[b]Jezcha![/b]

“So how does it work, master of the seen and unseen arts?”

The hum of it drowns out anything else you might have heard from within the Pillar. It stands squat by your father’s desk, richly engraved bronze and gold. And it hums to set your teeth on edge.

“The unseen waters of chaos all about are manipulated by these humans,” the Grand Artificer says, folding her hands in her long sleeves. “They draw down disaster, not knowing what they work. And so we simply make it louder, more turbulent, and confound them.”

“And there’s no way that you can do it without restricting our access to Caphtor?” Your father’s growl is dangerous, but the Artificer nimbly slips through his words with a bow.

“The djinn’s essential vibrations and the magic of Set are of the same base nature. This is a mystery... and yet one we grow close to unlocking, with your support, o generous one.”

“And once we do,” you chime in, “we’ll know everything we need to crush the Phantom Thieves once and for all...”

***

[b]Anathet![/b]

The experience of going through this portal is... wrong. Unsettling. Like pouring out spaghetti into a pan, only it’s risotto instead. Your insides twist and you hear a terrible groan hammering at your eardrums. And then you’re stumbling into a bush.

Notably, there aren’t bushes in the cellars of the Seneschal’s palace. It is bright day, and the sun shines dappled through the branches of the sighing woe-willows, and you have faceplanted into— not a bush, more of a hedge, really.

“Who’s there?” You’d have something more clever to think of, once your stomach settled, only Canada has walked right into your back and smooshed you between her and the hedge. Leaves go up your nose. Twigs press against you in soft spots. And you are about to be discovered!

***

[b]Canada![/b]

You’ve been through the vortexes (vortices?) that Set can make. But this time, it’s disorienting and unpleasant, an experience like missing a step going down the stairs in the dark; your stomach falls out the bottom of your hips and keeps going. When light hits you again, it’s [i]too[/i] bright. You stagger forward into Set.

“Who’s there?” A high, lilting voice. Tirzah’s older sister, the sickly one who stayed in her room and did arts and crafts. Not the sort of person you want to get caught by.

What is Set playing at?

***

[b][i]Lamassie![/i][/b]

You almost get it to work! You can’t be denied! You’re sweet as sugar and smooth as silk and a very, very good girl, yes you are, and that’s when somebody collides with the Hedge of Triumph that faces the Paradise Pavilion. It takes a lot of work to keep all of those scenes of military glory from being overgrown, you know!

Spies? Did the Resistance send someone to contact Anathet, and now they’re at risk of being compromised? Political schemes? The Lynxes react immediately, Am’met circling to flank while Visha’an unholsters his ornate laser flintlock pistol and drops a hand to his dueling saber, and Lady—

Lady squishes your face up against her as she clings to you for support and comfort. “Who’s there?” You can feel her heart fluttering in her chest. (And the softness of her skin, warm like something left out in the sun, and the softness of her pressed up against your cheek, with but a wispy little veil between you—)

“Two,” Tirzah says lowly, and how is that fair? How did she get over here that fast, did she scamper? Lady turns to her sister (and gives you a full faceful). “Suddenly... Janissary, wait to fire on my mark.”