised eyebrows. "Wh-what do you mean?" The falter in his voice spoke the truth. He knew of Orestes's telepathy.

"He let you believe you'd executed him. He walked right out of the palace, and has been planning this revenge against you ever since."

"You lie!" The King shouted, rising to his feet. "How preposterous! How stupid! You dare to come in here and say such things, like I'm some fool?!"

"It is no lie," Rastaban said, voice carrying through the throne room with authority. "I am the one that made the discovery that your son is the Tsiiva High General. You may call me a liar, but Leven is only reporting my findings, so I can't let you call him one."

Agamemnon's hunched body was shaking with fury as his crossed eyes focused on Rastaban. "You are?" He asked, voice rising shrilly with his anger.

"Yes, Your Highness," was Rastaban's calm reply.

Agamemnon's lips trembled as he stared down the dais at the blonde man. He wouldn't dare argue with a Witch, even if he was King. And, Rastaban knew it.

"You know that your son was telepathic."

"He is not my son!" Agamemnon cried, flopping down on his throne. "He isn't…" He glared at his wife sidelong. "I knew he would try to dethrone me," he murmured pathetically. "I knew it, I knew it… I knew it," he babbled incoherently.

"He is truly a monster," Clytemnestra murmured in her breathy, whispery voice. "My son. I knew it, even when he was a very small boy. Some people are just… born evil." She patted Aegisthus's hand. He looked up at his mother in innocent confusion. "It's a horrible thing…" She trailed off, looking up to the white ceiling. "To be afraid of your own child. To hate your own child."

Wezn closed his eyes, her words striking him like a sword. He tried not to think of Dheneb standing right beside him, the child that he feared, the child that he hated. A son that had been born evil.

"He is coming, Your Majesty," Rastaban urged. "He is coming to kill you."

"Let him!" Agamemnon shouted, waving his hand grandly. "Let him come and try! What can he do against the great house of Electra? He is not even one of us."

"He is a very powerful sorcerer," Rastaban pointed out.

"These wards will keep him out," the King stated. There was a finality to his tone that suggested he didn't wish to hear more. "Now, Leven… how is Alcyone after the attack?"

Rastaban gave a very slight turn of his head as Leven talked about the restoration of Alcyone Island. He gave Dheneb a shocked and alarmed gaze.

"Your Highness," Dheneb said, voice cutting across Agamemnon's monologue about the obvious importance of Alcyone's finances. "You can't just dismiss this danger. He will kill you."

"I think I know a little about protecting my kingdom, Lord Ahlixar. This is not Durai." Though he could never outwardly say it for fear of blasphemy, 'shut up' was laced through every one of Agamemnon's words.

Listening to the King drone on about unimportant things seemed to drag on for hours. All of them wondered how he couldn't care about Auriga. Not even that he was still alive and coming to kill him, but the fact that anyone was trying to assassinate him. Clytemnestra looked like a doll, sitting there with a frozen look of serenity on her face. Aegisthus seemed to be the only one who was agitated, but maybe it was because he was trying to meet Orchid's gaze, and she was staring straight ahead. Because they weren't really paying attention to him, besides Leven, it was a surprised when they were being ushered out of the throne room, the King noted that he was 'just plain exhausted'.

"They don't have a fucking chance," Rastaban muttered to Leven as they were escorted back to the chambers given to them, magic flooding into his and Dheneb's skin as they left the warded throne room and antechamber.

"The wards will protect them against telepathy, no?" Wezn asked, jarred by watching Dheneb's skin become flushed with his usual fiery hue. It was like he was watching himself being set on fire.

"A teenager with only minimal sword training could go in there and slaughter them," Rastaban answered with a measure of disgust. "He didn't need telepathy against me to be a tough match with a blade…" He trailed off, breath catching in his throat just a little. He knew it was a lie, but he still heard his father's moans of pain, and felt himself digging his sword in past his father's ribcage.

Dheneb cocked his head, squeezing Rastaban's bicep in a comforting way. He still hadn't talked about what exactly happened in LeNeera between him and Auriga, and Dheneb hadn't pressed him for details. Whatever happened, whatever Auriga made him see, must have been very personal.

"He's probably already here," Leven murmured quietly when they were back in their guest chambers. "And, this is probably why we were never able to find the Tsiiva. He would know this island in a very intimate way."

"This island isn't big enough to hold all the Tsiiva," V'thaller pointed out to his master. "Imre, make some tea."

The boy nodded and went to a side bar where there was a very elaborate white and gold tea service.

"Underground?" Orchid wondered. "They did have the look to them like they were lacking contact with the sun."

"I think Auriga's probably discarded them," Rastaban muttered, stretching his long limbs out in a chair that was more showy than comfortable. "He sent them all out in the assault on Alcyone, or at least most of them. This is personal, and he knows his family won't be any kind of competition."

Imre was only half listening to the conversation behind him. He found himself staring down at the cups now full of steeping tea. He knew Dheneb liked honey in his tea, and while adding it, Imre looked at the darkening surface of the hot water. It would be so easy to poison him, the young man realized. An overdose of Morphia herb. Just a smidge of foxglove leaves, the sweetness hidden by the honey. Rastaban could be mine. It would be so easy. Imre shook the idea out of his head, quickly casting a look over his shoulder at Rastaban's profile. He was so beautiful, and if Dheneb hadn't come along…

No, he told himself, carefully picking up the tray. He brought it to the table beside Leven, his steady hands masking the uneasiness about what he'd just thought. Poisoning a Witch…? It was unthinkable. It was Heresy. He knew the price. He handed Rastaban his tea, and their eyes met. It thrilled Imre and stirred desire in him. Was Rastaban worth an immediate execution if he got caught…?

"Thank you," Dheneb murmured when he received his tea. It made guilt wash through Imre, so much so that he couldn't look anyone in the eye.

"It could have been a lot worse for you, huh?" Rastaban asked of Leven.

"I think your presence saved me. He was too interested in you to care about being angry with me."

"You know, I'd like to meet a monarchy that isn't completely bat-shit crazy," Dheneb muttered into his tea. "Meraphar being the exception," he acknowledged to Orchid.

She just nodded, thinking of her ill feeling. It came rising in her again like a bad meal. Why did she feel thus? Was it just worry about Auriga still being out there, or something more sinister happening beyond the Libra Pass? She was so absorbed in these ominous premonitions that she didn't pay much attention to the distant commotion her superb hearing picked up. It sounded like shouting. She stiffened and looked up from her tea when the shouts got louder, more frenzied. Something strange was definitely going on. Was it a fire?

Leven started to hear it too, and put his cup down, taloned fingers curling around the arms of his chair. "What is that?" Imre asked after a few moments more, his partial elf blood letting him hear the commotion before the full humans, who were looking at them with mounting confusion and alarm.

They didn't really need an answer when there was a loud, jarring explosion outside that rattled paintings and decorative plates on the wall.

"What the fuck was that?" Rastaban asked, quickly rising from his chair.

"I smell smoke," Orchid warned.

"It's him," Leven snapped, wrenching the door open to the main hallway. Outside was like looking into a madhouse where the inmates had taken over. White shift dresses and tunics blurred past them as servants ran up and down the halls, screaming and shouting. They were throwing things and picking up anything that wasn't bolted down. The explosion had been some sort of makeshift incendiary smashed up against a wall, a portrait of Agamemnon going up in flames.

"Have they been brainwashed?" Dheneb asked in horror, watching as three male slaves picked up a fainting couch and threw it through a window.

"No," Orchid hissed. "Drunk on their sense of newfound freedom."

"Rastaban, you and Orchid go to the throne room!" Leven commanded, picking up his machetes from a tabletop. "Dheneb and I will handle crowd control."

Nobody disagreed with him, and quickly mobilized. Leven wanted himself and Orchid separated because they were invulnerable to Auriga's telepathy, whereas Rastaban and Dheneb were human, and easily swayed. Rastaban and Orchid were also better at single hand-to-hand combat, whereas Dheneb could handle larger numbers with ease. "Imre, V'thaller… block this door to keep them out. In this mob state, they wouldn't care about looting from a Witch."

As soon as Leven and Dheneb were out of the room, they could hear furniture being scraped across the floor on the other side of the door. "What should we do?" Dheneb asked. "I don't want to hurt any of them."

"Nor do I," Leven muttered, unsheathing his machetes. "All we can do is try to restore order, and…" He trailed off as he saw something that churned his stomach. While most of the slaves were rebelling in a chaotic way, it was a natural expression of sudden freedom. But, there were some that were shouting at nothing, or hurting themselves in gruesome ways.

"Auriga didn't come alone," Dheneb said sadly, using his telekinetic magic where he could to stop people from harming themselves.

"Stay near me, then." Leven gestured for Dheneb to follow him. "I can stop you if you come under their sway."

"I just hope Rhys and Orchid can stop him," Dheneb said, running after Leven into the riot.

Piper sat on his cot in the bedroom that could have once doubled as a broom closet. The sad part was that it was nicer than most of the slave quarters. He got sort of special attention because the King and Queen liked his paintings so much. He was drawing in a sketchbook, the only place he could really be creative. His imagination wasn't something Agamemnon or Clytemnestra were interested in. Tonight, he found that one figure was appearing in his sketches. That of General Leven's half-elf servant. Piper had been so struck by his beauty that the young man's face was burned into him.

Piper's pencil skidded across the page as he drew the curve of Imre's neck when there was a loud bang outside. Maybe one of the cleaning slaves dropped something. Wouldn't be the first time. He went back to his drawing, but his pencil skidded again when there was another loud noise, this time sounding like an explosion. Concerned, Piper snapped his black sketchbook shut and went to the door. When he opened it, he was shocked to see fire engulfing the hallway. Some of the slaves were shouting and whooping, throwing incendiaries against the walls, setting things aflame.

"What the hell is going on?!" Piper demanded as two slaves ran past his door. But, they paid him no attention. Piper watched in horror as all the slaves were running around like madmen, shouting and getting into fights with each other over vases and knick-knacks. His dark eyes widened when he saw two of the male slaves attacking a female one, ripping at her white shift dress.

"Hey!" He shouted at them, striding over a toppled and broken table. "Stop that!" Piper shoulder-checked one of the men away from her, and as a reward, got his head slammed against the wall by the second one. It blurred his vision, and he tried to stand, but his legs didn't want to listen to his brain. He could hear the shouts all around him, and the sound of glass smashing and the smell of smoke, but it seemed far away. Even the cries and curses of the female slave he'd been trying to rescue seemed miles away, even though she was right in front of him. It occurred to him that he didn't even know her name. He didn't know hardly any of the other servants' names.

He willed his head to clear, but by the time he was able to focus, the rape was already in progress. He grabbed the slave by the back of the head and slammed his face into the wall. Piper heard something wet and a crack, and garbled shouting. Next thing he knew, the other guy was on his back, and the three of them were tangled on the floor, fists and feet trying to hit anything they could reach. The girl started screaming and ran away into the growing smoke. Piper groaned as he took a hard punch to the stomach, and stars passed over his vision when he got hit in the face, right in the spot that the fresh scar cut into the right half of his face. A loud explosion rocked the hallway, and caused the other two slaves to flee, which saved Piper from a bad beating. He was pretty strong from lugging around art supplies and the Queen's luggage, and could take care of himself, but not against two guys at once who were at least five years older than his twenty years.

He used the wall to get to his feet, the large cut Prince Aegisthus gave him now opened once more, oozing blood and clear fluid. He blearily looked around, coughing quite a bit from the smoke and the punch to the gut. "Josef, stop!" He called when he saw a familiar face. Josef was a thin slave whose sole job was to scatter hyacinth petals whenever Queen Clytemnestra walked through the palace. "What's going on?"

"Piper… you're bleeding," Josef murmured with concern. At one point, they'd been boyfriends in secret, but it had fizzled out. Electra slaves weren't supposed to have personal interactions. But, they still held feelings of affection and friendship for each other.

"I'll be okay. What the fuck is going on?" He asked, coughing again.

"The idea of freedom has gone to a lot of their heads," Josef said grimly. "In fact, I must admit that I'm having a hard time containing myself."

"Freedom…?" Piper felt some blood trickling into his mouth.

"You haven't heard?" Josef asked incredulously, dark eyebrows raising high. "But…" He trailed off, not wanting to bring up a sore subject. A lot of the other slaves had ill feelings towards Piper because he got a little more freedom than the others. He was allowed to leave the palace to paint scenes for the royal house.

"What happened?" Piper asked again.

"The House of Electra's fallen…" Josef looked over his slight shoulder at the sound of shouting and something breaking. "The Tsiiva have come, and the Electra are dead, killed by High General Auriga."

"Auriga…" Piper pursed his lips, his top one swollen from the re-opened wound. He'd kept Lord Xarastar's recent revelation that Auriga was really Prince Orestes a secret.

"It's caused everyone to go mad with the newfound freedom. I'd leave now if I were you, before things really get out of control. That's what I'm doing." Josef squeezed Piper's shoulder. "I'd take any personal things you've hidden before it gets stolen." He ran up the hallway, disappearing in the smoke billowing from within one of the chambers.

When there was another loud crash from down the hall, and loads of whoops and chaotic shouts, Piper didn't waste any time. Being a slave and all, he didn't have any actual possessions. Just trinkets he'd picked up and stowed away through his life. But, the only things that mattered to him were his private sketchbooks. He stuffed them into an old, paint-stained canvas bag and ran through the hall, the smoke now blindingly thick. When he made his way through the massive slaves quarters to the upper levels of the palace, things weren't much better.

There were small fires erupting all over. Furniture and tapestries going up in flames, screaming and shouting echoing everywhere. He gasped and halted when there were three bodies in his path, splayed across the stairs, blood all around them. Their limbs were at strange angles, one's head turned right around. Another looked as if its eyes had been clawed out. The smell of the blood was strong and churned Piper's stomach. He put a hand to his face to block the stench. It wasn't helping the nausea that was rapidly growing because of all the blood running into his mouth from his cheek and bloodied lip. He picked his way around the splayed corpses, trying not to slip on the blood and fall back down the already slippery marble staircase. Upstairs was even more chaotic than the slaves' quarters, if that were possible. It was quieter, but it had already been decimated by looters and people getting caught up in the mob mentality.

Piper reached out and used the wall for balance as he walked down the destroyed hallway. He felt like he was walking on the bottom of the ocean. When he came to the Electra family gallery, his heart lurched to see the paintings up in flames. While most of the paintings hadn't been done like him, there was some of his own work in the bonfire. He wasn't particularly attached to the subject matter, but they were still his work. The smell of the burning oil paint was noxious, and he felt bile swiftly rebelling within him. He turned and wound up being sick in a potted ficus plant. After he was through retching, and was only dry heaving, he leaned against the wall, still feeling very woozy. He leaned his temple against the wall, eyes glassy with his concussion, which was getting nastier. He was sure he looked dead, or at least not worth any effort, because slaves kept running past him, chasing each other or making way for the exits.

Where would they all go now, Piper wondered to himself. There were thousands of them, now freed slaves with no income, no family, no skills for the real world. How many jobs out there could utilize a talent for scattering hyacinth petals or holding up an embroidered cloak? Where would he go? He knew of no family. He didn't even know his real last name. Sakkaro was a surname the Electra had given him, a Verite word for painter, so he could be differentiated from a cook who was also named Piper. He could paint, but he knew there wasn't always a lot of money in that. Would he become one of those pathetic wretches he'd see in the streets of the places Queen Clytemnestra dragged him to? Wearing tattered rags, begging travellers to buy his still life paintings so he could afford one meal or a bed for the night? None of the other slaves would help him. They all despised him. He'd never cared up until now. The hopelessness of it all came crashing down on him, so strongly that it brought him to tears, which coursed down his bloodied face unchecked.

He looked across the gallery and saw two slaves from the kitchens fighting over a obsidian flower vase lacquered with gold. The taller of the slaves elbow-checked the shorter into the wall and tucked the vase under his arm. He kicked the other slave again and again, way past the point of necessity to knock him out. He started to run away, and as he passed Piper, he gave him a glare full of loathing, holding his stolen vase tighter. "Don't even fucking think about it," the slave hissed.

Piper wasn't one normally quick to anger, but rage filled him at that hateful glare. He balled his fists and rose to his feet, dizziness overrun by his anger. He launched himself at the slave, whose face he recognized but whose name he didn't know. It was hard to keep the names of over a thousand people who dressed alike straight. He leapt on the slave's back, suddenly wanting that vase badly. He could sell it to afford food, or a boat ride to Khyth. His fingers slid over the smooth vase, both of them toppling to the ground in a heap fighting over it. Piper distantly wondered why he was so hell-bent on getting his hands on some stupid vase. When he took an elbow to the bread basket, he doubled over and slid off the other man's back, vision going blurry. He cried out when the slave stomped on his hand, two fingers breaking. He looked at his broken fingers in horror, then quickly rose to his feet. He was about to throw up again, but didn't care. The slave was starting to run away as Piper caught a glint out of the corner of his eye. On the now stained rug were shards of glass from the broken windows. Piper picked up a larger piece with his good hand, and tore after the other slave. How would he paint with broken fingers?!

"Get back here!" Piper shouted, running down the other slave. He was going to make him pay. Maybe scar his face just as Aegisthus had scarred his own.

The tall slave knocked over a credenza to slow Piper's pursuit, and started to go down short halls and take shortcuts through rooms to try and lose him. But, Piper was fuelled by the sheer desire for revenge, so wouldn't be shaken off. He slashed at the other man's back whenever he got close enough, one time hitting his mark and cutting through the white linen right to the skin. Blood flowered over the fabric and caused the taller man to stumble. As he chased his quarry, Piper got a bout of nausea, only for a brief moment. But, it was enough that when his vision cleared, he couldn't see the other man. He found himself in a main foyer in the library wing.

"Where are you?" Piper shouted, broken fingers throbbing. He looked around, anger rising. He caught a glimpse of the slave at the other end of the long hall that bisected the foyer, trapped in a dead end. Piper smiled, filled with a bloodlust he'd never known before. He ran down the hall towards the other slave, lunging at him and slicing with the shard of glass. The other man threw his hands up to defend himself, the sharp edge cutting his forearms deeply. Piper cried out in an almost sexual release when the glass dug into the other man's gut. He twisted the makeshift blade, blood spurting out over his hands. The other slave gurgled and moaned in agony as Piper started to cut upwards through intestines and vital organs. He twisted the glass again, then wrenched it out. Blood and innards fell out, splattering his feet and front. Immediately disregarding the man he'd just murdered, Piper picked up the black and gold vase, smiling at it as he cradled it between one good hand and one broken one.

He stroked the vase as he walked back down the hall, but stopped when he saw he wasn't alone in the foyer. He cradled the vase possessively to his chest as he blinked. The light from Ahlixar's skin gave him a headache in his current state. His mind was telling him to run, or to shank the Witch like he'd done with the slave, but his body couldn't move from fear and awe. Lord Ahlixar seemed lost. He was just standing there, running a hand through his auburn bangs, staring at nothing. He slowly crumbled to his knees, and was whispering something. Piper could see his mouth moving, but couldn't hear what he was saying. There were tears falling from his bright eyes, and he suddenly let out a garbled scream of agony. The kind of pain that was more than physical. It caused Piper to jerk into action. He held the vase tighter and started to run, but skidded to a stop just as he was passing Ahlixar's prone form. Someone materialized from behind one of the only tapestries that wasn't on fire. A man with a pasty complexion and mutilated face, lips and eyelids cut away to give him a grisly, skeletal appearance.

"Take your vase, my boy. You earned it," the man murmured in garbled Merranese, unable to pronounce some of the syllables properly.

Piper stroked the vase and looked down at it. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. So black and shiny with pretty gold designs painted around it. He could see his own face reflected in the fine obsidian. His own bloodied face and eyes as dark as the surface they were mirrored in, the smears of blood the only thing marring his treasure. Smears from his hands. Smears from the blood… someone else's blood. He'd killed someone. Still filled full with bloodlust, he threw the vase at Auriga's henchman, who was descending upon Dheneb like a bird of prey. He screeched as the obsidian, too hard to break, hit him like a sledgehammer, crushing his nose and slamming against his exposed teeth. Teeth clattered to the floor like pearls on a broken string. Piper started stabbing the Tsiiva mercilessly, the glass slick with blood. The Tsiiva was screeching, and Piper felt like a vice was closing around his brain. All he could see was red as he stabbed and stabbed again. The Tsiiva died jerking and thrashing under him, Piper's anger making him stronger than he ever normally would be.

Piper's stabs grew weaker as his bloodlust seeped out of him. He panted, looking down at the dead body he was straddling. His blood seeped out everywhere, his round and exposed eyes staring out into nothing, glassy and lifeless. He felt like he was waking from an awful dream. His hands and white shift were completely drenched in blood. He looked to the end of the hall and saw the dead slave he'd killed only moments before. Shaking, he slid off the Tsiiva's body. He'd killed someone… He was a murderer. He put the back of his hand to his mouth when he felt a sob welling in him, but jerked his hand away again at all the blood all over him.

"Oh…" he trailed off, looking at Lord Ahlixar laying on the ground beside him and the dead Tsiiva. "Lord Ahlixar…?" Piper reached out to touch the Witch's shoulder, but pulled away. How could he even think of touching a Witch with blood-stained hands? "Lord Ahlixar?" He asked again, cradling his broken hand to his chest.

Dheneb stirred, looking up. Why was he laying on the floor? As a matter of fact, where was he? He was still shivering from being in Durai. But, this was the Palace of Electra in Pleiades. He'd been witnessing his mother's death again. He'd been holding her as she died, screaming and spewing her body from her orifices.

"Lord Ahlixar?"

He heard a small voice calling for him, and blearily looked around. There was a dead Tsiiva laying beside him. He slowly sat up, feeling like he'd been beaten with a sack of oranges. There was a young man kneeling beside the dead body, face bloodied, eyes haunted. Dheneb was sure his eyes looked the same way. He could still feel his mother dying in his arms. He could still hear Fomalhaut and Cygnus laughing, and hear Deirdre's voice in his head.

"Lord Ahlixar?" The boy asked again.

Dheneb slowly recognized him. His face was so covered in blood that he wasn't initially familiar, but the way he met Dheneb's eyes made him stand out. "You're that painter…" Dheneb muttered, coughing. He had a buzzing headache behind his eyes.

"Yes, My Lord."

Dheneb looked down at the Tsiiva's blank face. "I… I was under his control…?"

"That makes two of us," Piper muttered bitterly. He had to look away from Dheneb's fiery gaze, overwhelmed by guilt.

"Thank you," Dheneb said sincerely, rising to his feet. "For saving my life."

Piper kept looking down, staring at the oozing stab wounds on the Tsiiva's torso. "It was just my duty, My Lord."

"Did you see Leven?" Dheneb asked, worried.

"No, My Lord."

"You're hurt," Dheneb murmured, noticing the opened wound and the hand he was cradling.

"It's nothing."

"It's not nothing." Dheneb looked around, searching for Leven. "I should have been more aware," he muttered angrily to himself. If he were to be mentally controlled again, they could use his powers to do terrible things. Having someone else in his head filled him with such disgust. "Come on," he extended his hand to the boy. "Your name's Piper, right?"

"Yes, My Lord." He looked at Dheneb's hand for a long time.

"What's wrong?" Dheneb asked, cocking his head. Why could Piper be bold enough to look him in the eye, but not take his hand when offered?

"I can't touch you when I'm covered in blood, Lord Ahlixar," Piper mumbled, so quietly that Dheneb barely heard him.

Dheneb sighed. He crouched down and pulled Piper to his feet by the shoulders. "You look like you need some medical attention." He put his hands on the sides of Piper's face, looking into his dark, dark eyes. He seemed kind of glassy and distant. "Did you hit your head?" He felt in Piper's short, dark hair, and came back with blood. But, the boy was so covered in it that it was hard to tell if it was a split scalp, blood from his face, or someone else's altogether.

"How many fingers?" Dheneb asked, holding three in front of Piper's face.

"…three," the young man answered, but it took him longer to reply than it normally should have.

"Dheneb!"

The auburn-haired man whipped his head around when he heard his name being called. "Leven?" He called back.

"Dheneb!" Leven called again. Dheneb could hear his heavy footsteps in the now quiet hall. "Thank Anessirra!" He hissed. His machetes were out, and drenched in crimson. "I thought the worst."

"It could have been," Dheneb murmured. "I think Imre should take a look at him."

Leven peered at the bloodied slave, and at the dead bodies in the hall. "What happened?"

"You saved my life," Dheneb said quietly, his skin still feeling tingly from the cold wind of Durai.

"The Tsiiva got into your head?" Leven asked, toeing the corpse. He tried not to think how disastrous it could have been if rather than trying to kill Dheneb, the Tsiiva had used Dheneb as a weapon.

"Come on, maybe there's still time to stop Auriga from killing his family." Dheneb put his arm around the painter's waist, the boy's face getting paler and paler from blood loss and the concussion. As he pushed his magic out to teleport the three of them, Dheneb tried to block out the sound of his mother's screams.

It hadn't taken Rastaban and Orchid long to find Auriga. In fact, he'd been waiting for them in the throne room. The glamour that Dheneb felt on him in LeNeera was all stripped away, revealing something that was even more jarring and disturbing. Disturbing because it was so human. He still had his lips and eyelids, though when he smiled at them, it was with his sharp shark-like teeth. The teeth had left cuts and scarring around his mouth, both very old and new. His head was shaved bald, the crown of bones absent. He was standing in the middle of carnage. His father lay beheaded at his feet, a massive pool of blood spreading around Auriga's bare feet. Red dripped from the edge of his blade, and Clytemnestra cowered in the corner beside her throne, holding a shaking Aegisthus in her arms.

"You seem disappointed at seeing what I really look like," Auriga mused. His eyes were the Electra hazel, and were empty and cold. They were the most disturbing part about him. With the Tsiiva glamour on him, it was obvious that he was a monster. This way, his eyes were cold and dead, dark tunnels that promised no mercy or kindness. To see them set in a human-looking face seemed so very, very wrong.

"Horrified," Rastaban answered, unsheathing his sword.

Auriga laughed, flashing those sharp teeth.

Orchid also unsheathed her rapier. "You're too cowardly to mutilate yourself in the way your followers do?" She asked. She wasn't one to normally speak to enemies and opponents, but the silence rushing in her ears needed to be filled with something. She was fearful of this man. She was immune to his deadliest weapon, but his soulless eyes made her afraid.

"Why would I cut up my own face like an idiot, elf?" He sneered at her, a horrifying motion with his teeth. "They helped serve my disguise, and I gave them a place to belong, a cause to fight for. What's a phoney Apocalypse between friends?" He said this with the detachment of someone who couldn't care less. Even this revenge against his stepfather didn't seem like it fuelled him. It was a reflex.

"Let your mother and brother go, Auriga. You got your revenge."

"Did I?" He asked casually. With a lightning quick dash, he lunged for Clytemnestra. Both Rastaban and Orchid ran after him, Rastaban sluggish because of the anti-magic wards in the throne room. Clytemnestra shrieked, crying out "Orestes, Orestes! Stop!" She turned her body so she was shielding Aegisthus, letting out a scream when her son's blade pierced her back. The sword ran right through her, into Aegisthus's chest, Orchid tackling him a way a moment too late. They fell together in a wrestling heap, Orchid trying to wrench the sword from his hands, Auriga slashing at her with his metal nails and trying to bite her with his fangs.

Rastaban instead went to Clytemnestra and Aegisthus, still discombobulated from having his magic sucked out of him. They were both bleeding out, vast pools of blood forming around them. Aegisthus was more aware than his mother, who was struggling to breathe, glassy eyes rolling up to look at Rastaban.

"You never once shielded me, Mother," Auriga hissed as he shoved Orchid off him. "Not when he broke my bones. Not when he knocked all my teeth out. Not once, you weak-willed cunt." He gracefully rolled to his feet, deftly avoiding a blow from her rapier, their blades clashing. It was the most emotion he'd shown thus far. The murder of Agamemnon seemed to stir him little.

Clytemnestra gurgled, spitting up blood with her last breaths. She looked up into Rastaban's eyes, such horror in her gaze. He took her hands in one of his, her fingers shaking and growing cool. "It's alright," he whispered to her, speaking in the language of the dead. Her spirit was already leaving her. "It's alright," he said again, squeezing her cold hands. The terror in her eyes slowly slipped away as her vision glassed over. He could feel her die, her essence wrapping around him before it dissipated into the air.

"Get out of my way," Auriga snapped as he heard Aegisthus whimper and moan, slicing his blade at Orchid. He narrowed his icy hazel eyes, stabbing out his blade. Orchid's moves were very fast. The Rhianon style of fighting was much different than the Asterope elves. But, Auriga was a very skilled swordsman, and he searched her moves for any kind of pattern. He purposely swung his blade so that it would miss her and cause her to once again do a cartwheel. As she parried the attack like Auriga knew she would, he made his move, knocking her off balance with his elbow. She hit the floor hard with her tailbone, getting quickly to her feet as he advanced on his half-brother.

Rastaban knew that he couldn't move fast enough to stop Auriga, to get him out of the way. He was still too sluggish from the magical wards. He grit his teeth, readying for the pain as Auriga's blade came down towards Aegisthus. He turned his body so he was shielding the Prince, Auriga's blade going through the palm of his left hand and his shoulder. He tried not to flinch, steadily meeting Auriga's eyes. Auriga's scarred lips split into a toothy smile, and he winked at Rastaban as he pulled his blade out through the side of Rastaban's hand and shoulder.

"I would love to see you grow back your head," Auriga murmured with the same calm gentility one might use with an upset child. Orchid was too far away to stop Auriga, and she didn't know if Rastaban's reflexes were currently fast enough to deflect a blow. She threw herself against Auriga's back as he stabbed, lighting fast. As the two of them fell to the ground, Rastaban found himself staring at Aegisthus's back, Auriga's blade piercing through it. The poor, simple fool had thrown himself between Rastaban and his half-brother. Aegisthus collapsed with a thud beside his already dead mother as Auriga threw Orchid off himself, tearing for the large doors that led out of the throne room.

"Shit," Rastaban cursed, rising to his feet. If Auriga got out from under the anti-magic wards, he would either teleport away, or use his telepathy to wreak more havoc. He could not let Auriga escape again. He rose to his feet and started running after him.

Orchid shook her head, having smacked it against the unforgiving marble floor. Even elves could get their bell rung. She stumbled to her feet, collecting her grace again. She moved to go after Rastaban and Auriga, but stopped when she heard a pitiful little voice whimpering her name.

"Lady Orchid…" Aegisthus whispered, blood bubbling on his lips. His gold tooth shimmered under the stringy crimson. He had his arm extended, fingers curling as he tried to reach out to her. "My… Lady…" He spit up more blood, tears coming from his crossed eyes.

Orchid's brow contracted as she looked into his eyes. There was no way to save him, she knew this. She crouched beside him, the blood squishing under the knees of her black leather pants. His hands were icy in hers, and when she grasped them, he smiled up at her weakly, his eyes still full of that childish admiration he'd shown her upon first meeting her. He was obviously in a great deal of pain, but he still smiled at her like he was trying to woo her.

"When… wh-wh… when I was Lord of the House of Electra, you… y-you would have… been… my Qu-queen, Lady Orchid."

"Shhh," she murmured, squeezing his hands. "Don't speak, Your Highness."

He looked up at her with unabashed adoration as she touched his dark hair His breathing was becoming very laboured and wheezy, but he still looked overjoyed to be looking into her diamond eyes. There was a loud crash in the hallway outside the throne room that caused fear to cloud the Prince's eyes further.

"Close your eyes, Your Highness," she whispered, her elvish grace soothing him in his last moments. "You're safe now."

"I was… I was very… I was very brave, wasn't I?" He asked quietly, staring up at her. The light was leaving his Electra hazel eyes.

"Very brave, Aegisthus."

He tried to laugh, but wet bubbling came up instead. "I saved Holy Lord Xarastar's life."

"Yes, you did."

Aegisthus opened his mouth to say something, but didn't have the strength left. He died with a smile on his lips, his last sight Orchid's colourless, glimmering eyes. She closed her eyes and gave a silent blessing for his safe passage into death. He'd been a foolish, ridiculous child, but he'd been just that - a child. He hadn't deserved such a cold execution, especially at the hands of his own kin. She could hear the sounds of battle just outside the now quiet throne room, the smell of spilt blood hanging in the air. She knew she should join the fray, but it seemed… wrong to leave Aegisthus in these quiet moments.

"You better catch me before I get past the waaaards!" Auriga sang, running ahead of Rastaban.

"What about when I get across the wards?" Rastaban asked, slicing his great sword out at Auriga's back. The tip of the blade caught him between the shoulder blades, slicing his fine teal and gold robes.

"You think I'm afraid of you?" His sharp teeth showed in a contemptuous sneer. He was running full sprit for the hallway, and was thrown back like he ran into a brick wall. Rastaban skidded to a halt, smirking when he felt the intense heat, like there was a raging inferno right there. "Maybe it's not me you should be afraid of," he taunted. He could see Dheneb standing at the other end of the hallway, skin growing brightly and splattered with blood, though he looked uninjured. Since Auriga was out in the hallway, Dheneb had thrown up a second invisible wall to separate him and Rastaban, protecting his lover from any telepathic attacks.

"I had often wondered if you were even real," Auriga said silkily, giving a very condescending and insulting little bow. "But, I am pleased to see that Lord Ahlixar is indeed not a figment of his imagination."

Rastaban had never seen Dheneb look quite so… fed up, really. He saw Dheneb take a stumbling step backwards, and moved to run towards him, but was stopped by the barrier. Blood started trickling from his nose from some sort of silent, mental attack from Auriga. He steadied himself, glaring at Auriga. Suddenly, the only surviving member of the Electra family stumbled back and let out a cry, head snapping back like he'd been slapped. Blood spurted out from his face, hissing and turning to steam when it hit Dheneb's invisible barrier. Auriga covered his face with his hands, blood seeping from between his long fingers.

Auriga laughed from behind his hands, a laugh that was not borne of amusement. When he raised head and straightened his back, his face finally showed the emotion that the death of his family hadn't given him. With blood pouring down his face, he glared at Dheneb in fury. His eyes were now round and bloody from the telekinetic attack that had severed his eyelids away.

"I've always had a soft spot for poetic justice," Auriga said silkily as he wiped blood out of his vision. He laughed, but his anger was palpable.

Rastaban could only pace behind his invisible wall, gripping his sword tightly. Dheneb and Auriga's battle was all mental, and they remained where they were, facing each other down from across the hallway. Rastaban felt the heat before him dull as Dheneb stumbled once more. But, it came back full force when Auriga seemed to be lifted off his feet and tossed into the nearest wall like he'd been hit by an autocar. Dheneb suddenly let out a loud cry that frightened Rastaban to the core. He fell like a sac of dirt, body arching stiffly off the ground. He stilled when Auriga swore in pain, his left arm suddenly at a grotesque angle. He then was flung against the wall again, hitting his head hard.

"You think I'm afraid you just because you're telepathic?" Dheneb asked angrily. "It only makes me want to kill you more."

Auriga stared back just as angrily, his vision wet and red from all the blood. He began to sift through Dheneb's mind, but was lifted off his feet again by telekinesis. He was flying through the air at such a speed that impact would shatter every bone in his body and leave him a bloody smear on the wall, but he teleported away just before impact.

"Dammit!" Dheneb put a hand to his forehead and kicked a nearby discarded copper planter in frustration.

"You okay?" Rastaban asked after the invisible barrier came down. He put his hand under Dheneb's chin, and made their gazes meet. Dheneb's eyes seemed bright and alert.

"Yeah." He wiped away the blood that was trickling from his nose.

"Is any of this blood yours?" Rastaban asked, looking down at Dheneb's clothes.

"No. The Electra?"

"Dead."

"All of them?"

Rastaban nodded slowly. "We got there too late. Were you able to calm down the slaves?"

Dheneb shrugged a shoulder wearily. "What would be done?" He asked blandly. "The Tsiiva and Auriga were fuelling the fire, but…" He trailed off. "I almost got caught," he muttered, sounding ashamed of himself.

"Caught…?" Rastaban asked, looking over his shoulder when Orchid appeared from the throne room.

"In their illusions. Luckily Piper was there to save me."

"Piper? Who's that?"

"The painter kid. He's kinda banged up, so I got Imre and my father to look after him."

"What's Leven going to do?" Orchid asked. While the Electra family may have been figureheads only, they'd still been technically the ruling family. This would create a power vacuum. And, Auriga was gone. Again.

"No idea," Dheneb muttered. To Rastaban, he seemed very out of sorts, even for after a battle.

"Baby, are you sure you're okay?" He asked quietly into Dheneb's ear as they started walking up the hallway, back to where Leven was talking to V'thaller and some of the Electra guards.

"I'm fine," Dheneb said waspishly. "Sorry," he apologized almost immediately. "I'm just so fucking sick of telepaths." He looked into Rastaban's eyes, so weary looking. "Is this the same thing that's going to happen when I stop Deirdre? Will I create a power vacuum in Durai? They'd never accept me as a leader. I'd just be a dictator that took the throne in a bloody coup. That's even if I wanted to rule."

"The Black and White Courts would take over."

"Yeah, that would work. Especially because my lover is the born leader of the Black Court." Dheneb gave a little sarcastic roll of his fiery eyes as they came back to their chambers. The door looked like someone had tried to bust through it, though the halls were quiet now.

"I'm not a member of the Black Court," Rastaban said snarkily. "They threw me out."

Orchid sat down in the nearest chair, her cold hands clasped together. Aegisthus's blood was coagulating on them, but she didn't move to wipe it off. Imre was working on closing the large gash on the side of the unconscious painter's face, while Wezn was wrapping his broken hand.

"The royal family?" Wezn asked.

Rastaban shook his head, feeling helpless as Dheneb walked away from him. His body language was that of a man that wanted to be left alone. "You wanna come help Leven out?" He asked Orchid quietly.

"Hmm? Yes, I think so." She stood, her expression like Rastaban had never seen it before.

"What's up?" He asked when they were out in the hall. He put a hand on her shoulder to stop her. "You look… I don't know. I've never seen you like this."

"It is nothing," she snapped.

"It's Aegisthus, isn't it?" Rastaban asked with wonder. "His death affected you."

"So what if it did?"

"I'm just… surprised, that's all."

"He was a stupid, foolish braggart of a boy. But, he was just that. A foolish boy. He wouldn't have understood why his own brother would want to kill his entire family. Such silly innocence didn't deserve such a wasteful end. And, there is no justice because Auriga has escaped again."

"I have the feeling we'll see him again very soon."

The fall of the House of Electra created a huge mess in Pleiades. Not only because of the loss of the ancient ruling family, which in itself didn't mean much, but because of the influx of a thousand new people into the economy. People without families. People without money, jobs or practical skills for the workforce. For now, many were employed in the cleanup of Electra island, but what then? Where would a thousand jobs come from overnight? The pressure was on Leven to answer these questions, and he wasn't the only one feeling the stress. People looked to the holy figures of Ahlixar and Xarastar to make everything right, forgetting that those were only titles, and mere human men were trapped underneath them. But, for Rastaban it wasn't nearly to the extent as it was to Dheneb. He was kind of used to the way Leven's men treated him, but the general public was much different. While they revered him in a way he thought was unhealthy, they were obviously scared of him, and the fact that he represented death. People feared death with an alarming irrationality. Dheneb didn't have this stigma attached to him, so got the brunt of the prayers and questions.

It all seemed to be taking a toll on Dheneb's psyche. Rastaban noticed how quiet he'd gotten in the few weeks since Electra. He'd taken to pacing, and drawing up strange diagrams of brains and brainwave patterns, or blueprints for the collar Talia put on him that day that everything had changed. For all of them. It was supposed to be for Auriga. Who still hadn't shown his face. They were all living on pins and needles, waiting to see what he would do. Rastaban was more afraid of him than he'd ever been of anyone. Deirdre seemed tame in comparison. Maybe because her motives were clear. Auriga's actions seemed based on nothing more than amusement or spite.

Currently, Rastaban and Dheneb were sitting at a circular teatime table with Orchid, Piper and Wezn. Piper was getting his broken hand checked out by Dheneb's father, who was pretty good at healing. Imre was the stronger in that vein, but now that they were back at Leven's manor, the half-elf had other duties as well. There was an uncomfortable silence at the table, the same that hung like a cloak whenever Wezn and Dheneb were in the same room together.

"It's healing nicely," Wezn murmured soothingly. He looked up from Piper's hand when the door opened. Imre and other servant came in carrying trays of tea. Wezn smiled at the boy with affection that made Dheneb look away with a pained look on his face. Rastaban patted his thigh affectionately under the table.

"Will it affect my painting?" Piper asked, eyes trailing after Imre. It was a question he'd been dying to ask, and dreading to at the same time.

"It should be fine, so I can't see why not."

Piper's scarred face broke into a wide smile. While his face wouldn't make knees weak, there was something very sexy about the way the scar made his upper lip curl, and how his dark eyes shimmered with relief.

"Do you want tea?" Imre asked quietly, his arm brushing against Rastaban's shoulder as he set a cup and saucer on the table before him. He looked into Rastaban's eyes and gave him a slow smile, full of the desperation he couldn't hide.

"Yeah, thanks." Rastaban looked over at Dheneb, whose eyes moved down to the table. But, not quickly enough. He'd been watching them carefully. His jaw was clenched, and Orchid could hear his teeth grinding. Dheneb wasn't the only one watching Imre and Rastaban carefully. Piper was, too. He'd never seen anything more beautiful than Imre, but was no fool. He'd noticed the lovelorn gazes the half-elf gave to Rastaban. That was a hornet's nest he didn't want to get in the middle of.

"Here you are, Lord Ahlixar. I added some honey for you."

"Thank you," Dheneb said frostily. His jealousy of Imre seemed to grow daily. Not only because of the unhidden lust in Imre's eyes when he looked at Rastaban, but because of the affection he got from Wezn. The affection Dheneb had never been shown. He snorted bitterly into his cup as he took a long drink of tea. He made a face, looking into the cup. "Imre, I think you put a bit too much honey in here. It's kinda sweet."

"I did?" Imre asked, only briefly looking up. He concentrated on the small silver medallion around Dheneb's throat. "Please forgive me."

"Never mind," Dheneb muttered, sipping the tea again.

"Do you have any family?" Wezn asked of Piper, rewrapping his hand after he was finished examining it, trying to break the tense silence.

"Family?" Piper echoed, sounding amused. "I'm a slave, Ughasy. I am my own family."

Dheneb thought about the irony of his father's concern for Piper being an orphan. Here he was looking sympathetically at the boy, all the while ignoring a member of his family who was right in the same room as him. As he looked across the table at them, eyes narrowed, he worked the tea around in his mouth. It really was sweeter than it should have been. When he swallowed it, he noticed a strange aftertaste. It wasn't the sweetness of honey or sugar. He looked into the cup, the liquid seeming blue. He blinked, and it was back to being the standard translucent reddish brown. He could hear the other people at the table talking, but it suddenly sounded far away, like he had his ears plugged.

Dheneb suddenly shoved the cup away from himself, upending the saucer. Both broke, sending some of the tea across the table. With his experience in herbal remedies, he knew what the sickly sweet taste was. He tried to think of how much he'd drank of the tea, but found he couldn't remember. The room swam and popped with strange colours. The others looked at him like he'd suddenly grown a third head when he pushed away from the table, his chair clattering loudly to the ground. He tried to rush to the bathroom to throw up the foxglove laced tea, but could only manage a few steps before he swooned. Dheneb crashed into a credenza, then into the door jam, and again into the wall before stumbling to the bathroom across the hall. He could hear people calling his name, but it sounded like he was underwater. Everything was a white smear in the bathroom as he slumped, jarring his shoulder as he fell against the side of the tub.

"Dheneb?" Rastaban called, rushing in after him. Dheneb's face was as white as parchment, and he was sweating profusely. "What…?" He leaned close, seeing that Dheneb was mouthing something.

"Buckwheat… achene and gr-grapefruit… juice," he murmured over and over, trying to crawl towards the toilet.

"What? Buckwheat?"

"Get them!" Dheneb ground out, his voice getting caught in his throat. He finally got to the toilet and jammed his fingers down his throat to induce vomiting.

"Hey, someone get some grapefruit juice and buckwheat achene!" He called out into the hallway. "Whatever the fuck that is," he muttered to himself, the corners of his eyes creased with alarm and worry.

If Imre found the request strange, he didn't show it as he tore back down towards the pantries.

"Why would he want such things…?" Wezn asked, cocking his head as the servant girl that accompanied Imre to bring the tea fell to her knees and started praying.

Orchid started sniffing at the tea that still remained in the cracked cup, dipped her finger in it, and tasted. Her glittering gaze registered nothing. In the bathroom, Rastaban was watching as Dheneb's eyes became glassy. He looked like he was struggling to stay conscious. He felt for Dheneb's pulse, and found it that it was racing at an alarming pace. Dheneb was moaning and clutching his stomach. His pulse only seemed to quicken. If it didn't slow, he was going to have a massive heart attack. His body went very rigid, and they he jerked upwards, like he'd been zapped by an electrical current. He went very still, but Rastaban could hear his ragged breathing through his pale, parted lips. His pulse was still very fast, but seemed to have stabilized a little. Rastaban could feel the magic rolling off Dheneb, and knew that he was using his telekinesis to try and slow his heart rate.

When Dheneb had to start his own heart for the second time, he felt like his body was liquid, seeping out all over the bathroom floor. It was the Valadarr. Because he was dying, the dragon's ancient spirit was leaving him. The sudden imbalance in his internal magic made Dheneb's chest constrict, and he had to wrestle to gain control of himself. He wouldn't let himself die. Not after all he'd been through to stay alive.

Imre raced back with a small earthenware jug full of dried buckwheat achene, and a pitcher of pink grapefruit juice. Rastaban could see that achene were seeds. Imre and Rastaban helped Dheneb eat some of the seeds, and drink large gulps of the juice. It tasted very bitter, and Dheneb hated the taste of grapefruits, but he choked it down, the glycosides in the seeds and juice starting to bond with the poison in his blood. Dheneb continued to use his magic to propel his heart's beating, calming it. It was the most taxing magic he'd ever cast. The minutes it took for his heart to slow seemed like hours.

Rastaban's own heart was going crazy, flip-flopping and twisting as he watched Dheneb raise his head. He kissed the top of Dheneb's head, completely in the dark about what just happened. "Thank gods you were as fast as you were, Imre. You saved Dheneb's life."

Imre smiled wearily, but his countenance clouded when he briefly looked up into Dheneb's face. He looked anything but grateful. His eyes were blazing and his white mouth was set in a furious line. "My… My Lord Ahlixar? What's wrong?" Imre asked, feeling like he was going to catch on fire from the intensity of that glare.

He shrugged off Rastaban's embrace, leaning forward towards the young man. "You poisoned me," Dheneb hissed through clenched teeth, so quietly that only Imre and Orchid heard him with their elvish hearing.

"What?" Imre whispered back, now meeting Dheneb's gaze fully. "No," he protested weakly. "I swear," he murmured more loudly. "I wouldn't! I wouldn't!"

With lighting quick reflexes, surprising because of his condition, Dheneb slapped Imre across the face. "Don't lie to me, you little slut! You poisoned me!"

The praying servant let out a horrified gasp. "Heretic!" She screamed. Rastaban and Wezn both went very still, while Orchid retained her icy demeanour. The servant kept screaming "Heretic! Heretic!" and ran down towards the rest of the house, her shrill screams echoing behind her. Piper put the back of his hand to his mouth in horror, knowing what this meant.

"I didn't!" Imre screamed, his voice shaking with true fear. His electric blue eyes were now wide as saucers, and full of tears. "I swear… I don't… I don't remember doing it!"

"There is foxglove in the tea," Orchid said plainly as Dheneb rose on shaky legs. Imre was on his knees with his hands hovering around his face. He was shivering and panting in mounting terror. "Grapefruit juice and buckwheat seeds are an herbal antitoxin for the poison."

"I didn't!" Imre pleaded. He clasped his hands together and looked up at Dheneb. "I don't… I would never… please…" His eyes cast helplessly to Rastaban, who was blinking in shock, processing the crazy events that all seemed to have happened in the blink of an eye. The fact that Imre said he couldn't remember, and seemed so genuine in his shock about the foxglove made Rastaban's stomach sink into his feet. This had Auriga written all over it.

Looking over at Rastaban was a mistake, because it snapped the last of Dheneb's resolve. "You were hoping to get me out of the way, weren't you?" He asked icily, this voice not sounding like his own. "You spineless little whore."

"No… no, no, no, no. I'm not lying!"

Dheneb lost all restraint, and hit Imre square on the chin with a closed fist. He hit Imre again and again, beating him mercilessly. Imre weakly tried to shield himself with his hands, sobbing and protesting.

"Dheneb, stop!" Rastaban shouted, struggling to pull his lover off Imre. But, his anger gave him a possessed strength, so it took Rastaban, Orchid and Wezn's combined strength to pull Dheneb off Imre, who was now bleeding profusely from his nose and mouth, red welts on his arms and cheeks that would turn into ugly bruises. "Dheneb!" Rastaban shouted angrily, shoving him away from Imre. "Stop it!" He commanded in Witch language. "What's gotten into you?"

"He tried to poison me!" Dheneb shouted back, also in Witch language.

"He says he didn't."

"He's lying! Let go of me!"

"I believe him."

Those three words caused Dheneb to still. He stepped back from Rastaban. "I see," was his simple reply. But, his tone was anything but. Those two words snapped like rubber bands, barely containing Dheneb's fury. There was a small, stiff smile on his face that looked like it should have been on Auriga's face rather than his own. "He tries to kill me, and you defend him. I wonder why…" His gaze went to Imre, laying foetal on the floor, and back to his lover. He didn't need to verbalize his thoughts further. The implication was all in his eyes.

"Dheneb…" Rastaban began, completely at a loss. He was still reeling from the terror of seeing Dheneb nearly die, and now was thrust into confusion about Dheneb's uncharacteristic behaviour. Was this Auriga, too? Was this some kind of revenge? "You can't think I would…" Rastaban reached out for Dheneb's shoulder, but the other man teleported away, gone.

"Dheneb!" Rastaban called. He looked down at his palm, but the burn was white and healed.

Piper kneeled beside Imre, taking his hand. Imre looked up, one of his eyes puffing shut. When he saw Piper, he started crying in earnest. "I didn't!" He mewled weakly, barely able to talk from the beating.

Piper frowned sadly, exhaling. "I believe you."

"I don't want to die!" Imre whimpered, any other words lost in his sobs. He squeezed Piper's hand, the only other person there who knew what was waiting for Imre now.

"You'll be fine," Wezn assured, putting a hand on Imre's back. "You'll get healed up."

"Ughasy…" Piper trailed off, shaking his head. "No. No. Do you want the rest of the tea?" He asked quietly of Imre, so that only the other young man could hear him.

Imre nodded. Piper rose to his feet and left the room.

"Dheneb?" Rastaban called again. But, he couldn't feel his magical signature anywhere nearby. "Dammit! What if the poison is still active in him? He needs a doctor!" He punched a wall. "This is obviously Auriga's fault!" He exclaimed helplessly to Orchid. "He must have made Imre poison the tea. That's why he can't remember doing it. And, the way Dheneb was acting…"

Piper came silently back into the room with the broken teacup, some of the poisoned tea still inside. "What are you doing?!" Wezn exclaimed angrily, slapping the teacup out of Piper's hands. He'd been looking at Rastaban and Orchid, so hadn't noticed Piper trying to poison Imre until the half-elf was almost drinking the tea. The cup smashed against the ceramic floor, the tea splattering away. "Are you trying to kill him?!"

"Yes!" Piper shouted back angrily, which caused both Rastaban and Orchid to look at him dubiously. "It's better than what's coming!"

"What do you mean?" Wezn asked.

"You aren't from here, so you don't understand. He's going to die anyway! Better it be merciful!"

"He's in here! He's in here!" A voice screeched in the hallway. "The Heretic's in here, My Lord!" The female servant appeared in the bathroom door, pointing down at Imre. "I saw him do it! I saw him put something in Holy Lord Ahlixar's tea! I thought it was just honey. Please forgive me!" She prostrated herself on the floor. She'd been speaking to Leven, who stood ominously in the doorway, looking down at Imre with a blankness on his face that Rastaban had only seen in the heat of battle.

"Would you all please leave us alone?" He asked, even though it wasn't a question.

"Leven…" Rastaban began.

"Now," he hissed.

"It was Auriga!" Rastaban exclaimed.

"Leave."

He opened his mouth to protest, but Orchid put a hand on his shoulder, gesturing with her head for him to leave master and servant alone. When they were back in the drawing room where it all began, Orchid asked of Piper "what's going to happen to Imre?"

"The Heretic will get what he deserves!" The servant cried from the hallway.

"Shut up!" Rastaban commanded. She immediately fell silent and scuttled away.

"Execution," Piper answered baldly. "The murder of a Witch, or even the attempted murder of a Witch, is an automatic public torture and execution. He'll be drawn and quartered by the end of the week. You should have let me give him the tea!"

"No, no, no.. it was Auriga," Wezn insisted.

"You think it will matter?" Piper asked rhetorically. "I believe it was Auriga, too. And, even if General Leven is able to get him off the hook, which he probably will, when has that ever mattered? To everyone else, he'll already be guilty."

"Vigilante justice," Rastaban muttered. "And, now Auriga's controlling Dheneb, too."

"What makes you think that?" Orchid asked.

"Uh, you were there. You saw how he flipped out and attacked Imre. But, maybe it was a side effect from the poison…"

Orchid huffed air through her nose. "Perhaps, but unlikely. Humans have a crass saying. 'You can only put so much shit in the can before it overflows'. I believe that's what happened here. How do you think Dheneb must feel?" She asked.

"How would someone like you know?" Rastaban asked meanly. It stung him that Dheneb may have been feeling things that he hadn't even noticed.

Orchid glared at him. "I may not go to town with my emotions like a human would, but I do have feelings, and notice when other people do. How do you think he must feel?" She asked again, this time more emphatically, waving her hand dismissively. "Are humans really that blind to what each other are feeling?"

Rastaban angrily looked away from her, but it was more himself he was mad at. And, he was terrified. Dheneb had just been poisoned, and he took off. What if he'd teleported away, and wound up collapsing? What if the poison was still in his system? What if Auriga was waiting for him, ready to strike like a cobra? He felt sick with worry.

They all looked up when Leven came out of the bathroom, looking very serious. He came into the drawing room, lilac eyes clouded. "How is Dheneb?"

"I don't know," Rastaban answered bitterly. "He kinda… took off. I can't feel him."

"Yes, Imre told me it was Dheneb that gave him his injuries."

"What… what are you going to do with Imre, General?" Wezn asked. Rastaban's worry was now mixed with ugly fury. The Reverend's son was almost poisoned, and he showed more concern for a boy he'd just met.

"What can I do?" Leven asked rhetorically. "I do believe that this has Auriga's fingerprints all over it, but I must think about my household, and holding peace within it. Because of the… suspicious nature of Imre's actions, I could probably hold off an execution, but beyond that… he cannot stay here. He must leave."

"Where would he go?" Orchid asked.

"That I do not know. If I just turn him on the streets, he'd be dead by sunset from a lynch mob. I can already feel the hostility of the other servants. It won't take long for word to spread about what's happened. The only choice is exile… or death."

"Exile to where?" Orchid wondered. "What about his mother?" She saw Piper shake his head behind Leven, and the narrowing of Leven's eyes gave her the answer before Leven replied.

"She will not own to the fact that she has a son anymore."

"Even if he's innocent?" Rastaban spat out bitterly.

"Even if. I can exile him to Par-Derrana. It's a country on the northern coast of Khyth."

"What about Durai?" Wezn asked, his arm shaking from leaning his weight on his cane. "We will be going back there anyway, no?"

"If you can get Dheneb to agree to teleport the boy who tried to poison him, you can try, Reverend," was Orchid's tart reply. "Because he's the only way any of us are getting through the Libra Pass."

Rastaban shook his head angrily, storming out of the room. He just couldn't take it anymore. He needed to try and find Dheneb. He needed to know that Dheneb was okay. He walked through Leven's manor, searching for the feeling of Dheneb's warm energy. But, he wasn't in the house. He wasn't on the grounds. Rastaban found himself wandering around helplessly. What if Dheneb did go to Durai, he wondered as he wound up at the stables. He found Firebloom's stall, and stroked her dark muzzle, marked with a white diamond shaped blotch.

"What if he tried to go through the Pass, and passed out from the exertion?" He asked his horse. "He'd die from exposure, if the poison doesn't kill him anyway…" He sighed and pressed his face into the side of Firebloom's neck. She neighed a little and swished her tail as she munched on some hay. "Does he really think I'm unfaithful to him?" Rastaban asked, picking up a brush, and stroking it across Firebloom's back. He thought of the accusation in Dheneb's eyes, and the coldness in his voice. He closed his eyes and buried his face in Firebloom's mane. After a while, he wasn't sure how long, he felt power tingle across his skin. He raised his head hopefully, but even as he looked up for Dheneb, he knew it wasn't him. This wasn't Dheneb's comforting warmth. It was like someone had dropped an ice cube down the back of his shirt. Firebloom hoofed the stable floor, making a small neigh of distress. Rastaban stroked her neck, murmuring into her ear, his breath catching in his throat when he met the eyes of Matilda. Her spectral form was standing on the other side of the horse, looking at him across her back.

Rastaban looked at her in horror. She was less formed now than she'd been in her room in the Temple at Taygeta. She was thinner, wispier. She also didn't feel like she did there. She felt… deader. She was a ghost after all, but she seemed more alive because of her connection to the earth. Now, that was absent.

"Rhys," she whispered, speaking the whispery dead language instead of Witch tongue.

"What are you doing here?" He asked, horror growing. "Something terrible happened," he said, not asking.

She nodded unnecessarily. She was getting thinner, more invisible. Firebloom was still neighing and jerking in distress, her ears flattened back. Anessirra suddenly was outside the stall, looking at Rastaban across the gate, Firebloom calming. "Your horse could feel me. Rhys… the Temple. Auriga has come. I recognized him from your mental images of him."

"What?" He then shook his head. "He wouldn't look the same. You would have seen through his glamour."

"I know what I saw. He had the Valadarr, and he severed my connection with the earth."

"How?" Rastaban asked desperately. "You're a Witch! You're dead! He wouldn't be able-"

"The Valadarr," Matilda interrupted. "And, he's a telepath. His telepathic skills could reach my consciousness, because I wasn't quite a true ghost. I had a measure of vitality. The ancient dragon spirits are much stronger than any Witch."

"I have to get to the Temple." Rastaban started opening the gate. "I have to stop him."

"No, Rhys. He's already gone."

"Gone? Gone where?" He asked, coming out of the stall.

"Durai, I would imagine."

Rastaban balked, and felt bile burning his throat. "Impossible."

"The fact that I am here should tell you otherwise. Auriga had the Valadarr, and he used it against me, like a weapon. He severed my connection to the land, which broke the magical barrier around the Pass. I saw from his mind that Dheneb… he is dead?"

"No. At least… at least I don't think so," he whispered, fearful. "Auriga controlled Leven's servants to poison Dheneb's tea. But, he survived. When did Auriga get the Valadarr?" He felt sick and dizzy. Auriga in Durai was the thing nightmares were made of.

"I know not. The Pass will eventually fall into the sea, and Durai will be open to the rest of the world."

"Oh, Gods…" Rastaban looked away from her. "What about the Temple? The priests?"

"Some are alive," she answered, becoming thinner still. "They weren't his goal. Most succumbed to self-inflicted wounds because of the telepathic wave he sent ahead of himself. That's how he got to me. He wouldn't have been able to enter my room, but his mind could go where his body could not."

"How long before the Pass crumbles?"

"I know not."

"Matilda!" Rastaban exclaimed as she vanished from his sight, which meant she was truly gone. He felt a great sense of loss, looking at the empty space where her spectre had been standing only moments ago. "Matilda!" He called again, knowing that she was gone forever, to rest finally.

There was no time to charter a zeppelin to Taygeta, and Dheneb was nowhere to be found. Rastaban had never teleported that far yet, but he didn't think he had much choice. He closed his eyes and tried to focus like Dheneb was teaching him. But, because he was so stressed out, it was hard. He tried to picture the Temple, and Taygeta island. He'd been there before, so he should have familiarity with the locations signature. He tried not to think about accidentally teleporting into the middle of the ocean, or getting stuck behind a wall. He opened his eyes, and was still in the stable.

"Come on, Rhys," he muttered to himself, closing his eyes again, trying to concentrate. When he opened his eyes again, he found himself in Matilda's town square, looking straight at the Temple. People were milling about as usual, as if nothing was wrong. As if Auriga hadn't killed their goddess. When passing townspeople spotting him, they bowed respectfully, watching as he walked up to the Temple.

The Temple grounds were deathly quiet, and he wondered if maybe Matilda's ghost had all been an illusion. Maybe Auriga had lured him here as a trap. But, no… she'd really felt like a ghost. That was something that Auriga couldn't fake. It was real.

"Oh, Lord Xarastar!" Ysevaul exclaimed, falling to his knees. "You have come! Please, my Lord! Please help us…" It was the most humble Rastaban had ever heard the High Priest. His clothes were splattered with blood.

Despite his dislike for the man, Rastaban couldn't help but feel pity for the sadness in his eyes. He kneeled before Ysevaul and put his hands on the priests shoulders. "What happened?"

"The Tsiiva High General. He came into the Temple. We allowed him in because he looked like one of the young acolytes, Nara. But, we were deceived by his glamour. His smile is like a demon, and his eyes are as cold as ice. But… he seemed focused on his task. I think if he weren't more of us would have perished." Ysevaul's eyes filled with tears. "Lord Xarastar… Ahlixar has said that Holy Lady Anessirra is… gone. Is this true?"

"Ahlixar?" Rastaban repeated. "He's here?"

"Yes. He helped us move the bodies. He arrived about twenty minutes ago. Too late to stop the Tsiiva, though. That monster had some powerful magic. It was like an earthquake…"

"Shhh," Rastaban murmured, squeezing Ysevaul's shoulders as he dissolved into tears. "The rest of the priests need you to be strong." He pulled Ysevaul to his feet. "Where… where is Ahlixar?"

"The Holy Lady's room." Ysevaul bowed his head in misery. "The altar before it… it seems so empty now."

"Ysevaul!" A voice called from within one of the rooms.

Rastaban watched him go, feeling the death hanging in the air. He made his way to the room Matilda's spirit once lived in. Ysevaul had been right. It felt hollow and dead, even outside the room itself. When he stepped inside, it was grey and dull, everything covered in grime and dust, like nobody had ever been there for all these thousands of years. Dheneb was sitting at the round table, tracing swirling doodles in the dust. His skin was bright compared to the gloom.

Dheneb looked up in surprise, their eyes meeting and holding for a long, silent moment. Dheneb's eyes looked bright and alert, though red and puffy like he'd been crying. Rastaban felt miles away from him, even if he was within reaching distance. "Are you okay?" He finally asked. He asked it on so many different levels.

Dheneb slowly rose from the table, dust floating into the air with the motions. "Not really," Dheneb answered truthfully. His brows knitted together. "Rhys, I… I got here too late. She was already gone."

"How did you know to come here?" Rastaban asked, taking a slow step towards Dheneb, knowing the other man wouldn't have seen Matilda's ghost. He didn't want to press with further questions. If Dheneb wanted to talk, he would.

"I could feel the Valadarr. It was like an explosion," the redhead murmured. "Anessirra and the Valadarr's energies forcibly colliding, then snuffing out after what seemed like a sonic blast. Maybe I could feel it because I'd been connected to the Valadarr before."

"Why wasn't it still with you?"

"It left me when my heart stopped… from the foxglove," he muttered. "Wait… how did you get here? A zeppelin couldn't have come this fast…"

"I teleported after Matilda's spirit told me what happened."

"You teleported?" Dheneb repeated. "I guess all it took was the murder of one of the goddesses to break through your mental wall." He tried to make it sound like a joke, but he couldn't even muster a smile. "Rhys, I…" He began, voice a tired whisper.

"You scared the shit out of me," Rastaban whispered back.

Dheneb pursed his lips, looking so drawn and exhausted. "Rhys, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said what I did."

"Well, you'd just been poisoned," Rastaban murmured, reaching up and touching the side of Dheneb's face. "And--"

"It wasn't the foxglove," Dheneb interrupted. "I wasn't delirious. I was angry. And, it wasn't even being poisoned. I've had practice dealing with that."

Rastaban suddenly felt naïve about Dheneb, and the palpable hatred of him and other Witches back in Durai. No wonder he'd been so quick to know the remedy for the poison.

"I'm just so fucking sick of this, and I guess I… well, I snapped. Especially because Imre was the one who did it."

"Auriga was controlling him."

"I know. It was very cleverly cruel of Auriga to use him… I can't help but admire it in a morbid way. He knew how I felt about Imre."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"I didn't want to make waves. I wanted… I wanted to make you happy and I wanted to be okay with what happened between the two of you. But, I'm not okay with it. And, I'm not okay how my father dotes on him and treats me like a leper. I'm not okay with being responsible for the fate of an entire continent, and protecting them from Deirdre." With each word, his eyes grew fuller with frustrated tears, until they were falling down his cheeks unchecked. "She stole part of my life from me! She killed my mother! I don't know if I can stop her! And, everyone here expect me to save them, and I can't! I don't know how!" His words vanished into sobs when Rastaban pulled him into a fierce embrace.

They stood together in the colourless room, Rastaban holding Dheneb as tightly as he could, as if he could hold him together. He kissed Dheneb's wet cheek as the other man wept into the side of his shoulder. His body shook as he tried to regain control of his emotions, panting like he'd just run a marathon. After a while, his tears stopped and his breathing slowed, but he still clung tightly to Rastaban, arms wrapped tightly around his waist.

"I'm sorry," Dheneb whispered into Rastaban's hair.

"Shhh," Rastaban soothed, stroking the back of Dheneb's head. "You don't have to apologize. Do you need a doctor?"

"No. My stomach hurts, but it will pass. Are we okay?" Dheneb asked quietly.

Rastaban squeezed Dheneb tighter, and found the other man's lips with his own. "We're always okay," he murmured against his lover's mouth.

"I know you'd never lie to me."

"What now?" Rastaban asked carefully.

"The Libra Pass is going to collapse," Dheneb said, voice sounding a little more like himself now. He pulled back just enough to look into his lover's clear blue eyes. "That was Auriga's goal. That's why more people didn't die here. He wanted me dead so he could take back the Valadarr, and use it to go to Durai. And it's probably just a matter of time before people realize that they can go through the Pass."

"It's still a geological barrier," Rastaban pointed out. "Not just anyone can teleport through a mountain range, even without a magical spell around it. And, Deirdre can't leave Durai, or she leaves her base of power. Leaving Durai would probably kill her."

"It wouldn't kill Nebula, or Cygnus."

"What now, then?"

"We have to go back."

"I'm glad you said 'we'. You try to take too much responsibility."

"I'm still the only one who can destroy the Spires, Rhys."

"You can handle Deirdre, and let me deal with Auriga. And, with the Pass's barrier broken, and the winds dying, Leven can get zeppelins ready."

Dheneb sniffled and wiped his cheeks. "Maybe we can hope for a little luck, and that Auriga and Deirdre will kill each other."

"Oh, Liz!" A girl named Wanda exclaimed from within the line up before the ticket wicket at the Clathe train station. "You getting a train, too?" She asked when she saw a familiar face.

"Nah," the teenage girl replied to her blonde friend. "Hello, Mr. Barnell," she greeted politely to Wanda's father. "I'm meeting Mum. She's coming back from DeLoor. She was there for fabrics. Where're you going?"

"The High Capital. Dad's been called in to make more weapons for the army. I guess things in Rhianonuit are kinda hairy."

"I heard that Sir Vega is there!" Liz whispered under her breath. "Fighting for the elves."

"I know!" Wanda breathed back, her brown eyes alight with the mystery of it all. She looked around, but there was no sign of any of the Royal Guard. "I think it's true. Why else would all the Royal Guards be hanging around lately, and why else would the High Cassiopeia be acting so paranoid, arresting people left and right?"

"Hush!" Mr. Barnell commanded, gently elbowing his daughter. "You want to be overheard?"

"May I help you?" The ticket agent asked to the person ahead of Mr. Barnell in line.

"Can I have a ticket to the Capital, please?" The little girl in the front of the line asked. She was standing on the tiptoes of her shiny black dress shoes so she could see over the counter.

The ticket agent looked down at the girl, who had large hazel eyes, round and rosy cheeks, and a big, cheery smile with one gap where a baby tooth had fallen out. Her strawberry blonde hair was put back in two pigtails tied with shiny red bobbles that looked like cherries, to match the pattern on her white pinafore. "Where's your Mommy?" The agent asked kindly.

"In the Capital!" The girl exclaimed cheerfully. She had kind of a strange accent. Definitely not from Clathe. "I'm gonna go see her! Here's my money!" She giggled as she put a tiny fistful of bills on the counter before the agent.

"By yourself?" The agent asked.

"It's okay," the girl replied, the seriousness of her tone making her even more adorable. "Imma big girl!"

"Well…" the agent trailed off, looking into the girl's eyes. She knew she shouldn't let a little girl, who couldn't be more than six or seven, travel all the way to the High Capital by herself. But, she just couldn't resist when she stared into those hazel eyes. "Okay. There are porters on the train, and one of them can sit with you, just to be safe."

"Yay!" The girl replied, bouncing on the balls of her feet as the agent rang in her ticket. She bobbed her head with the sound of the ticket printing off, and exclaimed "thank you!" in a sing-song voice when the agent gave her the paper. "Now, don't get off at the first stop. That's Dachan. Your Mommy wouldn't want you to get off in the wrong town."

"I won't!" The girl looked down at her ticket with a suddenly serious expression that seemed too old for someone her age.

"We can take her to the train," Mr. Barnell offered from behind the girl. "We're also going to the High Capital, and can make sure she gets on the right train."

The agent nodded. "Thank you, Sir."

"Two for the High Capital, please."

"What's your name?" Wanda asked the little girl kindly.

"Elsa!" She exclaimed, making a curtsey with her cherry-printed dress.

"Come on, Wanda. We don't want to miss the train. It's leaving soon."

"Okay, Dad. I'll see you when I get back, Liz!" The two girls hugged, and then Wanda offered her hand to Elsa. "Wanna hold my hand to the train?"

"Sure!" Elsa put her hand in Wanda's. She had a very strong grip, and it made Wanda falter. Her hand felt… strange. Cold. But, staring into her eyes, everything seemed okay.

Liz waved after them, calling "have a safe trip!"

The little girl looked back over her shoulder, waving a tiny, chubby hand. She smiled at Liz, and for a moment, Liz's skin crawled, and she thought she saw something strange about the girl's smile. But, it seemed just a trick of the eye.

She checked her dainty wristwatch, and then checked the arrival board. Her mother's train would be pulling into the station in about fifteen minutes. She sat down and waited eagerly. Her mother had been gone for weeks. "Now arriving at platform three, the Halo express from Malise, DeLoor, West Pearle and Cape Baquille. Now arriving at platform three, the Halo express from Malise, DeLoor, West Pearle and Cape Baquille. Thank you."

Liz rose to her feet, making her way to the platform. When her tall, elegant mother came off the train, Liz threw herself into her mother's arms.

"Liz!" Mrs. Ashtier exclaimed warmly. "What a nice surprise!" She hugged her daughter fiercely. "Where's your father?"

"He stayed with the carriage. There's been someone going around stealing horses, so he didn't want to leave it."

"Yes, I read about that in the paper." Mrs. Ashtier made a tsking noise. Mother and daughter waited patiently for Mrs. Ashtier's luggage to be loaded on a wheeled trolley. "Let's stop at the lavatory. I just want to freshen up for your father."

"Mum!" Liz exclaimed with a roll of her eyes. "I kind of have to go to the bathroom, anyway."

They went into the washroom, and Mrs. Ashtier pulled out a small canvas make-up bag, applying some lip gloss as Liz checked the stalls. Something smelled strange in there, and it wasn't a typical smell associated with bathrooms. It smelled… metallic. "Mum, you smell that?"

"It's a bathroom, dear. Don't expect a rose garden." Mrs. Ashtier began searching her bag for her mascara tube.

"No, no. It's not that." She stopped in front of the second to last stall. "Eww, there's something leaking in here." Liz crouched down to look under the door. There was a dripping sound, and something was forming a dark puddle at the base of the toilet.

"Oh Liz, don't open it," Mrs. Ashtier chided as she watched Liz's reflection in the mirror. She wrinkled her nose. "Let the janitor handle it."

Liz pushed open the stall and gasped, flinging herself backwards with a jerk. She banged into the wall, the door slamming shut loudly, then swinging back open with the force. Liz looked into the stall and started screaming, covering her face in horror as she screamed and screamed.

"Liz!" Mrs. Ashtier dropped her makeup bag, cosmetics clattering into the sink. She rushed to her daughter, and let out a horrified moan when she saw what was making her daughter scream so. There was a dead body in there. "Help!" Mrs. Ashtier screamed. "Help! Help us! HELP!" She grabbed her daughter, and shielded Liz's gaze from the awful sight of the tiny body in there. A dead little girl with strawberry blonde pigtails, her feet in the toilet. Her body was nailed to the wall so she wouldn't topple over. Her face had been cut up, her lips and eyelids removed, blood from the wounds dripping down on her cherry printed white pinafore.