Hattie wasn’t being treated with the other wounded from the battle. She was instead given a small room in the new boarding house for all the orphaned children that were being taken care of in Althelda-Aoun.

Timur still holding her up, Frances knocked on the room’s door.

“Hattie, it’s me. Can I come in?”

The door swung open and Hattie stood, panting slightly. “Yes! Frances I…I…” She blinked and her eyes widened as she noticed Edana standing behind Frances and Timur.

“Timur, Mom, can you give me and Hattie a minute?” Frances asked.

Edana and Timur nodded, and Frances stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. Limping gingerly, she managed to sit down on a very simple stool next to Hattie’s bed.

Hattie sat down woodenly on the bed, her fingers laced together. The dragonfire had left a blotchy scar that covered part of her right forehead and extended to her right cheek. Patches of skin on her head were also that same blotchy red and had no hair growing.

“Hattie, how are you feeling?”

“I’m fine.” Hattie touched her face. She was making a valiant effort to smile, but her dropping eyes betrayed her. “This is nothing.”

Frances pursed her lips. “Hattie, I don’t entirely believe you, but I won’t question how you are feeling. I just need to ask you to do one thing for me.”

Hattie’s eyes flicked up but she didn’t reply, and so Frances continued.

“You’re going to attend appointments with Renia. She’s a courtesan and a counsellor. She’ll help you with some of what you are feeling, and what you have felt over the last few days. These appointments are mandatory, but I think they’ll help you with the feelings you have.”

Hattie nodded, and sat. She didn’t say anything for a while, until Frances wondered what the half-troll was waiting for. Slowly, a look of surprise came over the half-human girl’s face.

“Wait, that’s it?”

“Um, yes,” said Frances.

“But what’s my punishment?” Hattie stammered.

“Punishment?”

“I betrayed you, everybody in Athelda-Aoun, put everybody in danger! I wasn’t even brave enough to just let the dragon kill me! You…you’re not even going to stop teaching me aren’t you?”

Frances winced. Hattie was already starting to panic. Her breathing was speeding up, her eyes were widening.

“How is that fair? I mean, I got what I deserved, but that doesn’t fix the people who are dead! That doesn’t change that you’re marked as a dragonslayer because of me and that dragon has seven children who are going to try to kill us all when they grow up!”

Wrapping her hand around Hattie’s wrist, Frances called out, “Hattie, hold your breath and count to ten. Then exhale slowly.”

The half-troll did so, but her eyes were still wide, even as her breath left her.

“Hattie, Helias took advantage of you. You shouldn’t be blamed for that. Yes, it was a mistake, but now you know for the future. As for the dragons, we can work on that problem. They’ll grow up, but I talked to Dwynalina and Anriel, they told me those dragons won’t be as strong as their mother, so we can face them and defeat them with the proper preparation.” Frances managed a smile. “And about the lessons, I’m more than happy to keep you on as my apprentice.”

“Y—You are?”

Frances nodded. “As long as you’re alright with the fact that you’re going to be my first ever apprentice.”

Hattie nodded slowly, and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Yes. Of course. I’m sorry I was…I’m…I’m sorry for being so useless. And for being so angry at you.”

It was strange, Frances thought, to be on the other side. To be the one comforting a lonely, hurting young girl who hated herself because of what others had done to her.

“First of all, you’re not wrong to feel angry at me. I took someone you loved away from you. Secondly, you’re not useless, and you didn’t deserve what happened to you, not in the cities when you were trying to survive, and not what the dragon did to you.”

“You don’t even know what happened, or what I did!”

Frances could guess, but that wasn’t what Hattie needed to hear.

“No I don’t, and I think you’re not comfortable enough to share it with me. But…” Frances swallowed. “Do you trust me, Hattie?”

The half-troll looked up at Frances and nodded.

Frances leaned in. Her mind took her back to years ago, when she was listening to her mother in that little cottage in the woods of Erisdale.

“Horrible things have happened to you, and you might have done something stupid and wrong, but that doesn’t change the fact that you are valuable. You, as a person, are valuable, no matter what happens or what you’ve done.”

Hattie blinked. “But how do you know that?”

Frances pursed her lips. “I don’t, but well…My parents used to call me a waste-of-space. When I came to Durannon, I wasn’t sure that I was worth enough to sleep in a bed. I look back and…and I can’t help but think how wrong they were.”

Hattie’s eyes dropped to the floor. “Well, but you’re amazing. I mean, you defeated the dragon with only a bit of help. There’s no way I could ever be anything but some worthless halfblood!”

Her heart aching, Frances took her apprentice’s hand and squeezed it gently.

“I believe you can.” Frances smiled as Hattie’s mouth dropped open. “Yes. I believe in you, Hattie. And I know that others will come to believe in you as well, and look past your race.”

“But why—”

“You tried to give yourself up to save everybody else. You stayed by my side, letting me lean on you throughout a battle with a dragon! And then I saw you speak to the dragonlets. You stood over me, your father’s killer, and tried to save my life by giving up your own.” Frances had to blink back her own tears now. “How can I not believe in you?”

Hattie wiped back tears. Sucking in a deep breath, she nodded.

“Thank you.”

Reaching out her hand, Frances hesitated. At her student’s nod, she patted the girl’s head.

“Thank you, Hattie. I can’t wait for our next lesson.”

Hattie nodded again, smiling widely, the happiest Frances had ever seen her. She couldn’t help but mirror that grin.

Frances wrung her hands nervously behind her as she sat beside Timur. In most cases, she’d talk to her mother about how she felt.

That was not an option because Edana was walking back and forth across the room, occasionally criss-crossing with her father, Paul.

“Firecracker, Paul dear, do sit down,” said Eleanor. Frances’s grandmother was lounging on a couch, reading a book.

“Mother, Igraine’s giving birth how can I—” Edana frowned. “Hmm, right, you know all about it I suppose.” Frances’ mother arched an eyebrow at Paul. “Why are you so panicked?”

The huge ex-sailor that was Frances’ adoptive grandfather threw his tattooed arms up. “I don’t know! I get worried every time this happens!”

Frances tried to insert some level of calm in her voice. “Dwynalina is with her mom, as well as the best healers who came from the Academy from Magic with us. I think Igraine will be fine.”

Then they heard it, above all the muffled sounds from the room, a baby’s cry. Everybody went quiet, and stood still, until after what seemed like an eternity, the door opened.

Edana rushed in, racing past Dwynalina, followed by Frances and the others.

Igraine lay on the bed, caressing two babies, she gave the stunned Edana a weary smile.

“‘Dana I hate you.”

“Oh. Oh I didn’t expect that,” Edana stammered. “Igraine, you are so amazing.” She leaned in and kissed the exhausted ranger on the lips.

“Well at least you can use both the names we thought of,” said Igraine. She turned to Frances. “Hey, come here Frances. Meet your new brother and sister that your mom has inflicted on me.”

“What are their names?” Frances asked as she stood next to her mom. She couldn’t help but think about how the two infants looked so fragile. Part of her wondered what would be the world they would grow up in.

“Ignatius and Ember. Ignatius after his great grandfather, and Ember because she’s our little Ember of hope,” said Edana.

Eleanor sniffled at that and Frances remembered that her father had died young.

“I think they’re perfect. May I?” Frances asked, extending her hand. Igraine and Edana nodded and with great care, Frances touched the foreheads of her new siblings.

“They’re so cute,” Timur whispered.

Frances agreed and as her hand brushed over their soft, slightly wrinkled skin, she made a promise to herself.

She’d make sure the world her new siblings would live in would be safe and that they would never know the horror of war.

A month later…

The journey had been hard through the mountain passes, but Frances, her new apprentice, and her friends now stood at the secret trapdoor in the Temple of the Otherworlders.

“Do you think it’ll work?” Frances asked Timur.

The prince crackled his knuckles. “I hope so. I mean, if it doesn’t work, then it might put me being King Alan’s descendant in question.”

“We don’t know that. It’s just a theory I had, Timur,” said Elizabeth.

Martin frowned. “Hmm, that would mean that if the door did open, we wouldn’t know if it’s Timur’s bloodline that made it open.”

Ayax sighed. “Let’s get this over with so we can return to Athelda-Aoun.”

Ginger grumbled, brushing snow off her jacket. “Seconded! I bloody well hate the cold.”

Taking a deep breath, Timur gripped the latch to the door and pulled.

Something flashed, putting spots in everybody’s eyes. The trap door swung open as if the hinges were greased with butter. Timur actually fell, caught only by Frances and Martin who grabbed onto his shirt.

“Huh, well that worked, thanks.” The prince picked himself up and peered down into the darkness, along with the rest of the teens. All they could see was a flight of stairs that vanished into nothingness. “I suppose I’ll go first.”

The moment Timur stepped onto the stairs, lanterns on the walls flared to life and suddenly, the darkness was banished. The light revealed that the stairs did actually end at a small stone door.

“Not creepy at all,” Elizabeth muttered.

“Hmm, my ancestors clearly had a sense of humor,” Timur said.

“Or more like a sense of practicality. No point tripping down these stairs,” said Ginger.

Frances was more inclined to agree with Ginger as she followed her boyfriend down. Even for her small feet, the steps were frighteningly narrow.

What struck her most about the hidden passageway was how cold the air was. Her breath came out in little puffs, and she couldn’t help but shiver as they descended towards the door.

This door opened a little less easily, but not due to any rusty hinges. It was just heavy and Elizabeth and Martin had to help Timur push the door inward.

Whatever magic that had lit the torches and locked the trap door also appeared to preserve the documents within an oblong chamber large enough to fit a good twenty people inside of it. For while the floor and the central table, which was carved from the ground, was strewn with scrolls and papers of all sorts and kinds in what appeared to be a mess, what papers were there were actually still paper.

“What a mess,” muttered Ginger.

Timur picked up a scroll, glanced at it and put it back in one of the many sconces that had been dug into the chamber’s walls. “Seems they were in these alcoves once but fell down.”

Frances pursed her lips. “Maybe they fell down because of the Great Earthquake?”

Timur blinked. “Yeah, that would explain it.” He picked up another scroll from the alcove and grimaced. “Well, I have some good news and some not so good news.”

“The bad news first please,” said Martin as he tried to step around the scattered papers.

“I can’t read this. It’s not in Alavari, it’s in some kind of old language. I think it’s Old Gobblegak.” Timur showed a scroll to Frances. “Completely illegible. We’ll need some translators.”

Frances frowned as she stared at the scroll. It looked to be written by Moragon and wrote about their escape from Kairon-Aoun.

“Timur, I can read this. I think the Otherworlder magic allows us to understand this language. Liz?”

Elizabeth nodded. “Yeah, this one’s about…talking to some archon character?”

Timur sighed with relief. “Oh, thank Galena for that, though… there’s nothing on the actual temple?”

“Not in these scrolls, but well, there are a lot of them,” said Frances, her eyes taking in just the multitude of scrolls in the chamber. “This might take a while, but at least we can read it. What’s the good news?”

“The good news is that we actually have documents in such good quality. I don’t believe Alan or his queens were literate,” said Timur.

Frances glanced back at the scroll. “Well, it looks like Alan wrote these. He signed them below.”

“Really? Wait, that changes everything! We always thought Alan was illiterate at first and that Queen Yalisa taught him how to write. If he was the one writing them—” Timur swallowed and took a deep breath. “Sorry, I…I suppose we’ll need a cart or two to transport these?”

Martin did a mental count. “More like a couple of carts. This is going to take a while, I only hope we find something useful.”

“Well, we have all winter to figure out song magic,” said Frances. “Where do we start?”

From next to where Ayax stood, Hattie raised her hand. Frances smiled and nodded. Her student was still a bit shy around her friends, but Frances had gotten the sense her student needed some time away from the other children in Athelda-Aoun and so had brought her along.

“Master Frances…I’m sorry, but this may be a bit of a stupid question.”

“There’s no such thing as a stupid question, Hattie,” said Frances.

“Mm hmm. Ginger asks stupid questions all the time,” said Ayax, grinning slyly.

Ginger made a face. “Eat shit Blackgale!”

“Ladies, language,” Martin muttered, smiling.

“It’s just…I understand we need to learn more about true song magic, and how to cast it. You were talking about how nobody really knows how to cast it. It’s just…” Hattie scratched at the reddened patch of skin on her head. “Back when you were fighting Telkandra, when you were casting lightning for that final spell, I could hear Words of Power and song together. Weren’t you performing true song magic?”

Frances stared at Hattie, as did everybody else in the room.

“I did what?”

King Thorgoth enjoyed planning, but he was of the opinion that map tables were a bit gauche. The king preferred a brainstorming board, with lots of notes and the odd sketch of his foes and allies.

This was how the king ended up stroking his beard, whilst standing in front of a very large board covered with notes and papers, stuck with pins to a corkboard. In one hand, he cradled a cup of water, any alcohol would dull his senses The other hand held a slice of lamb and quail pie. The rest of the pie was on his desk, along with a pitcher of water, pencils and his neatly filed shelf of notebooks.

“Thorgoth, you forgot your bedrobe.”

The half-naked king spun around, his eyes narrowed. He relaxed as he saw a black and silver plumaged harpy walk into the room, holding his silver silk bedrobe.

“Berengaria, what have I told you about coming here,” said Thorgoth, waving his hand over the corkboard and desk. A shimmering violet shield covered the desk and the corkboard. Putting the pie and water down, he reached out to take the robe from the harpy, but she deftly slipped it over his shoulders.

“You left your door unlocked, Thorgoth,” said the harpy queen. Tiptoeing to the edge of her claws, she kissed the troll on the lips. “And I did as you asked. I announced myself.”

Thorgoth frowned. “When did I—” Berengaria arched an eyebrow. “Ah, bed-talk right?”

“Yes. Now what’s bothering you, Mataia?” Berengaria asked.

Thorgoth sighed and caressed a lock of his harpy queen’s hair, which had a grey strand in it. “Helias’s failure and the new friends he made. I’m unsure how to react appropriately to this development. I see potential, but he needs to learn there are consequences to his failure.”

Berengaria pressed her toned body against the king, resting her head against his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around her.

“What do you want to do?”

“I honestly want to throw him against the Firehand when she comes out to campaign,” Thorgoth grumbled, his hands absent-mindedly smoothing the harpy’s feathers. “He has disappointed me again after all the effort I put into saving his life.”

“It may not be entirely his fault. His recent acquisition might prove to be extraordinarily valuable. He also did an excellent job turning Earl Darius’s spies against him. We now know exactly what the Traditionalist faction is planning. It just appears that he seems to have trouble against Frances Stormcaller and her allies.” The queen stilled, her hold on the king tightening. “I am so sorry that my daughter has now joined them. I thought she would see sense.”

“Olgakaren made her choice, as did Timur and Titania. At least with them out of the way, we can make our daughter Terroria our heir.”

Berengaria raised her head, eyes wide. “But what about Terisa and Tula? They’re older than her.”

“My agents have suggested that their mothers will not contest my decision. Gladia and Gunra wish to distance themselves from the civil war. Declaring Terroria as heir will play into our plans as that will take the Whitegrass Mark centaurs and the Pickcarver Goblin Clan out of the war and out from Titania’s list of potential allies.” Thorgoth shrugged. “Besides, Terisa and Tula will still remain crown princess and prince.”

The harpy frowned. “But why would they—” Berengaria grinned. “You also threatened them.”

Thorgoth gave a small, sly smile. “My mother taught me that to offer pie, one must have a sharp knife to cut it. Obviously. Gladia and Gunra know that they and their children are safe should they stay with us. They also know that all I require is their loyalty, or at the very least, their clans neutrality.”

The harpy hummed, and gently pushed the king back towards a long couch in the room, and she didn’t push him with her wings.

“Talk to me more about what you want to do with Helias. Because I do agree with you. He ought to be punished.”

“Hmm? Were you not the one who said that it might not be his fault?” Thorgoth asked, arching an eyebrow. “And, I never did ask this, but why does scheming seem to…get you all so excited?”

“Please, you know you are the only Alavaria in the world who indulges this side of me. Just like I am the only one in Durannon who you can show this side of you to.” Berengaria’s smile softened. “I just wish Ulania was here as well.”

Thorgoth’s smile faded. “I wonder sometimes if she’d be a little disappointed.”

The harpy scowled. “Never. We know the human kings and queens were behind her death. We know Archmage Star assassinated her. This war is to avenge her. She knows that.”

The king blinked and snorted. “Not about the war, Berengaria, about how she’s missing out on us.”

It was Berengaria’s turn to blink “Oh. Oh. Ah. Yes, she would be a bit disappointed. That woman was…just…” The harpy whistled, which elicited a chuckle from the king.

“About Helias. I believe that the news that he will never be my heir will be punishment enough. I think I’ve dangled that in front of him for long enough. In turn, I shall reward him with titles and land. I believe the ones that we confiscated from Lady Sparrowpeak for her betrayal.”

“Oh? And shall we bethrothe her daughter to him? He will welcome that young bird with open arms,” said Berengaria.

“I was thinking of Lady Sparrowpeak herself, but you are right. Her daughter will be easier for him to break. Plus, Lady Sparrowpeak is too influential. I’ll arrange for her to die attempting to escape,” said Thorgoth, sitting down on the couch.

The harpy continued to clamber forward. “Let her just fly far enough to prove her guilty and then have archers pepper her with arrows?”

Thorgoth smirked. “I love the way you think, Berengaria.”

Berengaria stopped. Her smile disappeared into a grimace. “And I hate how you never tell me everything, and always make me work for it! You want to give Helias land so he can shelter his new assets, all seven of them, and any more that arrive, don’t you?”

Thorgoth’s smile vanished, and he lay there, straddled by the harpy, his eyes averted. He continued to lie there, breathing in and out.

Until finally, he looked up.

“I’m…sorry, Berengaria. You know I trust you. I just don’t like sharing.”

The harpy sighed, and pushing aside the king’s robes, she lay down on him, wings on his chest. “Mataia, I know. God I know. I…I just get tired of how you have always treated me. The younger one. The one you have to protect. Why—”

“Why can’t I treat you like Ulania? Because you are not her, Berengaria,” said Thorgoth, gently caressing the harpy’s cheek. “Do not compare yourself to her. I’ve told you that many times.”

Berengaria sighed and nodded. “I’ll try.” The harpy narrowed her eyes. “So long as you try to stop feeling guilty about what happened to Teutobal. He betrayed you, betrayed us, betrayed his own mother. You shared with him a little and he had the gall to reject his mother’s last wish. Despite what they did, he wanted to sully her memory, destroy her last request.”

Thorgoth shut his eyes and took in a deep breath. “To subjugate or kill, every last human in Durannon,” he whispered.

“Exactly,” Berengaria hissed.

The king nodded and opened his black eyes, which seemed oddly bright in the light of the fireplace. He raised his hand and waved it over the desk. The violet shield dissipated.

“No more secrets.” Thorgoth smiled apologetically. “You know most of them anyway.”

Berengaria stared at the corkboard and the notes, her golden eyes wide. A slow smile coming over her features, she turned to her husband. “And I’ve guessed a few. Like your plan for Helias’s allies. I like it, but do you think they will be reliable?”

Thorgoth pursed his lips and nodded. “I know that revenge is a powerful motivator, so we can be assured of their cooperation for a time. As for how useful they are, we shall have to see. We’ll need some time, though.”

“Indeed.” Berengaria pressed her lips to her king’s. “Thank you, Mataia.”

Thorgoth smiled and returned that kiss, just as fiercely, his hands reaching for the ties to Berengaria’s garments. “Thank you, my queen. My mataia.”