With Fourstaile gone to fetch her Wards and Ove missing, Lyrua and her son stepped up to the gate into West Eddy with only Lander and the unconscious Kraesten to accompany them. Lyrua looked over her shoulder, concerned that Ove had not found them already. If she did not turn up before Fourstaile returned she would have to ask the Spellwards to search for her. Soon she would not have them to rely on.

The stone wall was unimpressive after the grand walls of Manataklos, but it was still twice the height of the militia who guarded it. The Eddying Woods grew right up to the wall, so that it rested in the forest’s shade.

A uniformed woman regarded them expressionlessly. Her baggy green surcoat, emblazoned with the Weeping Stag, was tied with cord at the waist over a chain shirt. She kept her hand on her hilt as she approached them.

“I am a Signature Recorder,” she stated in a dry tone that matched her expression. “You will tell me your names in order to pass, and as you do, they will be added to our records if they have not been already.” Her head turned smoothly to face Lander. “State your name and alloy, Child of Iron.”

Lyrua had not thought there would be a Signature Recorder here. Her carriages had never been stopped at the gate.

“Lander Nickellegering.” He said plainly, readjusting Kraesten under his arm.

Lyrua wished she could ask him why he did not use his alias. It may be too easy for them to detect the lie… if that was something Signature Recorders could do. She could not remember their exact abilities. Perhaps they should have decided on better names for everyone.

The Signature Recorder nodded at Lander’s response. “Welcome back to West Eddy, Lander Nickellegering.” She looked down at Kraesten. “State that human’s name, and what is wrong with him.”

“He told us his name is Kraesten,” Lander replied, “and that he had already been here to leave a silver sword with the smith for repair. He hit his head.”

“State his family name or title,” the Signature Recorder demanded, unmoving, “and the name of the smith with whom he left his blade.”

“I don’t have that information. Now that I think about it, I do know something else about him though. He said he is not human, he is silken.” Lander shrugged, nearly letting the spellbreaker slip.

“Then he will be jailed until he is able to complete the survey.” She raised her arm, and two men ran up to retrieve Kraesten. They pulled his nasal helm off, revealing the thin pointed ears of a silken, and locked a silver manacle around his leg before carrying him away.

Lyrua immediately felt better to be rid of that burden, but it only lasted until the Signature Recorder’s analytical stare turned to her.

“State your name, human,” she said in the same emotionless tone.

“Sermeledy Forrow,” Lyrua lied. She felt sweaty under the Signature Recorder’s agonisingly stoney stare.

“We do not accept aliases. State your true name, human.”

“Why do you speak the way I would expect a stone to?” Lyrua asked. “Are you deliberately trying to make me uncomfortable?”

“Yes. State your true name, human, If you fail to provide an acceptable response a third time, you will be barred entry for forty-eight hours.”

“Lyrua Kirkegaard.” Saying her own name made her feel powerful again. She swelled with confidence.

The Signature Recorder’s breath halted and her eyes widened. Silently, she dragged her feet in a backward shuffle until she hit the wall.

Lyrua followed her, and spoke close to the woman’s ear. “Unless anyone asks,” Lyrua continued, meeting the woman’s newly reluctant stare. “Then, my name is Sermeledy Forrow, and his name is Aellig Forrow.”

She did not wait for a response. She led Athen through the gate confidently, finally reaching the coastal town of West Eddy. It was difficult for her to believe it had been over two days since she called Lander and Ove to tea at midnight to discuss leaving Manataklos. Since she had to escape Manataklos. She was in West Eddy for real. Not as the High Queen, but as a mother. Just a mother.

There were no grand plazas and statues beyond the gate, just a road wide enough for two wagons to pass. A small thatched roof inn crouched near the town entrance, probably only big enough for a few rooms. A conspiracy of fat ravenfolk chicks huddled on the inn’s fence, miniature orbs of pure darkness. Lyrua stopped to admire them, and they puffed out their downy feathers, doubling in size.

Lander roared with laughter. “They look just like Ove!” Startled by his noise, they all shuffled closer together, and opened their tiny black beaks to beep aggressively at him. Lander held his chest, stifling his laughter with great effort. “You haven’t seen a new ravenfolk come through here have you?”

“Caw!” the chicks replied.

He faced Lyrua with a disappointed shake of his head. “It’s no use,” he said, “these babies can’t speak. Come on, I know someone better to ask anyway.” He adjusted his violin on his shoulder, holding the strap that Ove gave him tightly. He chuckled again as he walked away.

The streets were lined with houses built of maple and oakwood that had yards for work all the way around. Every home produced something to share with the town, so the yards were full of vegetable gardens, tanning racks or even chicken coops.

There were proper farms on the east and west ends, but without Nythyemere taking taxes, it was easy for them to take care of each other and see that no one was hungry or cold. Towns in Nythyemere could be beset by bandits or dragons, so their taxes paid for their defence. There was no such need in West Eddy. Threats did not come to West Eddy from Manataklos to the north, and Kraken’s Boundary… Well, few would dare stir the ire of folk who would fight the Kraken.

Athen danced around, yanking her arm as he tried to take in every sight. He cooed at the stone wells where children drew water, trying to drag her to it so he could look inside.

“It is just a well,” she said, “full of water.”

He watched a weathervane twisting gently in the breeze, creaking for oil. “Creaaak!” he laughed. He held his arms out broadly with his fists pointed towards the ground. “Imagine if Lander was turned by the wind!”

Lyrua took his hand and pulled him along, but everything he saw distracted him. He awed at wooden window shutters opened by a man in an apron trying to catch the morning light for his kitchen, with brick chimneys above lightly puffing with smoke.

“They have wooden curtains,” Athen said.

“Shutters,” Lander corrected.

“Wooden shutters.” Athen was even more impressed.

The dirt road ended, turning to cobblestone, and the usual homes or shops gave way to walled yards.

“We need to stop here,” Lander said, jerking his head at a long stone building with a cobblestone wall around it. The area was full of folk in baggy green surcoats. Most of the militia she could see were in the yard beyond the building swinging swords at wooden targets, but some were leaving in small groups.

“A barracks?” she asked.

“Yes,” Lander grunted. “Ove would be with us if she was alright. It’s possible she is in jail like Kraesten. Otherwise she will be in the woods and maybe Fourstaile will find her.”

“Why would Ove be in jail? She is not a criminal.” Athen bit his lip angrily.

“She is very stubborn. Perhaps too stubborn for that Signature Recorder,” Lyrua said.

“She is not stubborn with me,” Athen said. He put his fists on his hips, and wore a serious pout that could have challenged any other.

“No, you are stubborn with her because she spoils you.” She took his hand. She did not like when he mimicked her with that stance, as if throwing her own stubbornness in her face.

Lander blew steam out of his joints, letting the whistling catch her attention. As soon as she looked at him he turned to the barracks. “If she were conscious she wouldn’t need to stop at the gate.”

A guard stopped them from entering with his spear. “Guards only,” he said.

“I need to know if anyone has been brought in here recently. From the Woods.” Lander tapped his foot loudly against the stone walkway.

“Then make an inquiry at Town Hall. It may take up to two days for records to be updated.”

Lander ignored the guard’s response. “It would have been before that passed-out silken was brought in.”

“Be on your way, traveller, or you will be the one in a cell.” The guard shifted his spear so it pointed at Lander’s chest.

Lander grabbed the shaft of the spear in his hand and pressed his chest against the tip until the wood splintered and snapped off. “Tell Guard Captain Stalherre that Lander is here. I’ll wait.” The guard dropped his shattered spear and tripped over it rushing into the barracks. He returned a minute later to usher them in.

The inside halls were narrow and confining compared to all the wide spaces of Manataklos. More so with Lander’s broad arms swinging like pendulums. Lyrua’s shoulder brushed the stone walls every time someone passed them, and she sneered at the dust the wall left on her blouse, despite the mud already covering her.

The guard led them through two halls to an office with a polished oak desk right in the centre. An Iron man sat with his feet on the desk, and arms crossed on his chest. “Lander!” His voice was a deep tremble, and he did not sound happy. Lyrua recognized the man, but she had only seen him from afar.

Lander shut the door behind them, so only the four of them were in the room. “Good to see you, father.” He said shyly. It was the oddest thing Lyrua had ever seen from him. Athen gasped.

Lander’s father shook the whole room setting his feet on the ground and stood up. “Take that shit off, I want to hold my boy, not his armour.”

Hanging his head, Lander opened his armour and plodded reluctantly out. His father grabbed him in a fierce embrace, rubbing their foreheads together before letting him go. The older Iron looked much like Lander, but he had a few spots of rust on him. He dropped himself back into his steel seat. The heavy chair looked like it was made of the same metal as his body.

“You haven’t visited in months! Not since the Queen’s last visit in spring.” His gaze briefly fell over Lyrua. “It won’t rust you to visit more often… Have we met?” He tapped his metal knuckles against the smooth plate of his head, as if to knock the memory loose.

“Lyrua Kirkegaard.”

“Really. My apologies, your Highness.” He bowed as low as he could without bothering to stand. "Didn't think to see you so… modest.”

Filthy was likely the word he was thinking of. And a bit damp, since all her clothes had been soaked. “I am on unofficial business. If anyone asks, only Sermeledy Forrow was here. You will get news of it from Manataklos eventually, but likely not for some time.”

“Secrecy eh? No surprise I suppose, coming from Citadel folk. No offence.” He shrugged, and the metal of his shoulders grated. “Now, I’m sure you didn’t drag Lander all the way here just to see me. Although… you could.”

Lyrua began to doubt how much that secrecy was needed here. If she was still in danger, then so was West Eddy. “I changed my mind,” she said. She had no way of knowing if anyone was still pursuing her, especially with it being so quiet the last two days. “But be careful who you tell, and certainly do not tell anyone I was here.” She cleared her throat, and hoped she could trust Stalherre as much as she could Lander. “There was an assassination attempt. A large amount of the King’s Army, a few hundred stalkers, two shrills, and a dracolisk. I only tell you this because I do not know if anyone still pursues me, and knowing may help you protect West Eddy.”

Stalherre leaned forward, his rusted waist creaking with age. “Pardon my manners, your Highness, but how are you alive? Even one of those threats would remove West Eddy from the face of Ankermune. Am I to understand Manataklos has fallen?”

“Manataklos is just fine,” she said proudly, “but for a bit of glass in the Daughter’s Plaza. That is what my Spellknight Wardens are trained for. Tragically, we lost two. They gave their lives battling the dracolisk. With shrills in the Crooked Kingdom to the north and dracolisks in the Glass Desert at Tolik’s back door, it is honestly a miracle tragedy has not struck sooner. I always believed the original Spellknights should never have been disbanded.”

“Only two?” he said. “Gods above.” He planted his feet on his desk, his seat groaning as he pushed his weight against it. Then he remembered who the soggy woman he was speaking to was and quickly put his feet back down. “If that kind of evil is after you, I’d love to have some of them around, independence be damned.”

“In that case, I have a brilliant idea.” A smile crossed her face. “I have an entire team of my Spellwards on their way here under Captain Spilde. We were separated when Skoverdant got a little… agitated, so they fell behind. I cannot very well take them with me, their place is here defending Nythyemere. I will have Spilde remain with his team in West Eddy until you can be sure the danger has passed. Better yet they are not in uniform, so Mayor Osvaldus does not even need to know. You can do your job without the argument and the paperwork if you want. Ove, leave some gold to pay for their…” As she trailed off, she turned to look, but she knew Ove was not there. She was so accustomed to Ove always being with her, hidden nearby, that it was easy to forget she was missing. But it was different this time; she could not feel Ove’s watchful eyes on her.

“Are you missing someone?” Stalherre asked.

Lander nodded sullenly. “It’s actually why we’re here. I thought Ove might have gotten herself slapped in chains after we were separated.”

“Well I’ll happily accept your Spellwards, sets my dimming crystal right knowing they’ll be around. Let’s go check the cells.” He stood up, and motioned for them to step out. She was shocked and glad to see Lander leave his armour behind.

Stalherre led them to the jail in a building across the yard. It was built with the same narrow stone halls as the barracks had been. There was a tall open window in the wall looking over a desk cluttered with parchment and paper where a man in the puffy green uniform of the militia worked on something.

Stalherre addressed the guard. “Was anyone brought in this morning?”

The guard let out a raspy chuckle, pulling a parchment board from somewhere beneath the desk. “Aye. There is an odd, unverified ravenfolk woman who was found near the gate around shift change with her limbs all snapped like twigs.”

“What?” Lyrua’s jaw shook. Athen began to tear up, looking up to Lyrua for assurance.

“Yes,” he said, “listen to this, when we looked an hour later, she was all right.” He shook his head. “The folks that turn up sometimes… The other is an unverified silken man who also came in knocked out of his senses. A morning as odd as any ever has been, with—”

“Enough!” Athen bounced, slapping his hands on the sill. “The ravenfolk is her!” He pulled Lyrua, begging her to take him to Ove, his tears falling across her arm.

The guard tried to hand a parchment to Stalherre but he waved it away. Stalherre took the keys, and they followed him around the corner and through a heavy barred-iron door that groaned as though it were not going to open.

Ove sat slumped against the wall in the first cell, with a silver collar shackling her churlishly to the floor. She looked defeated, just as Lyrua and Lander had found her the first time she made the trip to West Eddy, when the Puppeteers who controlled the town beat her with boots and tools. She still held the image of Mayor Osvaldus standing over her in her mind.

“Get her out of there before I tear the gate off.” Lander’s rage heated his body until the air rippled around him. It was a mirror of her own. His fingers shook as they curled towards the bars.

Stalherre pushed the key into the gate. The scraping of iron on stone as it swung open drew twitches out of Ove’s enervated arms. He clicked the manacle open and let it fall to the floor. Lander lifted Ove, limp as a doll without stuffing, and carried her out of the cell swathed in warm mist. Her black eyes were open, but she was silverstale from her body trying to recover mana that was sapped by the collar.

Lyrua recited a prayer to Dyveke, the Mother of Fauna as they passed the desk again; she could not help herself. Her jaw trembled with anguish and fury. “Who brought her in here, shackled in silver?” she demanded. She clenched her fists so tightly she thought her palms would bleed.

The guard looked at her warily. “Samuel and um, Joseph, I think. You’ll probably want to head to Town Hall and get her registered with the Signature Recorder there before anything else happens.”

“All of our cuffs and shackles are silver, I’m afraid. Safer that way,” Stalherre said.

“Samuel and Joseph will take her place,” Lyrua commanded, her voice stuttering like a dying flame. But her eyes were firm, and she locked eyes with Stalherre. “Crowd them in the same cell together. All the better if they are casters, so they may suffer as she has.”

“And if they are not?” He lowered his head disparately.

“Then shackle them to the ceiling by their throats.” She spun around to leave, dragging Athen behind her.

She expected those guards would be released in short time. It was not as though she could identify them herself if she saw them free. Stalherre would not torture his men on the whim of a Queen with no authority in his city. If he obeyed her, it was only for fear of her Spellwards. Fear that she was as petty as her mother. She was not.

Cruel thoughts came to mind whenever she looked at Ove. She tried to tell herself they were only doing as they were supposed to, for the safety of West Eddy. It did not cool her temper. She was angry, so she wanted them punished anyway. It was the austere privilege and fury of the Satelite Crown, to turn out the insides of anyone perceived as an enemy. She was not her mother.

When they were back outside, and there were no other ears around, Stalherre turned to Lyrua. “With all due respect, your Highness, I’m not sure I should punish two of my men for, well… I am sure if they knew what they had done, they would accept the punishment gratefully over some of the alternatives, but for your protection, I cannot even tell them why.”

“I am glad we understand each other,” Lyrua said, waving her arm dismissively. The thought of admitting that what she had commanded was wrong twisted her heart as much as the vile command itself. Somewhere within her, she hoped he would not follow her order, but that hope was a man overboard, drowned by her seething rage.

She stopped before the barracks, and stared at the wall that encompassed the compound. It was as strong and rigid as the wall around her heart that she was only just beginning to see. The walls that kept her isolated from the things that her mother impressed upon her as a child, that now ran loose through her thoughts. Why did she love her mother, yet not want to be like her?

Athen put his arms around her, and she realised her eyes were wet. She was making him worry. His love filled her with warmth, and the walls around her heart that she thought were rigid as stone melted away like spring snow. She was more than the scraps of a child that her mother had left behind; a shallow reflection of a Queen intended to mirror her mother’s light.

“Do not punish your guards,” she said without facing Stalherre.

She quietly held Athen and followed them back through the barracks so Lander could retrieve his armour. Before he could step into it his father grabbed him and squeezed him until Lyrua thought he would break.

Next she had to find Osvaldus to make him help her charter a ship. She took deep breaths, trying not to let her hatred for the man lather her anger until she frothed with acrimony the rest of the day.

Lander brought them through the busy eastern roads, lined with thatched roofed homes decorated with autumn branches. There were more shops and long yards with livestock as they neared the centre of town, and Lander eventually stopped at his favourite inn.

The elaborate sign that hung above the door was solid steel, and that gave her an idea of what to expect from the innkeeper. The sign was embossed to depict a dome with a person sleeping inside.

“What is that?” Lyrua asked Lander, as the refreshing ocean breeze soothed her.

“The Sleepy Kiln.”