Crow had been difficult to stop from leaping into the arena and rushing to Amelia’s side after her fight. He wasn’t an idiot, Gem knew full well that he knew the vision of battle they’d seen was a slowed down version of a conflict that had ended minutes ago. That Amelia was likely receiving the emergency treatment people whose ribs looked like stalactites generally received.

It didn’t seem to dissuade him in the slightest, though. At first it was endearing to watch him need holding down by Astra, Unity and Xeno. Then it moved on to irritating, as the seconds stretched by and he still refused to listen to reason.

He calmed down, eventually. And by then the arena had returned to its normal state. As usual, Karma stepped out to give her speech, gilded clothing flapping in the wind as her heavy, tied-back hair wrestled against such movement.

She had talked quickly, but not without the booming tone she always projected across the stadium in such cases. Amelia had fought well, however the organisers had decided to give team Fate a penalty for destroying such a valuable live specimen.

Gem would have been lying if she’d said it bothered her to hear that there was that much less chance of her needing to fight team Fate if her own team’s next task resulted in victory, but the revelation still held a bitter note of injustice.

The crowd took it worse than she’d have expected, soon devolving into a belligerent mass of screaming faces and bitter voices. Karma left to jeers of “savage” and “whore,” from the distance separating them Gem couldn’t see her friend’s face, but she had a hard time imagining even her remaining unfazed by such treatment.

Minutes passed, and the noise of the spectators grew every second. Shouts to see the contestants, to see Karma come back and justify the decision, all ignored, all growing in urgency as they were repeated time and time again.

It wasn’t until the tension in the thousands of bodies had grown so high as to frighten Gem that she noticed the seats lower in the stadium begin to empty. Even then, be it from the belligerence of those in the crowd or merely an organisational issue, the ocean of spectators seemed to drain agonisingly slowly.

Upon being informed that the contestants and higher-profile spectators were to leave after most of the crowd, doubtless to disperse the near-rioting flock as soon as possible, Gem was half-tempted to leave on her own by flying, though the thought of being stopped by Bermuda’s knights was just enough to dissuade her.

It took twenty minutes for the stadium’s occupants to even half-clear, and ten more before the tide of people leaking out of the exits had been stemmed enough that her team was willing to leave.

Crow was out first, having practically squirmed upon being told that they needed to wait at all. Astra hurried after him, and Xeno after her. That left Gem and Unity as the only ones walking in place of running.

The artificial turned to her as they moved after the others, all traces of his usual grin wiped clean like chalk from a blackboard.

“So, what are your thoughts on Amelia?”

It was a pit of a question, and it was only thanks to Gem’s hours of tutelage under Karma that she was able to both see and guard against its true purpose. She forced her face still, covered every tiny expression that tried to show on it. Denied him whatever information he’d hoped to glean by bringing the subject up so suddenly.

Eden was the sort of person with whom it was prudent to lie first, and think later.

“She’s strong,” Gem said honestly. “Incredibly strong.”

“Stronger than you’ll be at her age?” He asked, giving away no more than she had.

Gem realised she was answering too quickly even as she did so.

“Obviously not.” She replied curtly. That sent the ghost of a smile tugging at the boy’s mouth, and he paused a moment before speaking again.

“Stronger than you now, then?” He asked.

She found herself hesitating before answering, careful not to give as much away as she had with her last response. That the hesitation itself would let Eden know she was thinking hard for the answer occurred to her only after it had already passed.

Not for the first time, Gem wondered how Karma thought like this as her natural state. Just seconds of it had already driven her nearly mad.

“Yes.” She answered, finally. Gem hid her irritation. Eden knew it had been hard for her to say, but that didn’t mean it was wise to let him know exactly why.

As they reached the staircase and began to descend, the boy opened his mouth. His eyes lit up as he began to work on another question, and Gem found her mind straying.

He was cleverer than her, and he was using their talk to needle out all sorts of little details about her. Karma had told her about such situations, what was it she’d said?

If you’re losing the game, start playing another one.

Gem kept the smirk from her face as she spoke, interrupting Eden and bringing an amusing look of equal parts surprise and disgruntlement to his face.

“Why do you think she was disqualified?” She asked. His face fell fractionally, clearly recognising her strategy.

“Isn’t it obvious?” He asked, sneering slightly. “Black eyes, overwhelming power and a body that might stop a bayonet even without magic? No fucking wonder the organisers are trying to keep a butcher from winning their Sieve.”

Gem glanced over the railing, failing to see the other members of her team below. With a stab of annoyance she increased her pace, turning back to Unity and speaking as she did.

“Have you ever seen a butcher?” She inquired. Amelia was strange, and she terrified Gem, but to call her a butcher seemed a larger lie than even Eden would attempt.

“Yes, twice.” He answered. “Once when a bunch had been hired as some baron’s bodyguards, I ran into them when I was dragged along to his palace for some political bullshit I can’t even remember now.”

“And the other?” She prodded. The way Eden seemed to wrestle with his own mouth before answering was incredibly unsettling.

“It was a few years ago.” He said, almost reluctantly.

“A group of insurgents were stirring up trouble in the Amirae Princedom, not fond of how the last Faction War had ended, that it should’ve resulted in Zoric supremacy, you’ve heard it all before elsewhere. Anyway, they were about a decade late to fight in the Faction War, but they’d spent those ten years preparing to start their very own. There were thousands of soldiers working under them, most were mystics and a handful were Immortals.”

Gem arched an eyebrow.

“And so what was their plan? I assume if there were Immortals with them, they can’t have been stupid enough to simply attack somewhere important and assume that they wouldn’t be crushed.”

Eden smiled.

“I was their plan,” he answered. “Take me hostage, use the Eden Child as a bargaining chip. It was actually quite good. Any force strong enough to overpower theirs would be easy to spot approaching from leagues off.”

“So why did it fail?” She pressed, quite aware that there were still two Factions.

“Well, they managed to slaughter my bodyguards and capture me, but unfortunately for them the Factions had access to quite a… compact force.”

He licked his lips before continuing, almost nervous.

“They sent Jack Danielz in, alone. And he did his job well. Bodies flew, blood sprayed, wounded begged and none survived. By the end of it, he and I were alone amidst a field of strewn-about limbs and red-tinted grass.”

Eden met Gem’s gaze head on, finishing with a voice so cold it would freeze steam.

“I don’t think I’ll ever forget the sight of his eyes, Gemini Menza. Nor do I believe any artisan would be willing to risk drawing his ire by recreating them. That girl has those same eyes, and she had the same grin the man himself did when he was ripping people limb from limb. She’s as much a butcher as you are a Menza.”

Gem found herself speechless at that, and not wanting to simply stare dumbly, nodded in answer. It took her a moment to realise why that story in particular disturbed her so much.

Had Gem been kidnapped instead of Eden, she’d surely have been rescued all the quicker. And yet she’d have found her saviour in Gilasev. He’d have blown the insurgent’s doors down, strolled in with that lop-sided grin he always wore and gotten all of them to hand her back with an apology, not even lifting a finger along the way.

The thought of how it must have felt to be forced to rely on a monster like the Butcher of Balisphore was horrible enough that it almost distracted Gem from the creeping bitterness that threatened to overtake her as she remembered just how tuned in to her cries for help her father had been of late.

Eden turned away from her, and it wasn’t until several moments had passed that she found her voice.

“So, why would they let her compete at all? If she really is the genuine article, I mean.”

That earned her a shrug.

“Someone probably figured they could benefit from it, you know how Immortals are.”

Gem didn’t answer that. Her life had mostly been spent in the company of Gilasev, and he’d never taken kindly to his fellow Immortals. The few interactions she’d had with the world’s most powerful mystics had been in public, not the darkened rooms where treachery might be discussed with as calm a tone as dinner.

She’d never seen a butcher, either. Her knowledge of them was limited to stories and rumour, yet after seeing Amelia’s performance, she found it hard to think of the girl as anything else.

Besides, Eden hadn’t appeared to be lying to her. Unless he was merely far better at it than she thought.

They continued to walk, reaching the bottom of the stairs and beginning down the corridor. Upon seeing it empty of her other teammates, Gem’s thoughts turned back to Crow, and she glanced at Unity to speak again.

“So what do you suggest we do?”

The boy didn’t pretend not to know what she was talking about.

“Tricky.” He grunted. “Crow’s close with Amelia, and he’s stubborn enough to try and fight with his guts hanging out.”

Gem had to agree there. Affable though he was, it would likely be easier to part a pair of rutting oxen than persuade Crow out of doing something he wanted to.

“What if we just tell him the truth?” She asked, more to see how he’d react than to have the idea considered. Gem herself already knew how messy harsh truths tended to make things when delivered bluntly.

“That sounds like an excellent way to piss him off, make him doubt both us and himself and then go over to question Amelia directly like the moron he is.” Eden dismissed.

She agreed fully, as annoying as it was.

“Although...” The boy continued. “You’re friends with Alabaster, aren’t you? I wonder whether she could pull a few strings, perhaps let her name slip during the next task she takes part in.”

Gem’s first thought was elation, the idea seemed flawless to her. However as she thought about it more, the underhandedness of it all sank in, and she felt a deep sense of shame seeping in to replace her immediate jubilation.

“I don’t intend to run around behind my friend’s back and drip-feed him information as it suits me, Eden.” She snapped. “Nor will I be using another of my friends as a means to do so.”

The artificial rolled his eyes, as if her reservations were tediously childish.

“Oh please, what’s wrong with this exactly? You aren’t lying to Crow, and you certainly aren’t going to be lying to Alabaster- if you were capable of that, you wouldn’t be consulting little, simple old me.”

He joked, but Gem noticed a hint of genuine bitterness in his voice, recognising it immediately as the same kind she’d had herself upon meeting Karma. Clever people disliked the stupid, but not nearly as much as they loathed those even cleverer than themselves.

“What’s wrong with it is that I’ll be essentially manipulating Crow into acting a certain way without even speaking to him first.”

Eden scoffed at that.

“Manipulating? Please, you’ll be giving him factual information. Knowing how someone will react when you do something doesn’t make it a manipulation.”

“Doing something only because you know how it will cause someone to react, however, most certainly is.”

That earned another sneer.

“By that definition, manipulation has expanded to cover just about every social interaction in the world. If we walked up to Crow, looked him in the eye and told him the truth, would you consider that a manipulation by merit of us hoping our words will sway him?”

“That’s not the same thing.” She answered, a little hotly. “You’re talking about feeding him information through means that wouldn’t leave him able to realise it was even us that he got it from.”

“Yes.” The boy answered, unwaveringly. “Because Crow himself has forced us into using such a tactic with his own thick-headedness. You want to call it manipulation to tell someone the truth without their knowing? Fine. Then manipulation it is. But that’s still half a league better than doing nothing and leaving him to continue fraternising with one of the deadliest creatures in the world.”

He hid it well, but Gem didn’t miss the emotion slipping into his voice. An eye was a bit too wide, his cheeks flushing ever so slightly.

She’d realised he must have cared about Crow to some extent, his response to the boy’s suggestion a few days ago wouldn’t have been utter fury if it weren’t for that, but it was still a strange thing to see such a clear reminder of the warmth behind the ice.

More than just the ice, though, there was a point behind it all. She struggled to come up with a better argument.

“Shouldn’t we at least try the up-front approach, before resorting to going around in secrecy and seeding information?”

Eden shrugged.

“I didn’t think you’d need to, we’ve both had a good long while to get to know Crow by now. Neither of us is under any illusions about how he’d react. Disregarding what we know and wasting time to prove it is rarely the smart thing to do, particularly when you’re dealing with a situation as volatile as this.”

Gem thought about it. Then she thought about it more, and not liking the result she gave it another round of thinking for good measure.

None of her brainstorms resulted in a better solution, but it wasn’t hard to spot the glaring issue in Eden’s plan.

“And how do you suppose I’ll get Karma to do anything Karma doesn’t want to do?” She asked him. “Let alone leaking information that might jeopardize her position as an organiser, or give the others ammunition to use against her.”

Gem was well aware of how Immortals worked. They were a mass of vicious sharks, and weakness or failure were like blood in the water.

“I don’t know.” Eden shrugged. “Figure something out, maybe you can do that thing you do where you ask really nicely and make your eyes practically inflate. Not sure if she has a heart under all that muscle, but it’s worth a try.”

There was, thankfully, a carriage waiting for them outside, though Gem would have preferred to have two by far. Eden hadn’t been so bad of late, or at least he’d kept his constant needling mostly to himself. That didn’t mean she liked sharing transportation with him.

By the time they came to the Crux, Gem could see red and orange streaks beginning to bleed into the dying blue of the sky. She had the feeling it was odd for the time of year, but then she rarely went without such a thought.

As the pinnacle of magic’s daughter, and somewhat of a holy figure herself, Gem spent much of her time travelling.

When one might go to sleep a thousand miles apart from one day to the next, things like time of day and weather became quite muddled.

Xeno was waiting for them as they entered, greeting Gem with a smile, Eden with a weary gaze. The artificial didn’t so much as glance at the girl, though. Merely striding past her and heading straight for his room.

That suited Gem just fine.

“How are your ribs?” Xeno asked as she took a seat. Gem half expected the question to flog her sides anew, yet there wasn’t even a twinge of pain.

“Fine.” She answered, truthfully. Xeno smiled at that, and Gem noticed a strange manner to the girl. She kept shifting in her seat, as though it hurt her simply to touch the soft cushions.

Gem quickly recognised the nervous fidgeting for what it was, and found herself with a few more questions born from the realisation.

“Where’s Astra?” She asked. Xeno delivered her answer to the floor.

“She’s gone out for a walk, to… well, clear her head.”

So Xeno had asked to compete again.

Gem found herself unwilling to make the girl talk about it. For that matter, she was just as unwilling to hear about it. It wasn’t particularly hard to imagine how it must have gone, in any case.

Lying back, closing her eyes lightly, she exhaled.

That, of course, made her ribs hurt.

***

Flint had the strangest feeling that Karma Alabaster was planning on killing him.

He wasn’t sure why. With her spies and contacts, if she wanted him dead there were many ways in which he could already have died. A summons to her office would not have been necessary.

Somehow, the knowledge that his imminent demise was logically unlikely did little to curb the apprehension that plagued him with every step, as though it were seeping into him through the soles of his boots.

Flint knocked, then waited. Then waited some more. It was only when he’d raised a hand to knock again that Alabaster called for him to enter.

Her office struck Flint as far more practical than her quarters, though it was still the very picture of excess. He wasn’t left to study the room for long, however.

“Soldier.” The Princess said, seated at a large desk carved from dark wood. She was writing, hair tied back like a clerk, and didn’t bother lifting her head to look at him. Silence enveloped the room, broken only by the faint scratching of quill against parchment.

Flint managed to bear it for all of ten seconds before he spoke.

“You called for me?” He asked.

The woman didn’t answer for several more moments of scratching and silence.

“I did.” She responded, still not looking up. “You may enter, shut the door behind you.”

Flint did as she instructed, nearly leaping out of his skin as he saw the Kin standing silently vigilant on either side of it.

“Approach my desk and pick up the sack lying on the far left of it, look inside.” The Princess continued, her face still obscured from sight and fixed totally on her parchment.

Hesitating at the scent of a trap, Flint obeyed again. He quickly found the sack in question and, careful not to disturb the working Princess, lifted it into his hands. Unfurling it, he peered inside. Its contents brought an involuntary gasp to his lips.

Arcstock crystals, and well over a dozen. Each the overall size of his fist, though with their volume distributed unevenly between width and length.

“I believe I told you I’d procure some superior armaments for you, didn’t I?” The Princess called, still writing away. “Please examine them, I think you’ll be pleased with their quality.”

Flint didn’t need to be told twice, or even once. He reached in, grasping the first crystal he could and pulling it free to study in the light, careful not to be too rough all the while.

His first thought was that its edges were smooth. Incredibly so, as though it had been melted rather than cut into its current shape. That made a sharp change from his own crystals, the rough surfaces and jagged textures of which had been almost like split granite.

As Flint peered closer, studied for longer, he began to make out other differences. The colouration was far different from the crystals he’d seen before. Deeper, almost to the point of opacity. The colour itself was the same blue, down to the very shade if he wasn’t mistaken, but it seemed to have taken the crystal far more completely.

Upon being asked about it, the Princess answered in an almost hurried tone.

“That’s caused by the structure being far denser and more compact. Essentially, it shows that far more of the crystal’s volume is condensed magic compared to the natural minerals that fuse it together.”

Flint understood none of that, and for the first time the Princess glanced up at him- apparently reading so in his face.

“It means they hold more magic than the ones you’re used to, even relative to their size.”

That was something Flint would have no way of knowing at a glance. He could absorb magic, if he timed it right, and benefit from it. That sometimes made it easy to forget that it wasn’t his, nor would it ever be.

An inept might have touched the power in his hands and felt… something. A buzzing, or a humming. Like warmth from metal smelted hours prior, just a shade hotter than the air around it. For him, it was just a blue lump.

Or at least, while it was still in his hands.

“How do I refill it?” He asked the Princess.

“Bring them to Pyrhic when they’re empty, she’ll take them to be re-infused.”

The way the woman pronounced the last word with such emphasis told Flint that it was the correct technical term. He didn’t much care for that, but supposed it was good to know.

“You are to go to her now.” Alabaster continued. “You’ll find her in my quarters, waiting to depart on another little outing. Your task is the same as it was last time.”

For a moment, Flint felt a flash of hot anger at the mention of the Princess’ assistant. No, not her assistant. Her slave. Her property. The acidic vitriol he’d spat onto her the previous night began to work its way back, filling his mouth once more. And it was only the memory of that calm, dangerous steadiness in the woman’s eye that stayed his hand.

With a nod, he turned and began to head out of the room. As he reached for the door handle, however, he was frozen by the sound of Alabaster’s voice. Empty and expressionless as a statue, yet cutting him to the bone.

“Oh, and one more thing before you go. If you ever mention what was discussed between us the previous night, to either myself or anyone else, I will have you and your entire regiment assigned to march unassisted into the heart of Thol’vadam.”

Rage turned Flint like a gear, his eyes coming to rest on the woman.

“You wouldn’t,” he spat.

“I would.” She answered calmly, like a teacher correcting a student’s mistake. “The Dwellers have technology far in excess of even Dagan Industries, and a few hundred Wrathmen seem just perfect to take it from them. After all, a slim chance of success is well worth it with such a prize on the line.”

And she was right. Thol’vadam, like all Dweller settlements, was disproportionately manned by pariahs. What they lacked in magic, they more than made up for with antimagic.

A million mystics could march against the mountain fort and find their powers blunted and defanged against it.

A thousand Wrathmen, however, trained and with directions of the layout, might have some small hope of success. Death would meet them ten thousand times before victory, of course, and their success would surely cost practically all of them.

But those who led armies rarely cared much for the soldiers from which they were built.

It seemed wrong to Flint that such a beautiful face and mouth as Karma Alabaster’s could make such a chilling, heartless and entirely logical threat. But then he thought back to what she’d said.

Cut apart and put back together to look pretty, wasn’t it? It seemed more likely to him that she’d been put back together in whichever way best hid the monster that lay beneath.

“Do you understand me, soldier?” The Princess asked. Voice still as expressionless as ever, face still as devoid of malice.

It took Flint several moments of effort to force his leaden mouth to make an answer.

“Yes.” He said.

She smiled in response, and her face seemed to come alight with the sheer beauty of it.

“Excellent. You may go.”

Flint didn’t hesitate so much as a second before leaving.