[b]Giriel![/b]

The three of you walk down into the dell and up into the graveyard, where moss gathers on stone markers and stagnant water pools for the washing of hands. Kayl clings close; Uusha moves, unhurried, after you. Her legs are long, but her footfall is almost silent on the wet grass.

From this vantage point, you can see more clearly that the N’yari here are nothing of the sort — some of them, at least. This is what the knights of the Accord would call a dishonorable [i]false flag.[/i] (As a witch, of course, you don’t need to know what to call it to have an opinion on it.) Knights are supposed to announce themselves, to bring glory to their kingdoms, to be noble and true in the eyes of the Sapphire Mother— but Uusha has her brigands whispering to the woken dead, some costumed in beads and ears made of reeds.

(Some, but not all; Uusha is willing to take in N’yari outcasts and sellswords in her retinue, too, and more than a few of the rest are mountain-blooded, shaggy-haired and long-nailed. Having cultural advisors certainly helped sell the ruse.)

“She’s very pretty, isn’t she?” Uusha folds her limbs and hunches forward, elbows on her thighs. “Or so I’ve heard. Haven’t met her yet. Where’s the sense, letting her get her hooks in?” She taps her gauntlet-claws staccato against a greave. “A pretty face and a charming smile and you forget what she brings. What is in conjunction. Venus. Mars. The Mother. The Eater of Cities. The kingdoms ignore their duty. Until there is one crown and one voice for us, the Red Wolf will splinter us apart. One by one. Like ants dug free with a knife.”

She glances back at the shades, swaying, more smoke than figure where Uusha’s retinue passes. They do not cry out, not while Peregrine plays. After that, if you have any knowledge of witchcraft, once the song no longer holds their attention, they will turn to the anger coursing through them. Not all of them will make it out past the boundary stones; less than half will not dwindle and fade away into dappled shadows and the sound of rain dripping from above, to return to their sleep. But there will be enough who continue, woken to rage, that Legionnaires will die alone and far from home, faces twisted up in terror.

“We all must fight,” Uusha says. “The quick [i]and[/i] the dead. This is their land as much as ours, and they have been here the longer. Let them fight for it, too.” That may be a command. It’s hard to tell.

So that’s her stake. An army of the dead, motivated by the tales her retinue whispers in their cold ears: of a homeland invaded, of a threat to their descendants, of an inevitable war that Uusha means to win. Less clear is Peregrine’s stake, but knowing her, it’s as likely as anything else that Uusha simply presented her the challenge of performing non-violent necromancy, en masse, without dishonoring the dead or inflaming them into immediate violence, and let Peregrine dive head-first into the work.

And she is masterful. Whatever her motivations for being here, Peregrine is an excellent witch: her song is not cruel but it is insistent, and even living you feel it tugging at your heart: wake! Brush away sleep, open your eyes! Come and listen, come and bear witness! Peregrine now calls you!

When you reach out your bowl to offer it up to the ghosts, Uusha puts one hand on the rim. “Do you think they need to be made heavy with food?” Her head cocks like a crow. “We want them roused, not satiated with offerings, Honored Sister.” Do you insist? Do you try to talk your way through? Is she right that you mean to placate them?

***

[b]Zhaojun![/b]

“Stars,” Zhaojun says. “An artificial imposition. Useful, even necessary— but we will chew some holes in their net. After all, I pursue larger and more important quarry and would have your service. You are... but a stepping stone for me.”

The two separate, then come together. The finger pulls the trigger; the fire roars through silk thread and dreams of the dark and sends [i]bandar-logi[/i] screaming and skittering away deeper into the embrace of the underneath, beyond the light of the sun and moon and stars. The flickering nightmare razor sings and makes one beautiful cut, one perfect arc, searing the air into what is and what is not. And Zhaojun

[b][Sealed By Authority Of Iupiter, Maiden Of That Which Is Unknown][/b]

walks, unhurriedly, out into the stillness. The air is humid. It clings with unseen hands to breath and skin and stone and mud. Over the rice plains unseen beyond, thunder rolls. It is a moment between drops. It could last forever. It will not last longer than it takes to walk out of the forest. The rain will return, by edict of the cloud-gatherers, themselves serving at the pleasure of the Sapphire Mother of Lotuses, herself serving at the pleasure of Venus Morningstar who turns the wheels of Heaven. All is desire; it is the axis of the world, the secret of the broken wheel, and the method by which two may be one.

The priestess sits primly on the steps, legs folded beneath her, hands lost in her azure sleeves. Around her is the memory of battle: splintered wood, broken brooms, shattered white masks, torn black fur. At the direction of the goddess, she has brought low her foes. Even the backwater has a hidden gem, after all. Surely this is remembered. Surely her devotion is recorded. Behold her humility, her willingness to transcend pride and yield whole-heartedly to instruction.

“Truly, you are more clever than a serpent, Exalted One,” Victorious Vixen of Violets says, bowing low to her teacher. “Better to strive against Mount Meru than to vie against you. May the evil spirit of this place be sealed here for a hundred hundred years without hope of parole!”

At a gesture from her teacher, the nubile priestess rises, demure despite her noble bearing. Whatever would Honorable Zhaojun do without her guide to the Flower Kingdoms? The self-unconscious way she strokes a stray lock of hair behind her ear, the way her lashes flutter over her coin-weighted veil, the sway of her bare shoulders: surely she is the most beautiful woman in the Flower Kingdoms, though of course she is too humble and pure of heart to notice. She is the sort of maiden that topples empires, and to please her, Zhaojun would—

Well. We shall see, won’t we? Won’t we just.

“So swift is my Mistress in battle,” Victorious Vixen of Violets breathes, her songbird-lovely voice almost muffled by her luxurious veil alone, “that we may yet meet with the Chosen One before nightfall. Glory be your purpose to save this land from war and strife, o radiant Zhaojun, victorious over all misfortune and wicked intent!”

***

[b]Kalaya![/b]

“I don’t know yet, bud,” Petony teases back, running one hand through her short, dark hair. “Maybe show me some actually impressive fighting and you’ll convince me.” The banter between knights! You’re doing it! You’re making it! If your parents could see you now, how proud they would be!

That’s the high spirits that Meke finds you in when she brings what she found out in the field. The red-tattooed retainer cradles an ivory-adorned relic in her arms, abandoned by the demons forced to put to flight. It’s witch-work, true, but also spoils of war, and Petony’s to keep until she is ready to offer it to her kingdom (Rose or Hyacinth, still depending on her mood).

Inside there is a long bone that once belonged to an animal, scrolled round with the script of Hell, harsh and angular. Inside there are broken thorns and nettles. Inside there are small coins stamped with the spires of Golden Chrysanth. Inside there is a priestess’s blue veil, torn in two.

And at the very bottom, underneath one of the veil halves, there is a delicate earring made in the shape of a snapdragon in bloom, pink and yellow.

Once upon a time there was a princess who wore ones like these, Kalaya. You knew her, once. Then other kingdoms went to war with them; then her family’s champions were defeated and humiliated; then she wasn’t around anymore, and your family simply said that failed royals just went off to live with their families, far from the places they’d tried to rule, on pain of humiliation if they dared return.

(One of her brothers was caught trying to travel through her family’s old land, and was paraded through Rose during one of your visits several years ago; his face was dark with anger when he saw you with your hostess, but he couldn’t exactly say much, now, could he? Especially when he had other places to go and be ceremonially thrashed by a priestess, writhing in the stocks under her palm. The laws of the Sapphire Mother are clear on the mercies and punishments she will allow the kingdoms.)

How do you still remember her, Kalaya? Is it her laughter, or her small and serious face, or playing out in the gardens between the fountains? When you hold that earring in your palm, what memories of Ven of Snapdragon return to you?

***

[b]Piripiri![/b]

“Thank you,” Azazuka says, earnestly, after a moment of contemplation. “You’ve given that a lot of consideration. I respect that in an associate.” She squeezes your hand, and then—

The boat rocks. The boat rocks [i]dangerously.[/i] Azazuka’s grip on you tightens for support; you glance over at the urchin, who’s gone clammy-faced. “Oh no,” she murmurs to herself, not because she’s panicking but because she knows what’s going on and doesn’t like it. “Oh no oh no oh [i]no.[/i]”

Then the snake flips the boat over.

The water is very cold. Azazuka is very much holding onto you. And as you react with the cool head of one trained in the clandestine arts (as if this is the first time you’ve been thrown unexpectedly into water), you see the snake begin to coil around.

It is dark, perhaps— yes, furred. Its eyes are shining green lights in the dark grey of the lake, and they flicker like fire, like the mad green sun. A demon serpent from the Endless City is upon you, and it winds about the two of you with contemptuous flicks of its long tail. Soon it will construct. And then—

Perhaps it is an assassin. Perhaps it is not. Perhaps it is hungry. Perhaps it is not. You [i]cannot[/i] afford to find out. Azazuka is still in the panic of someone who hasn’t been in this sort of situation before, and you don’t have time for her to try and conquer that panic.

(The urchin is not in the water. The urchin knew [i]something[/i] was up. A thought for when you are not under attack by a demon serpent.)

Boat: not capsized, but upside-down. Urchin: not in water. Surface: close enough for the two of you to swim to if not dragged down by the serpent’s coils. Shore: too far away if Azazuka is not an experienced swimmer. Other boats: too far away for immediate assistance, but likely that [i]someone[/i] noticed. Azazuka: her fingers tight on your glove. Umbrella: floating on the surface of the lake.

Serpent: unknown capabilities, unknown purpose. Flute would be useful if you had one and could play it underwater.

***

[b]Lotus of Tranquil Waters![/b]

You can do it!!

That’s what you’re trying to say around the frilly and mortifyingly [i]interesting[/i] wad stuffed in your mouth, held in place by a tightly-knotted sash beneath your stolen veil. Your heart is racing like a drum played by Skaral, the Drummer of Season’s Ending. Something that’s not quite panic is fluttering inside your chest like one of the baby birds you helped Grandaunt of Cranes foster as one of the fearsome N’yari pulls you back against her firmly, and your breath is coming fast and hot through your nose, which means you’re just smelling [i]more N’yari[/i], and... nnngh! Bells Below!

Come on, please, get up, you plead as the big N’yari grinds Han’ya(? Kitten??) against the deck. Because if she doesn’t get up, then... then your grand adventure is over before it even started, and all the risks the little brown foxes took for you was for nothing! How are you supposed to see the world for once, to meet other girls and have hot fried noodles and go for walks unchaperoned if you get taken prisoner by N’yari? You’d just be going from one cage to another.

([i]But at least in the second cage you might get attention from pretty girls for once—[/i] no! Shush! Bad Lotus! [i]They might even keep you all tied up and gagged like this, and unlike hiding in your room back home, you won’t be able to wiggle out when you’re done playing—[/i] no!! Shush!! Meep!!!)

And, and besides, it’s not fair! Can’t you see she’s at a disadvantage? She’s hurt! And, and rained on! And missing her hat! How is Han’ya supposed to be able to win without her hat? Penalty! Reset the board! But, oh, silly girl, this isn’t [i]shogi[/i] with the Blue Silk Glove Marchwarden, this is real, this is adventure, this is what it looks like when you put all your faith in someone who was mean at you and then tried awkwardly to apologize, not because your mother would be cross with them but just because they didn’t want to be mean at [i]you,[/i] and...

You can do it!! You scream it at her as loud as you can, bouncing on the N’yari’s lap, not caring that your captor(!!!) will squish you back against her even harder. Because she has to know! She has to know she can do it, if she just tries a little harder, because, because true strength comes from the heart, and she has to have a heart, because... because she wanted to share the umbrella after all.

So please, Han’ya! Fight! Win!! And save everyone from the villains!

([i]But maybe take your time first, and a priestess should insist everyone else be untied first, and if you want to squeeze there a little more while you have the chance Miss N’yari...[/i] gah! Bells Below!!!)