Muffled shouting and the faraway clanking of metal prod me to wakefulness with about as much comfort and grace as all the other times I’d awoken from unconsciousness this week. One of these days I’ll return the favour. I lie there a moment, eyes scrunched to nothing as even the spluttering torchlight of the dungeon is too much for my poor bruised brain.

Wait. Where are the Imperial soldiers? Ah, that explains the dungeon. I squirm around for half a second, straining mightily at the chains around my hands and feet – my body naturally taking a moment to catch up with the roaring pace of my thoughts.

“Wha- fuck, wha-?” someone groans incoherently right behind me, which is entirely too close. Before my brain can posit the benefit of playing dead, I wriggle and squirm with renewed vigour. My inmate – after more spluttered curses – does the same. At some point – as we both fall sideways and jar my bruised shoulder – I discover that we are in fact back-to-back and sharing the same set of manacles.

“Fucking cut that out!” the person behind me apparently having regained the capacity for speech. I would respond in turn, but I’m just now discovering the rag that someone had stuffed in my mouth for whatever reason – probably spite, I spit it out. If I ever get my hands on that bloody swordsma- wait, do I know that voice?

“No you,” I cough with my characteristic poise and wit.

“Lucien? What the hell are you doing here?” Evelyn asks, twisting around in our restraints. “Shouldn’t you be a million miles away by now?”

“Obviously I didn’t get very far,” I grit out. “Why aren’t you cleaning out the privies?” She doesn’t deign to respond, her lank hair flipping against my ear as she turns away from me.

My arms are painfully wrenched back as she lurches forward. I’m forced to scrabble up on my knees to avoid losing my arm as Evelyn drags us back upright. There’s a grunt from behind me as I rock back into her, probably scraping her knee or something, serves her right. Unfortunately, once she’s shuffled her feet mostly beneath her, she keeps going and sends me toppling again as she stoops to her feet.

“What is your problem? Get up!” Evelyn growls down at me as I twist on my knees trying to keep my arms in their sockets. My temple throbs on account of being punched recently and I try kicking my feet backwards, hoping to knock her off her bloody feet. She shouts something unintelligible and pulls harder for my efforts.

“Stop pulling!” I splutter, splitting my pained attention between righting myself and kicking at her legs. My flailing heel hits something solid and it elicits a grunt, followed by a blissful moment as the pulling stops. Then the back of Evelyn’s head hits the back of mine and we’re both sent to the ground.

My brain hurts as I inch another step closer to a concussion. Once I can only feel every second heartbeat throb across my brow, I dare to crack open my eyes. A mistake, as it turns out, but what isn’t lately? I try to ride it out, focussing on the shadows flickering on the walls and resolutely ignoring the intermittent scampering of rats in the dark. Another minute passes as we lie back-to-back on the damp dungeon floor, at which point I twig onto the fact that something was off. Gods, she hasn’t brained herself, has she?

“Hey. Hey Evelyn.” I gingerly tap her leg with my heel and crane my neck back to see over my shoulder. I jostle trying to get a good angle and freeze when she whips around and her eyes meet mine. They’re glistening through her scowl and unfortunately, I don’t think it’s because of the torchlight. She lets out a mostly controlled, shuddering breath. I feel a queasy weight settle in my gut. Wait, don’t say anything. “What’s wrong with you?”

I can see her half ready a response before she just turns back and starts wriggling her legs underneath her again.

“Just make yourself useful and stand the fuck up, will you?” she growls, still with an uncomfortable edge to her voice, yanking my arms back again. I rise jerkily with her, we’re both barely upright before she starts wringing her hands about. “Got to get out of these fucking handcuffs,” She hisses and starts pulling violently. “C’mon you stupid thing,” she spits, grunting with pained exertion as she tries to pull her hands through the iron manacles.

Her motions become increasingly violent. I just kind stand there, keeping still as not to get in her way. I rock with her and listen mutely as she tries to dislocate her thumbs. Her breath hisses through clenched teeth, her breathing growing more frantic as the seconds drag on.

“Erm, Evelyn, stop that.” My voice comes out croakier than I was going for, and she doesn’t stop. “Umm, Evelyn, are you alright?” I hedge. I follow that up by reaching behind me and gingerly resting my fingers on her wrist. They immediately get sweaty, even though they feel cold on her skin. I try not to immediately retract them, which almost makes it worse.

I don’t know if that even helped at all, but she does slowly stop trying to skin her wrists. Her breathing slowly deescalates until it crashes in a deep shuddering inhalation. The ensuing silence is broken as she sniffs loudly. Her hand jerks again in the manacles, I guess to wipe her nose, because she ends up using her shoulder instead. I take the chance to carefully retract my fingers.

“Ow, my wrists,” she says with a bit of a rasp. Peering over my shoulder, our eyes meet. There’s a line of glossy snot smeared across her jaw and her eyes are still glistening uncomfortably. My eyes avoid hers and flit to focus on the snot. Catching myself I force them waveringly back to hers. Yet more silence passes before she draws a breath around the lump in her throat. “Aren’t you a wizard Lucien? Can’t you do something about this?” The manacles clink to join her tired voice.

“They’re made of metal Evelyn. Not like I can burn through them,” I say, grasping at the familiar repartee. Her blank expression shifts closer to a more comfortable look of derision. Oh yeah, the grease spell. “Shut up.” She just sighs and tells me to hurry it up.

Snap, fist then pinkie and thumb. Sweaty fingers make the snap a bit fiddly, but makes finding the casting catalyst effortless. With the usual understated glow, my hand fills with arcane oil, which I slosh onto our manacles - and down the back of our clothes.

“It’s not fucking working,” Evelyn growls as she starts twisting around again. I give it a try as well after accepting the chill slime running down my shirt as yet another aspect of my current reality. The bloody things are tight around my wrists. Forget dislocating a thumb, I’d need to hack off a finger or two as well. Evelyn shouts through a particularly savage pull and kicks at the floor. “Not fucking working Lucien,” she grits out.

Gods above. “I know it’s not fucking working, Evelyn!” I shout, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Well try something else then,” she says, ignoring the question, “or I’m going to try smashing these against the wall.” Not waiting for a response, again, she starts dragging us towards the rough-hewn wall of the jail. Gods, she’s going to break our hands.

“Wait Evelyn,” I crane my neck again to try and catch her eye, but she resolutely avoids looking at me. Why am I even going along with this? We draw close to the wall and I push sharply backwards. I may not have much weight on her, but it’s still enough to send us both to the ground again. I quickly get an elbow into her ribs and start scrabbling as she digs her heel into stomach. Her head slams into mine and my arms are yanked back as we both draw away, cringing in pain.

We both stay quiet afterwards, save for the soft jangle of chains and rustle of cloth. There’s a certain weight to the quiet, and I’m reluctant to break it. My knee stings and I instinctively move my arm, the manacles bites into my wrist and Evelyn lets out an irritated huff.

Damn these manacles, if it were just a chain, I could just soften it up with firebolt. Or smack it against a rock. Or – Hang on. “Spongify,” I whisper.

Of course, nothing happens. Why would it?

“Are you thinking about sponge cake?” Evelyn’s voice floats drily over my shoulder. Her words, though lacking energy, are missing most of that earlier tension. I relax a little against the cold stone floor.

“Yeah. Whatever that means,” I answer after a moment. “Spongify,” nothing again. Sighing, I start spinning my wrist again, thinking spongy thoughts. I’m sure it’s this mindset that leads me to be stupid enough to ask, “So, what was that all about? Spongify.”

There’s a long pause before she answers.

“What? I just don’t want to be stuck with you in a stupid dungeon,” she bites back acerbically. Apparently, I touched a nerve, though it’s not like I want to be chained to an idiot in a cave either. I subvocalize the spell again but it fails to catch – there’s barely a tingle and I switch wrists when my right one starts to get sore. Why isn’t this working? I briefly consider snapping my fingers like with firebolt, but my slimy shirt reminds me that we’re currently covered in flammable grease.

“Are these stones too rough for her majesty?” I snark back distractedly. How are you meant to beat eggs? Surely, I’ve seen the cook do it before. I add a little more flourish. Still nothing. Nothing from behind me either.

“Do you know what I did before that blonde cult guy landed me here?” Evelyn asks quietly, after a short pause.

“Hmm?”

“A fucking cashier. And then mostly because mom didn’t want me hanging around the house all summer.”

“Yeah? So what?” Imagine hanging around home any longer than you had to. “Spongify.”

“It means that I’ve never had to fight anything before!” She shouts, “If I hadn’t flipped out with that kung fu shit I would’ve died Lucien.” She twists around again and wipes her nose against her shoulder again. “And why can’t you bloody cast the bloody spell?”

“Bugger off, I’m trying,” I snap. Spongi-fucking-fy. “Did you get in another fight?” I guess she wouldn’t be in a dungeon without something going down. “You didn’t freak out with the goblins, or back in the cave. What the hell’s the difference now?” And what’s wrong with this stupid spell?

“Well, this time it didn’t work did it? The bloody power or whatever wasn’t good enough. And now we’re going to die or something because Fourey threw us under the bus and called me an assassin!” She finishes breathless, her spine tense like a coiled spring against me.

“He said you were an assassin? How are you not dead?”

Evelyn lets out a strangled croak. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” she yells, kicking the ground as she fights through the quiver in her voice. There’s silence save for the clink of my manacles and the sound of her short breaths.

A smothered sniffle echoes through the cell. The metallic rattling of my manacles joins it. The soft jangling feeling intrusive as it hangs in the air next to that breathing. My hands slowly still and the incantation trickles to nothing. It’s only a few seconds before Evelyn falls quiet, then we’re just lying there in silence. That heavy silence again – only worse somehow. There’s a tightness in my diaphragm, just the slightest resistance as I breath in to utter the next invocation. A rubbery gossamer silence, draped over us. My throat catches as I begin to say something, my words sliding off its surface.

I hunch around a sickly weight in my stomach, not that I should have to. My shirt shrieks with the rustle of fabric. Bloody Evelyn, who does she think she is to deserve to throw a fit like this? I should tell her to just suck it up, who hasn’t almost died?

Memories of home drift languidly through the void. The predictable staple of being alone, disappointment and failure eddy like an oil slick. Why should I be forced to think about this? Indignance is almost enough to push a snarky line from my lungs, but a feeling stops it from spilling over. An image catches. Like dirty river foam snagging on a rock.

A hairy, clawed fist filling my vision. A burning sting on my palms and the burning ash in my lungs. I breath in through the phantom smoke and this time it’s easy.

“Y’know, just before I met Emmet, I was basically going to die.” I start, my voice cracking a bit. “Two big rat things had me in a corner and um,” my hand tingles. “I guess that would’ve been it if not for Emmet’s group. It was the big knight guy who saved me actually. Ironic I guess.” I trail off. After a moment of silence there’s rustling of cloth behind me.

“Is that meant to make me feel better?” Evelyn’s tired voice carries over my shoulder.

“Well, uh, maybe,” I flounder, where was I going with this? “Knowing you, you’d probably find it funny of something.” She gives a low chuckle, could have been a cough. I take it as a good sign and forge ahead, ignoring how hot my face feels against the cold stone floor. “I guess the point is that when Reynard and that lot pulled me out, maybe it would have been nice for someone to ask if I needed a sit down or something.” I try not to cringe at how stupid that sounded. Like the sadist she is, Evelyn makes no move to shut me up. “So, erm, sorry I guess for not noticing that you, er…”

“Needed a sit down?” she asks, a touch of a smirk in her tone.

I sigh, deflating against the cobbles. “Yeah.” I turn around a little, “So, ah, do you need a sit down?” Gods, strike me down.

She turns and rolls her slightly less glistening eyes. “Actually, I’d kind of like the opposite right now.” Oh yeah.

“Spongify.” And the steel sags like runny cheese. Of course it does.

With the barest effort, the bangles fall away like wet noodles. Evelyn immediately staggers to her feet with only a few pained grunts. I follow with approximately the same grace, wondering whether necrotic mana could instil some vestige of life back into my stiff joints.

“Finally, thank God,” Evelyn moans as she attempts – and fails – to touch her toes. “Thanks Lucien.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I say, turning away. “Wipe your face, it’s disgusting.”

She scoffs and wanders over to bars lining the outer wall of the jail cell. “So as nice as it is to be out of the cuffs, I don’t really want to be here when they decide what to do with us.” Her eyes are still a little red around the edges, but she powers through the flaking of croakiness.

“That’s what I was thinking too,” I say, nodding while taking a few long steps away from the cell door.

Evelyn shoots me a confused look as I motion for her to follow. “What? Can’t you just do the sponge spell again?” She asks.

“No, I don’t think I have it in me to go through that again,” I mutter. I snap my fingers and she gets the message, hopping back. Snap, snap, snap, snap. “Firebolt!”

With a flick of my wrist, a melon sized ball of fire impacts the cell door, and detonates in bloom of spectral flames. The light cycles through the visible spectrum before vanishing, leaving a charred, gaping hole in bars of the cell. Not even the black dots in my vision or the slight ringing in my ears detract from what is probably the coolest thing I’ve ever done. I hope I didn’t just peak.

“Ah my eyes,” Evelyn groans.

“Ow, yeah,” I commiserate. Maybe there’s only a little regret at staring at that. We stand blinking and rubbing our eyes before turning to view the damage. A few of the magic flames have scattered around the corridor – staying alight without fuel as they are wont to do. They fill the dim room and hallway with some well-needed light – finally giving us a chance to take in the details of our hovel. It takes me a little longer for the spots to clear and I look up to see Evelyn studying me.

“Do you dye your hair?” She asks, peering closer at my head. “I thought it was just dirt at first, but I can totally see your roots.”

“What? No, I don’t,” I say, pushing her away from me while heat creeps up my neck.

Evelyn scoffs, “yeah, yeah. Don’t tell me, is brown too boring for an evil wizard?” she waves her hands about ridiculously. I turn away and look towards the cell door. What does she know about style anyway? She just giggles as I ignore her. Glad she’s feeling better.

Approaching the cooling rent in cell door, Evelyn tests the metal then carefully climbs through. “Doesn’t looks like anyone’s here. Weird.” She says as she scans the dingey hall she stepped into. “By the way, are your fingers still where they should be?” she asks with a slightly morbid tone.

Wriggling my fingers, I count all five no worse for wear. “Yeah, they’re all here,” I say, following her through the hole and into the corridor. How many snaps was that? Why did I think that was a good idea? Cleanest cast I’ve ever done anyway – don’t know how that happened.

We slowly advance down the cobbled corridor, ears and eyes sharp for the barest sign of a guard. None end up manifesting, even as we reach what must be the main door to the dungeon. A small wooden table stands in the corner of the room where the guards would presumably take a nap, or whatever they do when not pretending to be useful. There’s a bowl of soup left unattended, a little steam still wafting from its surface. So, someone was just here.

“Okay, here’s the plan,” I say, grabbing the soup and handing it to Evelyn. “We go out there and walk out super casual. If anyone asks, we’re bringing that soup to the kitchens.” I step up to the heavy oak door and try in vain to make myself look in the slightest bit presentable.

Evelyn comes up behind me with a dubious look. “I don’t know. They had like, twenty guards on me before this. Someone might recognize me.”

“Twenty guards? Wait, what happened?” I begin to ask. “You know what? It can wait.” I say, reaching for the handle. “At least this way we’ll have a head start before we’re found out. Okay?” She acquiesces so I open the door and peek out into the manor’s nicely furnished corridor.

One of the baron’s guards collapses in front of us, weakly scrabbling at the sword poking out of his stomach, before falling still. A figure in black robes tears the sword out and dashes down the passage. The clash of steel echoes through the corridor, and it suddenly becomes apparent that the soup plan probably isn’t going to pan out.