“I am... disappointed.”

The single word speared into Cinder’s chest like an arrow through the heart. She found herself looking down, eyes drawn to the floor where all she could see was the polished marble she kneeled on and the feet of her mistress. “I am sorry,” she said. “We did not expe--”

“Obviously not,” Salem said, cutting her off mid-word. Cinder almost wished the queen would raise her voice or growl or something, but her tone was as flat and even as someone reporting on the weather. “Had you expected you would have planned. At least, I hope my lessons to you were poignant enough that you would have.”

“They were,” Cinder said. The less time spent recalling her tutelage under Salem the better.

“What did I teach you about expectations when planning an operation, especially one against someone as knowledgeable as Ozpin?”

“That I should assume he is two steps ahead,” Cinder said.

“Ozpin is old, Cinder, he is, despite my loathing of the fact, quite wise and intelligent. He is no fool. And because you thought otherwise an opportunity has slipped through our fingers.”

Cinder swallowed and looked up, just enough to see Salem’s crossed knees. “I still obtained part of the maiden’s power. We just need to wait for her to pass on,” she said.

“It has been too long already. In all likelihood Ozpin has already moved to prevent the power from moving on to you.” Salem shifted her legs, switching her position on her throne with the kind of grace Cinder could only hope to one day achieve. “No, the opportunity is gone.”

“I can fix this,” Cinder said. “I can infiltrate Beacon. He wouldn’t let Amber out of his sight and she didn’t report on my appearance, Emerald made that impossible. Give me the chance and I’ll find her and end the jo--”

“Stop.”

Cinder let her eyes dip again. Her knee ached where it was pressed into the cold stone of the floor and her back was straining, unused to being bowed for so long. She knew better than to squirm and interrupt Salem’s thoughts.

Salem gasped.

Cinder’s head whipped up only to see her Queen’s eyes go wide before narrowing down. That, alone, was suspect. The howl of Ursas and Beowolves from beyond the Spire and the sudden twitch of the Seers in the room only added to her sudden surge of adrenaline.

Salem stood up from her throne and began to walk with more urgency than Cinder had ever seen towards the back of the room. “Come,” she snapped.

She did not need to be told twice.

They walked through the corridors of the castle, passing Grimm that looked around in confusion and something approaching anxiety. Beowolves were sniffing the air and the Seers were moving about with a speed that was utterly unlike their usual grace.

Salem led her to a spiral stairwell that went down deeper than she had ever travelled in the Spire. Their voyage ended in a cavern lit by purple Grimmlights that shone down on a black pool that made Cinder’s stomach tighten uncomfortably at the mere sight of it.

Akelarre was by the pool, knees drawn up to her chest, head bowed forwards and back hunched in a way that showed off just how gangly and tall she was. The girl was surrounded by hundreds of spider Grimm. Some as big as dogs, others as small as bottlecaps.

“You’ve returned?” Salem asked.

She saw Akelarre swallow and look up. Her eyes, as dark as they were, did nothing to hide how the girl had been crying. Tears, black as pitch, were still running down white cheeks. “I’m back,” Akelarre’s breathy voice said.

“Welcome back,” Salem replied.

Cinder dared to look up at the two of them. Her queen’s entire attention was on the shorter woman before her. It was like looking in a strange mirror. Akelarre’s hair was darker than the abyss between the stars and her face would never be as regal as Salem’s, with eyes that were too big and a mouth that was too wide, but the similarities between the two were disconcerting.

She had spent some time wondering about the girl that shared so much in common with her mistress. She would have hoped that after years spent in the Grimmlands that sort of secret would have been open to her, but Salem was old, ancient even, and it was no surprise that she held a few things in reserve.

Akelarre licked her lips, crossed one arm under her small chest and looked down. “I died.”

Cinder’s breathing hitched but she locked her body in place before anyone could notice.

Salem scanned Akelarre up and down. “Did you now? How did it happen?”

“A girl shot me. She had a purse that turned into a gatling gun. It hurt.”

“And now? How do you feel?” Salem asked. The hint of concern in a voice that had never had the same for Cinder was like an icepick to the kidney.

“I got better,” Akelarre said. “Mister Spider died.”

“Mister... Spider?” Salem asked.

Akelarre nodded. “He was my pet. My friend.”

Salem looked as confused as Cinder felt for a moment. “Was he not just a Grimm that you created?”

Cinder’s attention slid back to Akelarre. That confirmed a few things. No matter how strange the girl seemed, that one ability alone turned her into a threat of the highest order. Anyone who could create Grimm was a threat to humanity as a whole. One who could create Grimm and come back from the dead more so. Urgh, she was going to have to befriend the girl.

“He was special,” Akelarre said. “He’s the one we made together. The first time you brought me here. You remember?” Her voice was flat, even in tempo and cadence. A pale imitation of Salem’s own regal voice but an imitation nonetheless.

“I do,” Salem said. “Is that why you’re making so many more like him?”

“They’re not like him!” Akelarre yelled. Tears welled up in her eyes again and she smashed a fist into the ground with a dull thud. It left an indentation in the soil in the shape of her knuckles. “They’re not the same,” she repeated.

Cinder looked at the Spider Grimm, really looked, with more attention than she usually spared to common Grimm. They were different. The little red marks on their bone plates were each unique and none had quite the same proportions.

Salem took a few steps that brought her closer, the Spider Grimm shifting out of her path with what appeared like deference. She reached towards Akelarre, paused, then touched the girl on the shoulder. “Can I help?”

Akelarre rubbed at her face with a sleeve and stood up.

The two stood before each other for some time and Cinder had to resist her body’s urge to move. “I could use a hug.”

Salem didn’t seem to know what to do for a moment, and Cinder had to congratulate, if only silently, Akelarre’s ability to set the queen of the Grimm on the back foot. Then Salem raised her arms and carefully wrapped them around Akelarre’s shoulders. The girl fell forwards, head burying itself into the crook of Salem’s neck. “There, there?” Salem said.

Cinder had never seen her queen looking awkward before, but she certainly didn’t look as confident as usual as she patted Akelarre on the back with one hand. Then the tension in Salem’s shoulders relaxed and she almost melted into the hug.

Cinder was not jealous, not even when the hug went on for what had to be a full minute before Akelarre pulled back and grinned at Salem. If the grin was watery, then no one chose to mention it. “Thanks,” she said.

“It was no problem,” Salem replied. “I trust that the woman that hurt you is dead?”

“No. But I did steal her hat.” Akelarre gestured to her head where a black beret sat at a bit of an angle. “And I told her off.”

“If that is all the revenge you demand for your murder, you will find yourself collecting many adversaries who won’t be afraid of retaliating against you in time,” Salem warned.

She shouldn’t have had to, it was obvious. Whoever, whatever this Akelarre girl was, she was playing the game at a level below most people. That was both disturbing and an opportunity. She could work with someone so straightforward.

“If she tries again she won’t succeed,” Akelarre said. “And then I’ll have my bugs eat her alive from the inside.”

Or perhaps, Cinder thought, she could take her time and befriend the girl while making sure she was useful to her.

“Next time you head out it will be with an escort,” Salem decided. She stepped back from Akelarre and slid back into her throne.

“I have my Grimmsects.”

Salem shook her head. “They were obviously insufficient. Also, that name is undignified.”

“I think it’s cute,” Akelarre argued back.

Cinder was starting to have a good idea of which box to place Akelarre in. She had seen that kind of bickering before, though fortunately she had never participated in it herself. It was obvious that Salem cared for the girl, and the opposite was also true. It took only a moment to recall the last place she’d seen that kind of attitude; Emerald and Mercury. They spoke to each other with the same sort of irreverence for title or rank, though Salem and Akelarre were not at each other's throats in the same way as her subordinates.

No, what they shared was a mutual respect. They both felt as if they were... equals. Or if not equals then near enough.

“Cinder,” Salem said, her attention shifting to her. “I will approve of your plans to retrieve the maiden’s power. But I want you to work with Akelarre. Knowing her, she will want to wander again and I will not allow her to do so on her own. You will be sufficient to guard her.”

She knew better than to argue. “Yes, ma’am.”

“And Akelarre,” Salem said as she looked the woman up and down. “I will be giving you a task as well, if you wish it.”

“I’d love to help,” Akelarre said, with such an innocently earnest tone it made Cinder sick.

“I suspect that Cinder’s task will be bringing her to Beacon, or at least near Vale. You mentioned some familiarity with the criminal underworld, and Cinder has been working to use Vale’s to her own end. I want you to put pressure on them to... better our own goals.”

Akelarre made a humming sound and tapped her chin. “That sounds like it might be fun.”