[b]Giriel![/b]

“I wanted to thank you for your service, didn’t I?”

When Cathak Agata cups your cheek with a bloodied hand, she wraps her spirit around you. Warmth suffuses you; the rain hisses away before it can touch you. Being this close to her is like sitting next to a fire, letting the heat sink in deep, until it is almost but not quite painful. She helps you to your feet as if helping a doll stand.

“What were you thinking?” Her admonishment is half gentle, half baffled. “Taking on an entire demon army by yourself, sealing their gate, defeating the warlock and her minions?” Her thumb rests on your mouth and she shushes away your attempts to explain. The warmth is so pervasive that it’s all you can do to stop yourself from falling asleep and letting Agata take care of where you walk. Even injured, she’s a pillar of confidence. You’d never think Han managed to lay a claw on her.

Han. She’s being wrestled down by legionnaires, dragging her over to the coffle: Han’s little demigod stands with the mad, brilliant woman who dared to impersonate the General, and the little demoness who used to be one of the most feared power players in Hell, all three collared and gagged, waiting for their forced march. Kalaya and Uusha are chained down to medicinal stretchers, and Azazuka—

“Release [i]her,[/i] you dumb bastards,” Cathak Agata barks, the way that important people yell at people they think are simple but, dammit, good at heart. (The condescension of those who think themselves protagonists, and everyone else supporting players.) “Don’t you recognize her? If she’s so much as bruised…!” 

And then Azazuka’s throwing herself into Red Wolf’s arms, which is to say, somewhat into your arms. “Oh, Gatty,” she squeals. “Don’t be too hard on them! I don’t know what’s been going on, but this witch here, she helped me, and so did the Hymairean, they’re innocent of [i]whatever[/i] is going on!” Even as tired as you are, you recognize the shift in her demeanor: this is the mask of the Hapless Socialite Who Gets Her Way Out Of Indulgence. She’s trying to protect you and the Hymairean, and to a lesser extent, everyone else. She gives Agata a look that probably gets her anything she wants back home, but Agata frowns and gently lays a hand on her shoulder. Azazuka’s breath hitches a moment, but not from pain.

“What happened? How did this— and why are you here?” Concern. A hint of anger, roiling underneath for the first time. Azazuka definitely isn’t supposed to be out here, and shit’s going to rain down on someone who is responsible. She glances off to one side, her face away from you, but you can tell someone’s getting eye daggers. Then she returns her attention to Azazuka. “I’m afraid I don’t have a palanquin, my dear lady,” she says, taking her hand and simply breathing across her knuckles, the better to not irritate the sunburn, and Azazuka’s eyes flutter helplessly for a moment. “But if it is not beneath your dignity, I would make these brutes bear you on one of our stretchers back— and you, too, my witch. There’s no need for any more walking tonight.”

Han roars her fury into thick-packed cloth as her ass is smacked by a legionnaire to get the coffle marching. But that might as well be a mile away, because Agata’s helping you down onto a stretcher and she’s even got an umbrella for you.

After all, she’s the hero. She’ll take care of you.