Ivy couldn't stop thinking about the beggar witch for the rest of her trip to the noble's district. On one hand she wanted to kill the old bag for messing with her head, while on the other she had so many questions for her. She was so wrapped up in trying to decide what to do the next time she met the old witch, that she had waltzed right up to the twelve foot high wall that separated the nobles from the rest of the city.

Including the ordeal with the beggar witch, she had walked or ran for hours, and had hardly noticed the sun go down. The encounter with the beggar had almost rattled her more than seeing the demon for the first time. It upset her perfect little world where everything went according to how she wished it. How dare the old woman control her like that? Actually, this whole day had been a mess, starting with Rose. She should have known better than to think her birthday would go well. For a witch, anniversaries were not something to look forward to.

She fingered the bracelet on her wrist, unsure of what to make of it, as well. It didn't seem to be harming her in any way, but that didn't mean it wasn't doing something. She tried to yank it off, but the thing would not budge. Great.

When she looked back up, she almost walked right into a barrel-chested man in the brown uniform of the guard. She let out a tiny yelp before bouncing back and surveying the man. Larger than the other dozen or so soldiers guarding the gate, he stood like an absolute giant compared to Ivy. His drab, dirty looking uniform caught her eye for a moment, and she wondered why Rose never wore such a thing. Upon his breast he wore a pin not unlike the one Rose had shown her when Ivy had asked her one day about how people knew she was part of the guard.

“My lady?” the guard asked in a voice so deep it shook her insides. Ivy had eventually become used to this address from men, and no longer wheeled her head around searching for a countess or baroness. "Are you unwell?"

She lifted her chin high into the air and blew out her nose. "I'm fine," she said, "why?"

The guard rose his eyebrows.

"it's just, well...you looked a bit lost, my lady. Do you require assistance?"

"With?"

"With whatever it is you need."

She scoffed internally at the treatment, but wouldn't complain about it for now. Her distracted mind had brought her here instead of using the witch world to bypass the checkpoint, so she might as well see if she could bluff her way through. She had gotten better at it over the years after her complete failure in front of the witch hunters. What was the worst that could happen? They'd turn her away? Big deal.

“Ah, yes,” she said raising her voice, “I admit I may have gotten turned around attempting to meet a friend of mine. But I see I’m now back at the gate, and should be getting home before father worries too much.”

That sounded like a noble lady, right? Close enough.

“You have a friend outside the gate, my lady?”

Oops. Apparently nobles didn't talk to the scum out here.

“Ah, yes a maid of mine you see. Her mother took ill. I wanted to see if I could help in any way. Poor thing.”

“You came down personally for one of your maids?”

Ivy got the feeling she was just digging herself deeper.

“She’s very dear to me, sergeant. I don’t expect you to understand the sensibilities of a lady.”

He shook his head.

“Right you are. Then where is your carriage, my lady?”

Could this guy just shut up and let her through? Wasn’t he supposed to serve Ivy? She mentally slapped herself. God. When did she start thinking like a noble, too?

“I didn’t take one,” she said.

“My lady?”

“I enjoy the feel of the fresh air on my cheeks. Is there a problem?”

“Well…no.”

“Then I shall be off.”

Ivy tried to step past him, but his meaty arm nearly the width of her legs blocked her path.

“I apologize, my lady,” he said, “but I did not see you exit earlier today.” His gaze swept over her. “I would have remembered such an event. And—I apologize again—but I don’t recognize you.”

Before Ivy could open her mouth, another voice joined in, “Ya idiot!” A second man rushed over and reached up to smack the side of the sergeant’s head. “Can’t ya tell ya damn fool?”

Ivy turned her attention to the new man, still well over a head taller than herself, but might have well been a child next to the other. His hair held streaks of gray, and fine lines covered the valleys of his pinched expression. On his chest was a similar insignia to the first guardsman, with a few more frills attached to it. Still not as fancy as Rose’s, though.

“Wha?” the younger sergeant said, rubbing his temple.

“Gotta spoon feed ya do I? Take a look at ‘er! The dark hair. Pretty as a flower and not much larger. She’s Lord Aarondell’s youngest ya git!”

Well, then. Several years ago these men wouldn’t have spat in her direction, and if they knew who she actually was, would run her through. But here they were somehow mistaking her for this Aarondell’s daughter. Ivy tried to remember who that was from her information gathering for the Bloody Prince, but failed. There had to be some resemblance there. The younger sergeant squinted at her and then jumped back.

“Oh,” he said, “oh!”

His superior hit him again and then bowed to Ivy.

“Apologies, my lady. You are too patient with this one.” Another smack. “I know now why the lord keeps you hidden away unlike your sisters. Your grace, beauty, and generosity will quickly find you trouble.”

Ivy felt the warmth blossoming in her cheeks. It was not from the flattery or anything like that. She just couldn’t help but be embarrassed for them. She wished for nothing more than to run away like she had from the tavern, but she kept her head high. If she just endured a little bit more, she’d be out of this situation.

“Yes, well,” she said, “it’s nothing.”

“You really are something,” the older man said, “how has that old coot kept you locked away all this time. I can see your mother’s eyes in you.”

God, please let it stop. How was everyone this silly around her? The “lord” had become “old coot” as fast as she could blink. Ivy could probably have him arrested for such an insult. Obviously she had no intention of defending her "father's" honor, but this conversation couldn't get any more irritating.

Since settling in Atrican she had socialized almost exclusively with Rose and the Bloody Flag. Things like this didn’t really happen in the guild house. The members were quick to engage her, offer her drinks, play cards, or assist her with a task should she ask, but not like this. She found herself missing the influence their leader had more every second.

“I really must be going,” she said.

“Ah!” the older man said, shoving the bigger, younger sergeant out of the way, “of course. Follow me.”

She kept on his heels, hoping to avoid any contact with the other men who had all been watching their interaction since the onset. He led her to a tall archway cut into the wall, barred by a two-carriage wide iron gate. From his breeches he pulled out a key and worked a lock set into the center of the gate. After a resounding clank, he pulled one half of the entryway open from the center just enough for a single person to slide by.

“In ya go,” he said, hand still grasped around a bar of iron, “and if ya need help sneakin’ out again, just ask.” He winked.

Wow. Ivy nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

She squeezed through as fast as possible before he could speak any longer. A clang echoed from behind, but she didn’t dare look back. The road beyond was even more well kept than the already affluent north market. Every time a job sent her into the nobles domain, the difference in how they lived would hit her.

The paved road didn’t have a single stone out of place or even a blemish, despite the frequent use of carriages. Every house was more like a compound: gated and surrounded by a sizable, manicured estate grounds. They could fit a thousand harbor workers in the space a single family used up here.

She made her way down the oil-lamp lit boulevard, no one really bothering her. A couple of patrols stared, but didn’t stop, thankfully. The other nobles still out at night were few and likely didn't notice her. None but her and the guards actually walked the streets. Her "peers" were cooped up in their ornate carriages, off to some other mansion.

It turned out to be a pleasant stroll, the air cooling just a bit as the sky darkened. Before she knew it, the worst offender of inequality soared up above her. The place stood five stories tall, its facade carved from pure marble. The yard around it—enclosed not by a simple fence, but yet another ten foot stone wall—could fit half of the market within. Though she could not currently see them, she knew countless fruit trees and sculpted greenery lie within. It had its own stable and riding path as well, not to mention a separate, private barracks for the governor alone. Who lived there…by himself. It was all too much for one person.

Ivy sighed, and called on her power, letting the witch world engulf her before she drew the attention of the palace guards. Her vision blurred, and all around her, color drained away, leaving behind a chaotic mess of lines, angles, and curves that made no sense.

Except, maybe that wasn’t truly the case anymore. She used to think that maybe it would never reveal its mysteries to her, but felt that it was her job to understand this world. She had gone back and forth on what it really was. Did her power send her somewhere else, or just let her interact with the existing world in a new way? Both theories had merit, but she mostly leaned towards an interpretation of the world everyone else lived in. How else could she have accidentally killed that thug during her awakening? However…

She eyed the dizzying sight of the palace wall. Vibrating, tangled forms of men and women traversed the length of it above and below. Or, that was what she thought she saw at first. But in the witch world, “length” was more like an infinitely curving spiral, and “above” was actually more like “below”. None of that mattered a whole lot, except for when it did. Eh, seeing it laid out in front of her, it became hard to think of it as anything other than a completely different world.

Not to mention the presence of the demon. This close to the palace, she was nearer than she ever wanted to be. Its hollow gaze pulled at her from this distance, urging her not to the palace, but to come to meet with it. It yearned for release, whatever that meant. Part of her wanted to obey. The other half of her hated herself for succumbing to the demon. It was more than just a curiosity. Her fear of it had faded over time, and she needed to understand what it wanted with her.

It would be so easy to find out. From here, she was pretty sure she knew where it was hiding. The first time after coming to the palace since it had appeared, she had realized a truth that she did not enjoy knowing.

The demon was in the Arch Bishop's Cathedral. Her first job for the Bloody Prince had been to find it, but she had faked the whole thing. Rose had lied to her, and Ivy had yet to say a word about it. She dared not confront her sister over it, unsure where that would lead. Especially now.

The beggar witch, Rose, or the demon. Who was more likely to provide the answers she sought? Who was the safest? It should be obvious, but Ivy was torn, giving the demon the same treatment it always gave her.

No. Not yet. She hadn't fallen so far. She turned away from the demon's regard and back to the maddening view of the palace. In the years Ivy had spent practicing, comprehension had come slow, and mostly not at all. To her it was more about learning patterns and anti-patterns that she could manipulate to her needs. When that failed, she could rely on the witch world's palpable desire to help her. Once she located where she wanted to be, an unending number of paths opened up to her to reach that destination. All she had to do was choose one.

Would she see Rose tonight? Walking along the half broken pathway up and over the wall, Ivy wondered what it was her sister did all day. The few times she had come to the palace for previous jobs, she hadn’t seen nor looked for the older witch, and it had probably been for the best. She knew now more than ever Rose’s opinion of her late night outings.

A cool wind rustled the hem of her skirt and fluttered her hair as she casually slipped between the unnatural arches of a twisted window frame that would otherwise be impassable in the real world. Some time ago she would never have worn such an impractical, frilly outfit on one of her “missions,” but these days she knew it didn’t matter at all. Her more appropriate set of gear was more like a costume than anything else. With her power, no one could do anything to stop her. She might as well wear whatever she felt like. All she needed was her dagger.

Though speaking of power, the darkness swirling in her heart was a little over half drained, having not rushed in infiltrating the palace. She must have spent longer staring back at the demon than she had realized. It didn't matter. She had plenty of time left. Under the mind-bending influence of the witch world, Ivy sought out her greatest and only comfort: her best friend in this space, and what had led her to begin to understand it all. Off to her right—or what she perceived as her right—sat another member of the illustrious Couch family. Luckily, there also happened to be no movement nearby either. Two probably human figures lay maybe twenty paces distant, but if she had to guess, they were probably sleeping. Good enough.

She let her magic fade away, falling into the cushiony embrace. Immediately, something felt wrong. Could it be? A rival for her love? This new couch…it, it was so soft.

“Mister Couch,” Ivy muttered to herself, “I’m sorry.”

She melted into the fuzzy, blanket topped sofa like a cat testing a good spot for a nap. Only after a few good rolls, did she remember where she was, and what she had come to do. She blinked a few times, forcing herself to sit up and take stock of her surroundings.

She knew very little of the layout of the palace, and recognizing anything in the witch world was close to impossible, so her final destination had been chosen mostly at random. The couch had been her only marker. She figured she’d rest a moment and then search for the governor’s chamber. It couldn’t be hard to find, despite not knowing what the man looked like it. It would have to be…to be…huh.

It would have to look something like exactly where she was now sitting. The bedroom around her was truly massive; larger than Rose’s entire home. With what little moonlight poured in from the several glass pane windows, she could see gilded mirrors atop carved wooden vanities, several large armoires, a round table topped with several kinds of fruit and…several bottles of wine. Struggling to look away from those familiar bottles, she found the massive four poster bed not unlike Rose’s own, and the two figures she had noticed in the witch world.

One, clearly female, was sleeping on her side with the blankets pulled up past her chest, the bare skin of her shoulder reflecting the pale light. Ivy tiptoed over to the woman, and though asleep, Ivy thought she could read a sense of contentment on her face. There were no signs of any struggle or abuse from what she could see, but that didn’t mean much. Ivy had read the reports that Prince Armond had shown her in detail. If this was the governor’s bed—and she was fairly confident she had lucked out finding it—then her knife would need to get the truth out of the bed's second occupant.

She tiptoed around to the other side of the bed where the man was also laying on his side away from the edge of the bed where Ivy was standing, his arms reached out to his companion as though he had been embracing her at one point and she had escaped. The sheets merely caressed his naked torso, the shadows of the dim light highlighting several cuts of muscle in his back. Ivy stared for a moment, then rolled her eyes at herself.

She hadn’t expected the governor to look quite like this. She hadn’t seen much yet, but from the full head of messy dark brown hair and chiseled physique, he was not the old crusty lecher she had created in her mind. The tiniest doubt crept up, that maybe he was not guilty of what she had read. But that was ridiculous. Just because someone was handsome or beautiful didn’t mean they weren’t capable of something terrible. Just look at Ivy. Ha! She almost couldn't keep in her laughter. Everyone who saw her assumed the best for no reason. She wouldn't do the same here.

Lack of resolve expelled from her mind, she pulled her dagger from its sheath. The moon’s silvery glow gleamed off the dark metal blade, but Ivy just stood there, frozen. He deserved it, right? Of course. There was evidence. Tons of it. Kind of. She had to believe the victims' testimonies. Even if they were from families who wanted the governor’s power. Yes. She raised her blade. But…

Normally, when performing a job like this, she didn’t bother to look at her victim’s faces. But in every other instance she was also a lot more confident. She had rushed this job to get away from Rose for a day. Trying to interrogate him under threat had been her plan, but the woman made that difficult. Whatever. She reached out her free hand, keeping her dagger ready, and pulled the man’s shoulder to turn him towards her.

He resisted at first, shrugging her hand off, and then tried to brush aside her hand with one of his own. Ivy lost all sense, and shoved his body down flat. The governor groaned batting away her hands again.

“What is it?” he mumbled out without opening his eyes. “You want more already? I thought we were both tired.”

Ivy stared down at the young man. Young, handsome man. And if she wasn’t mistaken, vaguely familiar. Where had she seen him before? And why was she still hesitating? For some reason the palm around the hilt of her dagger was slicked with sweat, and she noticed her heart racing like it was her first job.

“Madeline?” the governor said, “what—” he opened his eyes and saw Ivy standing over him with a dagger poised to strike. “Whoa!”

The governor scrambled back towards the head board of the bed, kicking blankets away in his haste. His nudity was on full display, but Ivy saw nothing but those eyes. As dark as a raven’s in the faint light, she now knew where she had seen him before. She would never forget the eyes of the boy who had saved her all those years ago.

But she said nothing. She just stood there, her heart hammering out of her chest, her breath coming in rapid intervals. She had no idea what she was supposed to do. What could she do? Obviously she couldn’t kill him. Well, she could. But there was no way in hell would. Right? The kind boy she had met couldn’t have done anything so cruel. But if he had, would she kill him still? Oh, no.

His companion began to stir, and she too awoke from her slumber. The governor took a defensive position over her, putting himself between Ivy and her. Again, these actions matched the person she remembered, and not the one on paper. It had to be a mistake.

Once the woman saw Ivy, she let out a shriek that could crack glass, yet Ivy barely heard it. Her thoughts were racing too quickly and too erratically. Her body’s involuntary response left her frozen and helpless.

“Guards!” The woman screamed. “Assassin! Help!”

Ivy’s dagger fell out of her sweat coated palm and dropped to the floor with a thud. Her eyes never left the governor, searching for…something. She could still do it easily if she wanted to. No one could stop her. She knew that. Guards were irrelevant. But she still couldn’t move. Couldn’t pick up her most prized possession. All she could do was look into the eyes of the boy who had rescued her when he had no reason to do so.

And then the impossible happened. The tenseness of his muscles relaxed, and he began to study her as she had been doing him. The governor even leaned in closer to her, squinting.

“Hey,” he said, “are you—”

Nope. Ivy let her power wrap around her and she practically flew out the nearest path in the witch world. She couldn’t stand the thought of him knowing. Knowing that the girl he had saved had come back to repay him with his death. It was too much. She needed to disappear. To get out of the city. To…wait. This wouldn't be over so easily. The Bloody Prince. He wouldn’t stop. Which meant it fell to her to do the stopping.