Seffon finds them there the next morning; Solace and the guard asleep in chairs by the door, Leah standing watch by the kitchen window, and the Baron in a wicker chair with his arms and head resting against the table, next to the body.

Leah’s eyes are bleary and red, and she sways where she stands. It takes her a moment to even recognise Seffon.

“Oh,” she says vaguely. “Hello.”

Seffon walks in softly, looking at the scene on the table. “What by the Gods did you do here?”

Leah sniffles and shrugs, then yawns. “Magic. I went a little…Frankenstein.”

He looks her over with wide eyes. “Did you sleep at all?”

“Geoth took first watch,” Leah says, nodding towards the guard. “I slept a bit.”

Solace jolts awake at the voices, and blinks a few times in the dim sunrise light. “How’s the war?” she asks, rubbing her fists against her eyes and stretching her mouth in an immense yawn. “Goodness. Haven’t done that in a while.”

Seffon lifts the blanket that had been thrown to cover the gore, and looks down at the remnants of the spell, silent, his eyes darting. The dried blood still reveals Leah’s two hastily drawn runes, and a bit of ash is smeared across the wound and the table.

“Where would you have learned this?” he asks, pulling out a glass lens and passing it over the table. “Sewheil couldn’t have taught you this…why would you use Noi?”

“Adrenaline, restart the heart.” Leah sniffs a bit, then rubs her face on her sleeve. “I put bits and pieces together. She was already dead, she wasn’t going to get any deader.” Leah falls silent as the guard and Lord Valerid both begin to stir. Seffon notices a half-second later and puts down the cloth covering the wound, pocketing the glass lens.

The Baron looks up, then sits a little straighter, eyes locked with Seffon. Seffon meets his gaze, face uncomfortable and sympathetic and tired. For a very long moment, neither says anything, and Leah begins to worry that an argument might be about to break out.

“I can go fetch some priests, from the nearest temple,” Seffon says finally.

Lord Valerid nods marginally. “Yes. Thank you.”

Seffon nods and leaves, without another look around the room.

Solace stands awkwardly, her robes crinkled and dirty. “If there are priests coming, I had best…” She gestures out the door awkwardly. “I’ll go…take care of the horse.”

Lord Valerid watches her go, eyes sharp with recognition. Solace leaves a little more quickly. “Thank you,” he says. Solace hesitates just beyond the door, and turns back with a quick nod before closing it.

Still in the kitchen, Leah looks out over the tableau; the guard stands at the door, and the Baron leans back over the table and strokes the Baroness’s hair a few last times. The interior is dim, but growing lighter. She leans over to light a candle, and starts looking for food.

The cupboards are empty of anything that people might have been able to find a use for, but the garden is largely intact, and a few hidden corner cupboards still hold occasional bits; mint, lavender, nettle. She starts brewing a tea.

By the time the water is ready to pour, Seffon returns with a pair of priests in clothing of purplish hues, like a bad bruise or the still-glowing sky late after sunset. They step in and begin preparing the body, and the Baron withdraws to give them room. Leah passes a mug of the tea to him, and he takes it without looking, long fingers wrapping around the green-glazed ceramic, the sigil ring clinking lightly against it.

The priests are efficient in their work; they have the body wrapped in a shroud and loaded onto a wooden stretcher within a minute, and have carried it out to a waiting cart, drawn by two grey horses. All present watch in silence as it is done.

Seffon gives another stiff nod to the Baron, then turns to Leah. “There are longboats taking people to and from the island,” he says gently. “When you’re ready, make your way to the Edeveer manor, near the north end. There are a few things left to do.”

He leaves, and Leah remains, pouring herself a mug of tea. Solace returns a few seconds later, looking around worriedly, noting the missing body.

“Tea?” Leah asks, holding up the pot.

Solace approaches and accepts a cup. “Beeswax is fine,” she says gently. “There are Valerid guards walking around the streets, looking for the Baron. Do we tell them…?”

Lord Valerid reaches over and puts a hand on Solace’s shoulder; Solace tenses for a moment, then turns to look up at him. “I’ll go back to the estate,” he says, heavily. “Much needs to be done now. Including, apparently, a pardon.”

“A pardon?” Leah asks.

Lord Valerid looks to Solace. “I hardly think a charge of a non-initiate reading the secret texts of the temples can be said to apply to a cleric of your standing,” he says, with a slight inclination of his head. “Although I can’t quite understand your secrecy. I thank you once again for your work, last night; you cannot know how – ” he cuts off, voice crumbling, and he hides it behind a sip of the tea.

Solace lays her hand over his and gives a slight bow. “Then if you don’t mind, sir, I would return with you. I have business to attend to within the estate as well.”

“Oh?” the Baron says, then gasps as Solace takes out her candle and lights it with a snap of her fingers. In less than a second, she has taken on the guise of the little Bairish servant girl, holding a lantern that casts an even yellow glow around them.

“To the boats, sir?” she asks in a gentle voice, with a slight Bairish accent; musical and shy and subservient.

Lord Valerid’s face is still a mask of shock and, Leah thinks, a little bit of shame. “Geoth,” he says, and the guard falls into step beside him. The Baron sets the mug down on the table, and trails his fingertips for a second on the place where Lady Valerid’s head had lain. Then they are gone, and Leah is alone in the workshop.

She sits in the kitchen and finishes her tea, listening to the noise of the city waking up after a battle. She rinses out the mug, wipes the sleep from her eyes, yawns one more time, and leaves to see for herself the damage to the city.

Most of the fighting seems to have taken place to the north, around the docks; a faint column of smoke rises over the river, and going down to the fishing docks to look across the water Leah sees that one of the Devadiss ships apparently caught fire and was sunk. Only one of the Cheden ships remains, and the other Devadiss ship is gone as well. In their places are two narrow ships with triangular sails, with green and yellow banners streaming from the tops of the masts.

She walks back up to the main roads, and along the streets near Wellen’s. Most buildings are only a little ashy or boarded-up, and she only finds one other one that looks like it was looted; a glassblower’s workshop, she thinks, trying to remember from the last time she rode through this city before the siege. Little bits of sand and shattered glass coat the floor inside, and the owner is sweeping them up, a bloody bandage over one eye. Leah ducks out before she can be seen snooping.

She doubles back to the workshop, the lightning rods on the fence a clear landmark from every direction. Nearing the door, she notices someone small shuffling about in the garden, looking in through the windows.

“Kid!” she calls out, and the boy jumps, turning to her with a nervous expression.

“The sage asked me to, Miss,” he says, voice piping. He looks about ten, scrawny and full of energy.

“The who?”

“The scholar. It’s his house, Miss.”

Leah rushes over to the boy and kneels down near him; as he sees her and recognises her, his jaw drops. “You know where Wellen is?” she asks him, reaching out a hand and very gently taking his arm.

“Yes Miss!” he says, nodding and causing a flop of hair to fall over his eyes. He reaches a hand up to hold it back. “The sea-rats came for him and he’s been hiding with us at the docks.”

“Take me,” Leah says, standing and taking his hand.

The boy rushes off, tugging her along. He follows side-streets mostly, winding along with every impression of knowing where he’s going even in the dim morning light. Leah gets a little lost but keeps following.

They emerge into a small open space, paved with cracked bricks, barely thirty feet to a side and surrounded by houses and shops. The boy leads her to a cobbler’s shop, through the front area, and up a rickety stair to the living space above. He yells out as he goes, the dock-side dialect that Vivitha had spoken with the fisherman.

A woman pokes her head out of a kitchen and yells back, then goes stiff as she sees Leah approach. Leah had taken off most of her blood-soaked layers, but she still looks quite horrible, she is sure.

“She’s here for Wellen, mum,” the boy says, and a faint thump comes from one of the other rooms.

The door to that room opens, and a familiar face, heavy with lines and topped with coiled salt-and-pepper hair, looks out into the common room. His brown eyes light on Leah, and he gasps.

Leah runs to the room and pulls open the door, then pulls Wellen out, wrapping him in a tight hug, eyes watering. “You’re not dead,” she whispers, face buried in his shoulder. “They all thought you were dead, no-one knew what had happened in the city, I assumed you were dead or caught, or – ”

“Have a little faith in me, Leah,” he says, holding her gently. “I’m not so foolish as to wait around for someone to think of catching me. I left the square seconds after you did, took what I could and hid. I assumed you were…”

Leah sways a bit, still holding him close, before finally letting go and sniffling. “I came damn close, too many times.”

“What happened?”

“Oh, I want to tell you everything!” She smiles as she grabs his hands, looking over his face for signs of hidden injury or pain, trying to reassure herself that he is actually alright. “It’s not all done yet, I’ve got a few things left to do, but then I want to tell you all the details. You’re alive!”

“Yes, I am,” Wellen chuckles and pats her cheek. “And apparently no longer wanted, if the news is true.”

“News?”

“The Duchess has agreed to a peaceful withdrawal from the city, as soon as they’ve decided what to do about the warrior-mage.”

“Eschen? What about him?” Leah asks, suddenly nervous.

“He refused to surrender, so captain Havren and one of the Jun soldiers took him down. He’s in prison, on the main island.”

Leah freezes for a moment, playing over her memories from the fight, and of what Seffon had said. ‘A few things left to do.’ Meaning, a sentence to carry out, presumably. Do I want to be there for that? Can I afford to miss it?

“But there’s time for that later,” Wellen says, reaching back into the room to grab a coat. He goes over to the woman of the house and shakes her hand with a sincere smile, and she returns it.

“Huh?” Leah says, pulling her mind away from its gloom-gathering.

“If the city is no longer under Cheden control, I can go back to my home and get things back in order.”

“Ohhh…” Leah says, wincing a bit. “Um, actually…”

“What?” Wellen pauses. “It’s not destroyed, is it?”

“Well it’s…not very tidy,” Leah says, uncomfortably.

“There was blood all over the place,” the boy says, with wide eyes and a wider grin.

“What?”

“I, um…” Leah scratches her chin. “I’ll help you clean up.”