********

 

The city was always red, but today it was on fire. Every building, tower, hovel and chapel were ablaze in a crimson heat. Catarina could feel it on her skin, though she stood so far away. Looking down from a hill, she felt completely powerless watching Kor Kura immolate.

It was strange, she was human again. It was strange to feel strange being human. She grabbed her legs, she gripped her arms. All as it once was, all normal.

 

But when she felt her face, her fingers met fur. Drifting upwards two long ears still swiveled on her head.

 

So I am incomplete.

 

And she stood on the hill all alone, watching the city burn.

 

Catarina did not bolt from her slumber. It was a common nightmare she had ever since falling under Merouda’s enchantment. The first time she had it, Catarina had been terrified. Now it was expected and ordinary, just like being in her rabbit's form.

 

Truly it wasn’t all bad, being a rabbit. The food was something left to be desired, but the advantage of having sharp hearing and fast movement was freeing. It had hurt being a rabbit at first. For a time she could feel every bone in her body folded wrong, the suffocation of being trapped inside a strange form unbearable. Now it felt almost comforting, like being held very tightly.

 

What bothered her the most was mortality. Catarina knew rabbits lived very short lives. Was she to expire after two short years? Or would she live on forever as a cursed creature, become mythological as the decades pass? She certainly didn’t want to find out.

 

Saxa Hortus would have been an option. She had asked the giant as soon as they had been on speaking terms to change her back before she took bloody revenge on Merouda. But the giant had gazed at her with those flickering firelight eyes. Saxa Hortus told her only those who speak the curse could remove it.

 

So be it, Catarina thought.

Milla had set aside a special room for her at Marisol’s Inn & Bath. Really it was just a glorified closet, emptied for Catarina and furnished with a soft pet-sized bed, water bowl, and food dish. It was the barest room the first daughter of Papa Orozco had ever lived in, but at this point, Catarina knew it would be ridiculous to demand anything more. It was an indignity she endured, as she endured everything else.

 

She needed to stretch her legs. The nightmare was gone, but she didn’t want to sleep again. Hopping outside of her room, she checked the halls, making sure no drunken patron would stumble in and accidentally step on her.

 

The hall was empty, except for a single soul at the far end. To Catarina’s mild surprise, it was Paz. They were standing in the corner of the hall, face hidden behind an arm. They were crying.

“Are you alright?” Catarina asked.

 

Paz jumped, quickly wiping their face and looking for all the world like they were caught in the middle of an unspeakable crime.

 

“Sorry Lady Orozco..yes I’m- I’m okay. Just feeling homesick.”

 

Catarina’s ears swiveled, and she loped into Paz’s room. She thumped on the floorboards, beckoning Paz to follow.

 

The door closed the soft buzz of life emanating from downstairs. It was just Catarina and Paz, just like it had been at the beginning. Catarina jumped onto Paz’s little bed and let them gain some composure.

 

“Are you nervous about the mission?” She was direct and plain.


“Yeah…I just don’t think I can properly learn the Old Speech..it's all just too fast. And I don’t think I should even be doin any of this at all. As a monk of the quill, I’m not supposed to intervene in any of the events I record.”

 

“But you saved me, twice over.”

 

“Yes but! I shouldn’t have..I really shouldn’t. I thought maybe you were some sign sent from the Seraphim but now I just think- I think this is all a big distraction. Maybe this isn’t the subject for my Opus at all.”

 

Catarina could see Paz was ready to cry again. The stitching that held them together so tightly was slowly becoming undone.

 

This wasn’t good. Out of the team she had put together for her plan, the youth was essential. They were the only ones who could conceivably understand and master this strange, cursed language of old. They were the only ones who even knew anything about it. Catarina needed that beast Saxa Hortus on her side. Without the giant, the odds of fighting the entire palace guard and possible inquisitor interference would be a long shot. A giant on their side? A victory.

“Sit down Paz, here.” Catarina nodded to a spot next to where she sat. Paz obeyed, still sniffling back tears as they did so.

 

“Now, I have no real knowledge of the Monks of the Quill. So far be it from to say what you can and can’t do. So instead, just blame me.”

 

“What?”

 

“Blame me. If any of your teachers back at the monastery tries to chastise you for whatever transgresses you’ve made, just blame me. It was the demon rabbit who tricked you into doing terrible mischief! She threatened me with her criminal army to do wrongful things!”

 

“I- I can’t do that..”

 

“Oh but sure you can. After all, it isn’t really a lie, isn’t it? Because I’m not giving you the option to leave. I am commanding you, right now, as the first daughter of the Orozco family, as the jewel of Kor Kura, to help me defeat my enemy.”

 

Paz wiped away another tear with an ink-stained hand.

 

“I guess I don’t have a choice then..” A small smile crept up on Paz, though the tension didn’t leave their shoulders.

 

“So tomorrow, I’d like you to keep practicing this language. We need you to get Saxa Hortus into the glass palace. That’s an order. From me, the demonic rabbit who has been holding you hostage.”

 

“Understood.”

“Now, will you help your captor go outside? I need to relieve myself.”

 

This actually made Paz laugh a little. They were still troubled, but at least Catarina felt their reluctance shift a little. She could never understand the dedication someone like Paz had, but she found herself admiring the zeal in some ways. Up until being cursed, Catarina never really had an interest or desire to achieve anything in life. Everything had already been planned for her, a goal was something others set and she simply existed towards it. How strange to think, even in this diminished form she felt more alive, chasing revenge.

 

It was certainly better than watching the city burn alive, trapped alone on a hill.

 

 

Chapter Nine

 

 

Though clouds blanketed the skies, Karmen could still feel the heat of the sun raging overhead. It was summer, full-on, and there was no stopping it now. Rain had turned the crude boxing ring into a puddle of red clay and the pugilists could barely keep their footing as they swung at each other. She shoved her way to the ring, hoping to catch a glimpse of Gustav.

 

He wasn’t in the ring yet, but his hands were already wrapped. Gustav was waiting for his turn.

Not much had changed since the last time Karmen had seen him. She remembered him barking orders up and down the kitchen aisle, testing sauces, and cursing at every dish before it made its travel to the palace table. Though he was a tough head chef, she never had personal qualms with him, and he had always treated Josephine and her with a rough respect.

He was the first to get fired. There was no official explanation why other than Merouda wished to keep her kitchens tidier, whatever that meant. Karmen had helped Gustav pack, she and Josephine had seen him to the door. Gustav had warned them about Merouda. He had told them to search for work elsewhere, damn the pay. He had given her a card with his name and his family’s address and told her if she had ever needed muscle in any way all she had to do was ask… though generous pay was greatly preferred.

 

The Desjardins jewelry Faustin had produced was not as generous as Karmen had hoped. Really, it was the fact that they were jewelry that made them a hard sell with hired help. Xun had refused them outright. The last time he took unspecified jewelry as pay he ended up in the middle of an age-long feud between two families and nearly escaped with his life. Money was anonymous, but family heirlooms were not.

 

Gustav wasn’t Karmen’s first choice. He was an ex-chef with ties to an unsavory criminal underbelly even the Blancas would find questionable. But it was worth a try.

 

She knew he was an amateur fighter. During her time in the kitchens, she spent a few days off in cattle row, standing alongside the many pens holding bulls and watching fighters beat the daylights out of each other. Gustav almost always won. It was safe to bet on him.

Hopefully, she could bet on him again.

 

Gustav was a ball of joyful rage as he jumped to his feet. A wall of a man whose short stature was made up for with pure weight and unrelenting with each swing. It was a short match, and Karmen had to push her way through the ecstatic crowd to meet him.

 

“Hey! Karmen!” He tackled her in a spine-breaking hug. Though a few heads shorter, he still managed to lift her off her feet.

 

“Did you bet on me?”

 

“No..”

 

“Too bad. Woulda made a fortune.” He sat her down again. The next round had started, so Gustav barreled his way against the current of bodies to a quieter spot by one of the many bullpens. Cattle Row, with its perpetual smell of manure, cloudy with red dust, and swarming with flies was an unpleasant place to talk business. Not that Karmen had any choice in the matter.

“How’s the..you know.” Gustav nodded to Karmen’s oozing, feathered arm. She had it unwrapped in order to give it a rare breath of air. No one cared about such oddities in Cattle Row.

 

“Still cursed.”

 

“I can see that. I warned you about working at that dump.” He pulled a rag from his pants pocket and dabbed at his balding, sweaty head.

 

“It is what it is.”

 

“Still surprised you don’t have that monster in the sewers change it back for you. Can't they do that sort of thing?”

 

Karmen shushed Gustav, quieting the conversation a little. She scanned the crowd for anyone listening in. Gustav was one of the few people outside of the Blanca family who knew for sure that the giant underground existed. To everyone else she was a scary story to tell children at night, and Karmen hoped to keep it that way.

 

“Saxa can’t. And even if she could, I wouldn’t ask her.” Karmen spoke low. “It's my history. I learn from it.”

 

“Smart lady. You always were, you and your sister.” Gustav cringed a little “Sorry ‘bout bringing her up— I’m”

 

“It’s fine. It's actually why I’m here to see you.” She pulled out a humble purse from her jacket pockets and handed it to him. He casually peaked inside, carefully disguising his surprise and enthusiasm at the precious jewelry inside.

 

“We…I mean Milla and I- We’ve come into a situation. We might actually have a shot at rescuing Josie. We just need some extra hands.”

 

“How many?”

 

“How many do you have?”

 

Gustav bobbed the bag in his hands a little, feeling its weight.

 

“For what you have here…ten?”

 

“Only ten?”

 

“These are family goodies yeah? That’s a risk. I only know around ten people who would take that risk.”

 

Karmen leaned back against the pen. She could feel one of the cows nibble at her shirt sleeve. Ten was better than nothing, Karmen thought. Ten was better than they have now. She extended her hand and took him in a firm shake. She hoped Milla would be satisfied with the deal.

 

It was getting so hot. Walking side by side with Gustav and listening to him prattle on about everything and nothing at all, she tried to keep in the shade and ignore the constant buzzing of flies and step around piles of cow waste. It was at a fork in the path when they stopped. One of the many slaughterhouses had its doors open, and a line of hairy cows was prodded through a winding maze toward iron doors. She could not see inside, but she didn’t need to. There was a sudden commotion from inside, the steady flow of cattle halted for a moment as the doors were tackled open. A single cow, its eyes wild and terrified, escaped the building. Ropes dangled from its neck as it darted for the street. Karmen and Gustav had to jump aside to dodge the beast. It slid in the mud, knocking over carts and rousing terror amongst the other animals in their pens as it disappeared down an alleyway, its future unknown.

 

Karmen envied the creature. If only she could escape the line to the iron door.

 

*******

 

Saxa Hortus perched in the rafters of the warehouse, her eagle form ragged and molting.

 

Below, Paz kneeled before a doll with their eyes closed.

 

The warehouse was empty, as Paz had requested. The Old Speech was too powerful for an audience, and so the others took their sword practice outside. Paz could hear the faint clank of steel on steel outside and the annoyed instruction of Karmen as she tried to keep everyone’s form up to standard. Paz had seen all the new faces pour in, they sat through the debriefing, but they couldn’t focus on anything that was said.

 

All they could think of was being able to say the words Saxa patiently told them, over and over again. At first, it was simply to accustom Paz to the sensation of the ancient language, to give them time to listen without fainting. A day was lost to the process and Paz could feel the Festival of Saint Gusti breathing down their neck.


Only five days away.

 

“Now repeat it.”

 

“Sorry.”

 

Paz took a deep breath. A moment of hesitation that felt like a decade, and then they spoke.


They didn’t hear what they said. The words physically fell out of their mouth, but only a distant rumble and a wave of intense sickness in their stomach indicated that nothing happened at all. They did not faint, not this time. But their hands were on fire.

 

It was just a weak flicker of a flame that burned over the top of their hands, but it was enough to make them yell out in shock and pain. Quickly they pressed their hands into the red clay of the earth. The fire was doused instantly but the pain did not.

 

Paz’s distress was not unheard. The doors of the shed flew open and suddenly they were being helped to their feet, whisked away from the doll and the watchful eye of Saxa Hortus, still perched in the rafters. It was Faustin who guided them outside to a nearby water pump. There was barely a moment of pause between the cool water pouring over their blistering hands and Karmen standing over them, concerned.

 

“Did the speech do this?” Karmen asked.

 

“It was my fault, I didn’t pronounce the words right..”

 

Paz could feel Karmen’s frustration, though Karmen was trying very hard not to let it show. Time was precious, and if Paz couldn’t deliver the whole plot would be undone.

 

“Take them to the apothecary Faustin, then I want them back here.”

 

“But- I’m supposed to be training for the others. How am I supposed to lead them into battle if I don’t even know what I’m doing?”

 

Karmen shot Faustin a withering glance, and any further protestation was ended. Helping Paz to their feet, Faustin wrapped their throbbing hands with handkerchiefs freshly removed from their coat pocket. By the embroidery and paleness of the material Paz could tell they were very expensive. It was an embarrassment to have such noble material dress wounds. But Faustin didn’t fuss over it, instead choosing to fuss over his current position as an unofficial gofer for whoever happened to need anything.

 

“I didn’t take up the mantle of The Green Devil and not be there for training. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a real natural with the blade. A favorite of every single fencing tutor my parents dragged in. But here we are on the cusp of taking down the Second Sight herself and they’re treating me like I’m some glorified distraction.” Faustin groused in coastal speech, the verbiage was familiar and calming to Paz’s frayed nerves.

 

Paz didn’t know the finer details of the current plan they were trapped in. But they did know Faustin was perhaps confused, or at the least purposefully ill-informed about his importance in the group. To be fair, Paz felt vaguely jealous of the lack of pressure on Faustin’s shoulders. He didn’t have to quickly learn an ancient, powerful language in order for this whole plot to work. Just the thought made Paz’s mood darken further. Even the clueless Faustin noticed. He suddenly shifted the conversation away from the present situation to a merry storyteller, recounting humorous details about his previously mentioned fencing tutors. They were fun stories of privilege Paz had never known existed, and though it was impossible to completely remove the dread of the week ahead it did at least take Paz’s mind off of the gnawing pain of their scorched hands.

 

“And Jacamo.. oh he was the worst. He used to make me hop on one foot with my hand behind my back while I fenced. He said it was for balance. I think he was just trying to make me look like a knob-head.”

 

“I’ve always wanted to learn swordplay. There’s an art to it.” Paz commented. Faustin kept an easy stride alongside them, his very posture pouring over with lazy confidence.

 

“Heh, never thought a Monk of the Quill would be interested in it. You’re all academic types.”

 

“Yes but..I liked a little adventure. At least in books.” Paz lowered their voice, conspiratorially. Though Master Dumas was as far away they could still feel his presence glowering over their shoulder.

 

“Really? You ever read the King Krono series?”

 

“Oh absolutely! The latest novella was so good, I read it thrice now!”

 

“Yeah! But what about that ending? I never thought the prince would wind up cursed like that..”

Strange it was, Paz thought, to hold such a conversation with someone so different from them. True, this Faustin Desjardins could speak the same language and Pucci was a familiar place, but Paz never supposed they would even be walking alongside a nobleman, never mind talking about the finer points of forbidden adventure serials. But the conversation made the journey to the apothecary easy, and sharing a conversation in a familiar language made Paz feel close to home amongst the strange, pointed red buildings that stabbed into the overcast sky.

 

It would rain again, Paz was sure. The apothecary was a narrow, leaning building with a crown of messy dove nests on its roof. Red walls streaked with a constant drizzle of droppings, it was the very image of disrepair. A line of injured and unwell individuals wrapped around its front, all in different stages of discomfort. Faustin and Paz stood in line and watched the doves flit from nest to nest, cooing and molting. All they could do was talk while they waited, their shared dialect a blanket of privacy.

 

Faustin was, for lack of a better word, preciously ignorant. While studied in a variety of subjects, he was a scholar of none. His parents it seemed really had tried to mold him into almost every kind of upstanding citizen they could. As they conversed, Paz began to picture him as something of a stunted seedling. Buried to death under the best mulch in the word, suffocated in a darkened greenhouse.

 

It was oddly relatable to Paz. If not in money, in life.

 

When they finally reached the counter of the apothecary, Paz’s burns had gone numb with pain. They did their best not to put up a fuss as the chemist haggled with Faustin for the price of ointment. It was bad enough they were putting Faustin out today as it was. By the time Faustin was unwrapping the soiled handkerchiefs and applying the ointment, Paz felt dizzy from standing for hours in the humid summer day, enduring the injury.

 

“Yuck. Nasty stuff. Stinks too, but it’ll heal you up. Dulls the pain.” Faustin wrinkled his nose at the uncomfortably grayish ointment. His brief time studying medicine was enough to give him moderate ability as a nurse and he attended to the burns with clumsy care.

 

They watched him wrap their hands in fresh bandages newly purchased from the apothecary, while the leaking wound in their heart broke open.

 

Paz burst into tears.

 

Every stress, every fear, every single stone weight of guilt finally crushed them. Tears flowed free, and there wasn’t a thing they could do to stop it.

 

“I..I think I deserve this.”

 

Paz crumbled to the ground, an unseen little student leaning against the red brick walls of some spiked, uncaring building in a city that overwhelmed and oppressed their senses. They pressed their bandaged hands to their face, hoping the mud underneath would well up and eat them whole.

 

“Hey hey, easy!” There was a panic in Faustin’s usually easy-going voice.

 

“I shouldn’t have come here. I can’t- I’m not supposed to.”

 

“Supposed to what?”

 

“Monks of the Quill don’t..we observe. We don’t participate. We’re not supposed to! I was only following Catarina here because I thought- I thought there’d be a good story in it. I just-”

“You..just wanted to write about murdering an evil that plagues this city? Not actually doing it?”

Paz sobbed. It sounded horrible when someone else said it.

 

“Paz no- l didn’t mean it that way- hey look.” Faustin crouched next to Paz, tucking his legs up to his chin. “I stayed at a monastery for a bit. So I know their whole deal yeah? I know about the Seraphim.”

 

“So you know..you know they’re all-powerful, and- and they could undo my soul in an instant.”

 

“Yeeah..I also know they’re blind.”

 

“Exactly! Which is why as a monk I should only observe the doings of the world not-“

 

“Paz. They’re blind. They can’t see shit.”

 

Paz opened their mouth at the language.

 

“Between you and me, I don’t think eternal angelic beings encircling the globe in a blind ring of fire will be upset. I don’t think they can get upset. Or know what the concept of being upset is. Can you imagine that? A big, multi-winged, wheely thing with a bunch of useless blind eyeballs standing around moping?” Humorously, Faustin folded his arms to his sides in a chicken-like pose, suggesting wings.

 

“Ho ho ho, I am an immortal being outside the concept of rational thought and I’m mad some kid is gonna say some naughty words and help put an end to some real nasty lady. Ho ho ho.”

Though tears still swam in their eyes, Paz couldn’t help but smile a little at the ridiculous pose this odd ex-noble pulled. His eyes sparkled at the response and he pushed on, fueled by the attention.

 

“Oh? What’s that? A kid is doing the right thing and helping people? Pah! Down with them! We’ll burn ‘em up to a lil crisp with our halos or whatever..”

 

“We’re supposed to see for them. That’s why we have to stay out of things…we can’t influence events.”

 

“I suppose that’s true. But if you never do anything, how could you write about anything?”

Paz didn’t have an answer for that one. They mopped at their tear-damp cheeks with the edge of their sleeve. A lifetime of dogma butted heads against the handful of weeks on their own.

Because there was a truth to what Faustin said. Paz had done their part in reading previous Opuses back at the monastery. The stories that got the Monk their quill and their name on tapestries. They had all been lengthy academic tomes detailing events of all kinds from all parts of the globe. Magnificently worded prose, poetry, and verse describing wars, famine, the rise and fall of cities, and the lifetimes of kings.

 

And they had all been insufferably boring.

 

Not a single sentence made any kind of positive impact outside of the small world of the monastery. It earned a gold quill, and it earned a monk their title, but that was it. The only other people who read these works were students training to be monks themselves. No outsider was allowed to read these tomes. Only students and the Seraphim were allowed to read and learn of these histories.

 

And the Seraphim were blind.

 

Faustin helped Paz up to their feet and brushed the red dust off their robes. Together they walked back to the warehouse, hurrying along before the storm broke out. Faustin rambled mindlessly about possibly switching up his Green Devil costume. He was displeased with the length of the cape. He tripped up on it one too many times and no amount of drama was enough to justify embarrassing himself more than he already had. It was a frivolous conversation Paz only half understood being that they were a total outsider to the world of vigilantism, but it was a welcome distraction from the internal battle sparked inside their chest.

 

Santa Hortus had left the warehouse by the time Paz returned. Whether it was because she grew bored with waiting or wished to return to her precious egg, Paz didn’t know. They saw the little doll, the would-be subject of practice still lying on the ground. Paz picked it up, and examined its stuffed, disturbing little face.

 

Paz still didn’t know what was expected of them, what their fellow monks would think, or what the Seraphim themselves would approve of.

 

But Paz knew they never gave up on anything, especially on academic pursuits. To learn the Old Speech was something only a few in history have attempted. The likes of Merouda had perverted its nature and used it for evil. Perhaps, Paz thought…perhaps they could use it for good. Surely, no one could find fault in that. Not even the Seraphim, forever burning and sightless.

 

*******

 

“Midnight would be too expected. Painfully cliche. Waiting until 1:00 would be best. Festivities would still be at a fever pitch.”

 

Catarina loped from one side of the table to the other. A roughly drawn map of the layout of the Glass Palace spread under her paws. Karmen sat at the end of the table and plucked thoughtfully at some of the feathers in her arm. Milla had long since gone to bed, as did the rest of the meager crew.

 

But Catarina was wide awake.

 

“The guards worry me. Even with a Giant on our side, there are so many of them and they are spread out.. even a Giant is not impervious to spears and muskets, or am I mistaken?”

“Honest? I don’t even know. Saxa has never been an open book.” Karmen murmured. Another feather plucked from the greying, puckered skin. She examined it thoughtfully.

 

“Well. Let's hope this Faustin will prove to be a proper distraction. How has he been with our hired help?”

“Gustav thinks he’s an idiot. But we all think he’s an idiot.”

 

“Hm. Even a dull weapon could be deadly if used correctly.”

 

Karmen plucked another feather out of her arm.

 

“You know, Catarina. You’re not what I thought you’d be.”

 

“Me being a rabbit is shocking, yes?”

“No, I mean…I actually met you once.” Karmen lowered her voice. “I don’t think you’d remember someone like me.”

 

Catarina’s ears twitched, and for a moment she pulled her mind away from revenge.

 

“How so?”

 

“It was about a year ago. My sister Josephine and I worked in the kitchens for a little while. We were trying to get out of all this Blanca family nonsense. Not that it matters to you but..anyways. One day you and your father actually visited the kitchen. It was for a party or something.”

 

Catarina did remember visiting the kitchens. It was a rare visit she was bound to remember, the kitchens were as novel to her position in life as the washrooms. Her father had been fussy and stressed over the particulars of an event that day, and she had hovered behind him as the single voice of reason. It had been a rare moment without the constant suffocating presence of Merouda.

The kitchen staff had all stood up from their duties to pay respect. There were so many of them. It was to Catarina’s frustration that she didn’t remember Karmen. She too suffered the inborn ignorance of her class, remembering the likes of someone as useless as Faustin yet unable to recall a formidable woman like Karmen simply because she’d been staff.

 

“We shook hands. But you were shaking a lot of hands then.” Karmen looked at the arm that was almost a wing “You shook this hand before-“

 

“Did Merouda do this?” Catarina hopped towards Karmen, her ruby eyes scanning the appendage.

 

“Who else?”

 

“May I ask how?”

 

Karmen shifted a little.

 

“It..it happened really fast. Josephine and I-“ Karmen’s voice grew tight, emotion fighting for control “We were cleaning up the tables one night. Just the two of us. Merouda..she must have found out we were part of the Blanca family..even if we didn’t want to be. She tried to capture us both but she couldn’t take me.” Karmen smiled darkly “Even without a sword I dodged her Caballeros.”

“But she had that damned book with her, didn’t she?”

 

“Yep. Josephine and I were halfway to the door when my arm just- it..felt like someone shoved it through a meat grinder. That’s when they grabbed Josie..I barely managed to escape.”

She plucked another feather from her arm.

 

“We could have worked anywhere else you know. We didn’t have to work at the Glass Palace. But- I wanted to.”

“Why?”

 

“Because… it was the bloody Glass Palace that’s why. As long as I could remember I always heard stories ‘bout how amazing it was and, I thought maybe if we worked there, real, honest work, we could get ahead without the family.”

 

Another oily clump of feathers dripped to the floor.

 

“But one’s hardly rewarded for honest work, yeah?”

 

Catarina scratched at her ear, thoughtful. She felt at an unusual loss for words. Her time in exile had made her painfully aware of what being an Orozco means, and how truly sheltered she was. As little as she thought of the Desjardins lad, she realized they really were the same in many ways.

 

“You know, once the task is done, I could offer you a job-“ Catarina began, but a deep frown from Karmen cut her short.

 

“No. Once I get Josephine back I’m leaving this city. I want no more part of it.”

 

Maybe some time ago Catarina would have been offended by Karmen’s words. But now she could only be envious. She was bound to her title, to take up her place in red city.

Catarina couldn’t run away.

 

Chapter Ten

 

 

Josephine had grown used to the darkness, but not the screams. The unraveling of men and animals grew more frequent. There was a purpose to the dismemberment, when before there was just a curious experimentation.

 

She watched the guards mop away pools of oil off the floor as the pious woman in white poured over her book. She could see the woman mouthing phrases over to herself, practicing unspoken words. Occasionally the woman would take pen to paper, scratching out words. Editing, rephrasing, undoing.

 

Was this Josephine’s fault? These words belonged to the giant Saxa Hortus. This was the beast's language, rewritten and butchered. Josephine had only ever spoken about the Blanca’s family secret once at the palace before. Had she been overheard?


She must have. How else would this woman know a language so ancient? Josephine hurt for Saxa, hoping the creature wasn’t dead.

 

The speech itself had lost its sharpness. To Josephine’s ears, it only sounded like nothing. She no longer felt sick, she no longer passed out. But Josephine still closed her eyes to what those terrible words did to man and beast.

 

Sometimes, a man or beast would get lucky. The words wouldn’t combine them properly, and wouldn’t undo their being completely. A parrot escaped from a mass of tar, a mass that used to be a screaming peasant girl, a serpent, and a toad. It fell out of the sick, flopping on the ground for a bit. Before one of the Camaradas could catch it, the parrot took flight. Frantic, it flew around the circumference of the domed ceiling. Josephine prayed it could escape.

 

It didn’t, but Josephine learned from its demise.

 

The parrot had struggled, it had thrashed as hard as it could while the woman in white spoke those uncanny words. It didn’t let those words settle on its skin, even as its feathers tore away.

 

Just maybe, Josephine thought, when it was her time to lay down on the table amongst the terrified animals, she wouldn’t cry, she wouldn’t beg for mercy, she wouldn’t pray for Saint Gusti to climb out of his holy tomb and save her.

 

She’d fight.

 

*******

 

Of all the many buildings in Kor Kura, none was more known than the clock tower. One of the oldest buildings, for a time it stood as the mechanical marvel of the southern scrape. Many visited its distinct geometry, many wrote of its spikes and spires, of the great face of the clock, depicting the likeness of eight dancing maidens.

 

Karmen found it incredibly ugly. As a little girl she was scared of it, the clock face looked like a cyclops eye, always watching her every move. As an adult, she thought it looked like a giant fishbone left behind by a negligent god. The height had greatly diminished since it was built, the foundation long swallowed by the relentless red mud.

 

But it was still perfect for a distraction. Since the inquisitor expected The Green Devil to do something, they might as well use the clocktower, the most viewed and famous of buildings, to do something too. They only had to time it well.

 

Milla said she’d be at the Glass Palace by sundown. There would be a million things that could prevent Milla from being there, but Karmen had to trust those things were impossible, nightmare realities, and not legitimate. Karmen found it difficult to trust.

 

She trusted Dogsbody though. He may be a wild man, but he knew his way around a lock. Even the famous clock tower was no match for Dogsbody and a thin bar of metal. He crouched to the ground, ear pressed close to the lock, and listened carefully to its machinations as he twisted the pick.

 

She trusted Hugo. Ever since Dogsbody had brought the sad-faced stranger home from his incarceration in the Pit, he had proved himself to be the more stable of the pair. A hopeless drunk for sure, but one who still had an unshakable finesse with the blade. He taught her techniques only a Carmaradas would know, even if it was a slurred and bleary lesson. He stood guard as his beloved Dogsbody picked the lock.

 

She did not trust Faustin. Over the few days she’d been acquainted with him, she was sure he was truly an idiot. And if there was anything worse than an idiot, it was an idiot with money. Looking ever ridiculous in his theatrical devil’s outfit he waited, hidden from in the shadow of a cape. There wasn’t much of a need for subterfuge, as everyone had a masque on, the spirit of the festival had already begun.

 

The tower door swung open and Karmen jumped inside first, her sword unsheathed, her half-wing unwrapped. Her wing was bound and hidden with bandages to hide her identity, she had to adjust her balance without it. But if there was one thing she was confident in, it was this. Up the stairs guards who were nearly asleep hardly had the time to rouse as they were suddenly assailed by Karmen’s blade. She was fast and efficient, tarrying with neither flourish nor flowery technique. The men tumbled down the stairs, one after the other. She knew it would be foolish to land a fatal blow. She didn’t need to. With each one felled Hugo and Dogsbody were on them with ropes and gags, as quick as a farmhand in cattle row with the spring calves.

 

Faustin thankfully stayed out of the way. Pressing up to the sides of the tower, he watched the proceedings owlishly behind his devil’s mask, making it known despite his theoretical knowledge of swordplay he had never actually seen it in practice beyond what meager activities he had his hired mercenaries do.

 

The stairs of the clock tower were steep, an impossibly sheer spiral that seemed to go on forever and ever. By the time the four of them all climbed to the very top of the tower, they were all very winded, Faustin the most of all.

 

“Those guards must be the fittest men in the world to talk up these stairs every day..”

Faustin gasped behind the devil’s mask.

 

“Just wait, we still gotta walk down these damn things after.” Hugo spat on the ground.

 

Faustin, meanwhile, was drawn to a strange, cage-like contraption, big enough for human riders if they stood very close. The thing was set off to the side, away from the pillar of clock gears bobbing up and down with an endless rhythm. At the top of the cage, a hook locked around wires that lead out from the tower walls, through a large archway, and out into the city skyline.

 

“What the hell is that?” Karmen kicked at the sides of the cage, experimentally.

 

“A zippery- I had no idea they installed them already.” Faustin made his way to the contraption, still winded from the climb. “Father was commissioned to design these things. Had no idea when they’d start building them, they were hardly ready for use.”

 

“Hm, The Orozco’s are never much for waiting on invention.” Karmen added glumly “I wonder how many people this thing’s killed so far?”

 

“Hey, when are we hanging this?”

 

Dogsbody was still trying to catch his breath, unfurling a large banner with a crude drawing of Faustin’s demonic mask stretched in a grin. “Beware us Devils” scribbled boldly underneath.

 

“Banner out and fireworks lit at sundown,” Karmen said. “Milla told me they’d be dining at the palace by then, here’s hoping we can time this right.”

 

Karmen was acutely aware of the many, many ways this could go wrong. Her biggest concern was the fireworks, which Faustin swore up and down the dealer promised they were easy to light and safe. From the looks of their half-hazard, ill wrapped and ill-begotten forms she knew the dealer was a liar and Faustin too stupid to notice. She was also aware that once the banner was hung off the face of the clock and the fireworks ignited they would need to get out of the tower as soon as possible. A swarm of city guards wasn’t something any of them would be capable of fighting off.

 

And then there was the business of actually hanging the banner over the clock’s face. A business none of them wanted to do.

 

They had passed the responsibility between them ever since the plan had been hatched. Hugo had outright refused, and though Faustin willingly wanted to do it Karmen insisted that he didn’t. Dogsbody had taken a single dizzying glance up at the tower and all his bravado was drained from his body. He suddenly developed a curious stomach ache and insisted that he was just too weak to climb that day.

 

So it was Karmen who found herself crawling through one of the open columns of the tower and climbing up the face of the clock, cursing everything from the stupid little devil’s mask she wore or the cumbersome bag of fireworks swinging over her shoulder.

Karmen slipped only twice. Each time she saw Josephine’s face. She knew she couldn’t die just yet.

 

When she finally, painfully pulled herself up to the roof of the tower she felt briefly sick, both from the nauseating height and the exertion of the climb. Flopping backward onto the black-tiled roof she waited and watched as the sun took its precious time crawling across the humid sky. Lightening occasionally streaked through thick grey clouds and Karmen wondered if it would rain again that night.

 

She hoped they would have time enough to light the fireworks.

 

*********

 

Paz had only seen a palace from afar, and only once. It was on their journey from their quiet home at the very tip of the peninsula to the vast desert where their time as a monk of the quill would begin. The lands were bare rolling hills of red earth and Paz had missed the ocean terribly. There were no major cities between the peninsula and the monastery. Occasionally a smattering of settlements surrounded by rickety fences spattered the landscape, but nothing of great form.

So the palace Paz saw was all the more absurd. A great, ornately domed design of marble and bronze long turned green stood out against the never-ending red of the sand. It was an abandoned palace, its beautiful ceiling crushed inwards, its insides hollowed out, pillars crushed and overgrown with black thorny vines. A carcass of a memory.

 

They had asked their father what the palace was, but their question was ignored. Later, Master Dumas explained to them the palace once belonged to a very rich and very ancient family who befell plague and misfortune. According to rumor, the palace was haunted, and many a bold student would sneak out to the ruins and try to find the frustrated souls still trapped inside.

 

Paz had seen the abandoned palace up close. They had been dared by one of the older students, and surrounded by expectant peers they knew they couldn’t refuse. They remembered walking up those cracked steps one night, the other kids watched them at a safe distance. Paz had peaked between the decrepit doors, smoothed over by years of sand storms and summer rains. They had envisioned a manager of ghostly horrors just waiting for them inside. What they found was absolutely nothing at all. Its emptiness set their heart to a cold dread, more than any ghost could. Paz had left the palace triumphant to their peers, but they had regretted ever trespassing in the first place.

 

The Orozco’s Glass Palace made Paz feel the exact same way.

 

It was a magnificent, towering building of stained glass and flying buttresses, but it's halls were dark. Not from lack of light, but from some vacuum of warmth.

 

It was populated, but those within were unsmiling. The courtiers seemed strained, nervously flitting about in masques, preparing for a feast without joy or excitement.

The palace was as beautiful as it was empty, as void of soul as that unnamed ruin of marble Paz had encountered years before.

 

“You alright in there?” Paz whispered into a large bag they kept at their shoulder. Two red eyes blinked at Paz from within.

 

“I’m hot,” Catarina whispered back.

 

“Sorry..”

 

Paz didn’t want to go to the Glass Palace at first. But Catarina insisted since she was the only one who knew where Merouda kept the ward. At the time, Catarina didn’t know what the jumbled construction of sticks and rocks even was, but she remembered often passing it by and being disturbed by its presence. After discussing the matter with Saxa Hortus, Catarina instantly remembered and recognized the object for what it was. A vile thing Merouda was using to keep Saxa away.

 

So Catarina had insisted she sneak along with Paz, and since Paz had little control over anything in their life by this point, they had to go along with it. They never felt more out of place than they did at that moment, walking down the long halls surrounded by intricately adorned elites. Though most of their faces were hidden behind masks of gold and silver, Paz could feel their gaze. Paz knew they were terribly out of place, all underdressed and shabby, hands permanently stained with ink. They kept their head down and trailed close behind Milla.

 

They shrunk every time a guard passed by, hoping they wouldn’t spontaneously ask to search Paz’s traveling bag. It was so painfully obvious they were carrying something heavy inside, and though Catarina did her best to stay still Paz could occasionally feel her squirm or kick her rabbit's feet.

 

Paz and Milla were guided into a grand dining hall, halfway decorated for the feast. Scaffolding loomed overhead, servants climbing up and down as they strung banners and tied ribbons to every protruding surface they could. Together they were brought to one of the many ornate tables, plates, and utensils already placed for them.

 

“Hey, don’t worry kid. If Merouda is gonna have trouble with anybody it's gonna be me, not you.” Milla sank into the high-backed chair and fiddled with a fork.

“I rather her not have trouble with anybody tonight,” Paz said. The chair they sat in was comically oversized, their feet just barely touching the ground. “Why did she summon you?”

 

“Eh? Rationally I say she just wants to micromanage the hell out of the feast. Talk my ear off about how to properly stuff the pigeons, blah blah blah.”

 

“But she had the Inquisitor himself call for you..”

 

“She’s dramatic.”

 

“What about your niece? Do you think..maybe she-“

 

“I don’t think about that. I can’t- you gotta understand I can’t let myself think about that right now. Alright?” Milla snapped back, a flash of fear in her eyes. Paz didn’t push the conversation further. Meanwhile, Catarina remained perfectly quiet, safely hidden in the traveler's bag placed under Paz’s chair. No one bothered to ask about it, why would anyone ask someone like Paz anything at all?

 

It was a terribly long wait. Their dinner was served before their host even arrived and they were both assured they should go ahead and eat without her. Paz and Milla ate, did not talk, and watched the servants go about the methodical process of decorating the dining hall.

 

Finally she arrived.

 

Merouda of the Second Sight greeted her guests with a smile and joined them at the table, sitting at the head as the host wanted to do. Merouda’s reputation had far preceded her and Paz had expected a 7ft tall, icy eyed beast of a human with blood on her hands and a gaping hole for a heart. Sitting in her presence now, Paz was surprised to find that Merouda was terribly ordinary.

 

The dinner carried on mostly under the cloud of small talk. Polite back and forth that achieved nothing and made the sound of construction overwhelmingly loud.

 

“I’m so sorry I was late by the way, it's been nothing but chaos preparing for the Feast. I’m actually looking forward to it being over and done with.” Merouda smiled. Though her food had been served she left it untouched, sticking to her drink instead. She wore the typical garb of a St. Gusti nun, all in white with a wide-brimmed wimple that made her look like a lily.

 

“Can’t blame you, it’s been busy back at the shop too.” Milla focused on her dinner. She ate with an aggressive rhythm.

 

“So I hear. The Inquisitor told me a very funny story about the Blanca shop just the other day. He said there was talk of some skirmish with that devil fellow. You know, the one on all those ghastly flyers?”

 

“Yup.”

 

“Nothing else then? Did the villain just disappear into the night?”

“Pretty much. My boys kicked his ass, he fled. End of story.” Milla glanced quickly over at Merouda. Paz could see she was turning over the following words very carefully in her head before she spoke them. “To be honest the guy seemed all bark and no bite. Just a fool in a mask.”

 

“Indeed.” Merouda stared into her glass, watching the bubbles surface. “However, even fools can be a nuisance. You know just a month ago a very expensive shipment of very expensive weaponry for my very expensive guards was somehow just..poof. Gone.”

 

“Yeah, I remember that, heh, heard you were pretty pissed..”

 

“I was. The trouble of it all was I wouldn’t have known who had done such a thing if it wasn’t for the empty carts being vandalized. Scribbled all over with a devil’s face. Grotesque.”

 

Milla nodded, excavating her plate.

 

“What I was really confused about, was how this fellow knew these were my carts. Only a few know that. My guards, my men. And you.”

 

Paz saw a bead of sweat form on Milla’s brow. The woman swiped it away with the back of her hand before it would trickle down.

 

“Didn’t we talk it over? The cargo was ours too, why would we steal from our own stash?”

 

“Just think it’s curious.”

 

“Yeah well-“

 

“In fact, things have been awfully quiet since that little fight happened at your establishment. First, there was this devil everywhere, flitting about, causing trouble. Then he’s seen at your establishment and then nothing! Gone, just like my cargo. Not a sight of him since.”

 

“Lady Merouda… we are not collaborating.” Milla looked up at Merouda and looked her dead in the eyes. “If that’s what you’re getting at. The Blancas are loyal to you.”

 

“Of course you are dear. I’m just being silly, you know me..ever paranoid.” Merouda smiled again. She moved her food around on the plate a little but didn’t eat. Paz could hardly manage to eat either, the anxiety of the conversation gripping their stomach taught. They could feel Catarina shift a little in the bag just behind their heels.

 

Merouda turned her lily head to Paz, still smiling.

 

“I don’t believe I’ve seen you before. New recruit?”

 

“Yes!” Paz answered much too loudly.

 

“May I ask, are you from the Peninsula, dearest?”

 

“Uh..” For a painfully long moment in time, Paz wasn’t sure what to say, they looked helplessly at Milla who seemed just at a loss.

 

“Oh, I know that’s a rude question. I only ask because of your complexion. So lovely.”

 

Paz opened and shut their mouth. They found nodding to be the only feasible option.

 

“Shame your people shave their heads. You would all be so much lovelier with flowing locks. Wish I could grow my own out like that, but Saint Gusti demands modesty as you know.”

 

“Yes..”

 

“You worship the Saint correct? I know the church has a few roots out that way.”

 

The cold stab of fear pierced through Paz. They realized Merouda was staring at their hands, stained with ink- a mark of a Monk of the Quill. Terror settled over Paz as they realized they could be putting the entire plan in jeopardy at that moment. Paz was staring down at the very person who banned the teachings of the Seraphim. If they were found out, Merouda would have even more questions for Milla, and the whole thing could unravel

 

“We picked this one up on the last gear run. Found ‘em on the road like a starving jackrabbit.” Milla grabbed Paz’s shoulder, her hand a warm anchor. “Good kid bit empty headed but that’s most of us Blanca’s anyways.”

 

It was a wonderful rescue, and Merouda was distracted by a servant’s poor choice of ribbon placement. From her chair, she instructed the poor boy while a single fly settled on her extravagantly uneaten dinner.

 

But what a bounty the dinner was! Paz had never eaten anything as extravagant, with full courses and rituals for each dish. Some things Paz didn’t even recognize and wouldn’t ever be able to order again. One dish in particular was an irritable cup of soft custard with caramel. They knew if they were ever to survive this entire ordeal they’d have to scour the books of the library and search every recipe they could find if only to be reunited with it once again.

 

Merouda didn’t eat much. She picked and sorted the food with her fork. Each time a full plate of food was taken away from her and replaced with another. She seemed more engaged in talking to Milla about the feast, what kinds of meats she expected the Blancas to bring, and how they were to be prepared by the kitchen staff. She never brought up the subject of The Green Devil again, but Paz could see she wanted to. Every casual reply, every easy question dripped with suspicion. She almost didn’t seem to notice Paz at all.

 

“I really do think this year’s festival will put all others to shame and ruin.” Merouda scooped her spoon into the perfectly smooth surface of the custard. She did not scoop it into her mouth.

 

“Yeah, should hope so.” Milla nodded. “You been working hard on everything. Looks nice.”

 

“Indeed. Most importantly, I believe I finally have a proper translation. My first miracle should be ready for the feast.”

 

Paz stopped eating. They didn’t look up, they dare not. They gripped their spoon. Milla, ever unflappable, shrugged and continued to dig into her second helping of custard.

 

“That little pet of yours has such an odd way of talking. It was near impossible to translate it to a proper language.”

 

Milla grunted.

 

“How is the creature? I hope it’s not too upset…”

 

“Can’t blame her. She’s very protective of that. Didn’t even teach us how to speak it.” Milla’s eyes darkened.

 

Paz’s grip on their spoon tightly. A quiet, hot feeling spread over their chest, something they rarely felt and when they did it was always unwelcome. They felt angry, and they didn’t know how to disguise it like Milla did.

 

“Such a shame to hoard all that power to yourself, and what was a beast like that doing with it anyways? Sitting around in that dirty nest for hundreds of years? No, no. It's my duty to reform that savage language and use it for great miracles to share with the whole world.

 

The people of Kor Kura deserve this.”

 

The loud clang of Paz’s spoon hitting the mosaic floor rang through the dining hall. Even the servants dangling about the rafters flinched at the noise. Paz had fumbled their spoon. It was an accident, but the clear blue eyes of Merouda saw right through it.

 

“What’s wrong little one? Do miracles upset you?”

 

“N-no..”


Merouda settled her chin over her hands, smiling.

“It would be a shame if they did. There’s some who don’t believe we should have miracles, you know. Heathen monks with their faces glued to books. They rather believe in uncaring angels than the warm heart of St. Gusti.”

 

Whether it was wild panic or the white-hot hold of hangers still on their shoulders, Paz’s gaze actually met Merouda’s.

 

“We deserve miracles. The power to command the heavens, give us our due.”

 

Paz breathed, it was all they could do. In their time in the city of Kor Kura, mixed in a plot of murder and revenge, they had felt very far from the Seraphim. Sometimes they felt cast out entirely. At that moment, they felt very close. Paz could feel the celestial fire behind their head, setting their skin on fire.

 

Milla saved the interaction. She ordered a third helping of the custard and wheedled Merouda for the recipe. How much honey do you actually use for this stuff? Have you tried pairing this with berries? It was enough for Merouda to redirect those clear eyes of hers away from Paz and the topic of angels.

 

Paz felt a little nibble at the heel of their shoe. It was a signal they had been waiting for, and with overwhelming relief, they excused themselves to the washroom. Thankfully, they would not have to return to dining with Merouda of the Second Sight for a while.

 

It was an oddity to experience not only a private washroom but one that was inside and had partitions for privacy. What a wonder to afford such a luxury. While they hid behind one of these partitions they bent towards the travel bag and whispered to Catarina as quietly as possible.

 

“You weren’t kidding about Merouda.”

 

“Terrible, yes?”

 

Terrible wasn’t nearly the right word for it. To be in that Lady’s presence was to feel dissected, your soul splayed out on the doctor’s table. To be quartered and put into little glass jars with labels on the side.

 

“Listen Paz, you need to pretend to be lost. Lose yourself past the dining hall and ‘round the corner thrice. Go through the blue door and you’ll be out in the gardens. This ward should be there.”

 

“Got it..I think.”

 

“But first, indulge me. If you can just exit out of here and go left. I’ll tell you when to stop.”

Paz did as they were instructed. At first, they worried if the guards would be suspicious of someone like them wandering around the halls of the Glass Palace. But Paz realized someone like them were very unnoticeable by important people in general, and found they had the wonderful invisibility of insignificance.

 

Turning another corner, Paz jumped at the sight of what they thought were knights of towering size. Looking again, they saw these grotesque figures were merely empty suits of strange armor, standing in a seemingly endless row. Morbidly, the helmets of the statues were all replaced with taxidermy heads of deer and cattle. Why anyone would think these giant monstrosities made for pleasant decoration was beyond Paz. They felt haunted by their glass eyes as they made their way quietly down the palace hall.

 

Catarina peered out from a button-hole in the bag and gave a quick thump once Paz had walked past a tall door bedecked with dragons biting their own tails. The door was flanked by more of those hideous knights, half human half animal. Though dead as dust, Paz felt like they were watching. So they did not linger in front of the dragon door too long. Catarina only wanted to take a glimpse of it and didn’t protest when Paz feigned being lost and turned around to find the garden.

“That was Merouda’s chambers,” Catarina whispered.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“If she’s written down Saxa Hortus’s language, the books would definitely be in there. She kept her entire life in that room.”

 

“How do you know? Did you sneak in once?”

 

“More than sneak. Merouda was my tutor… for a time.”

 

Paz stopped for a moment, allowing a cluster of chattering courtiers to pass by. No one bothered to acknowledge them.

 

“She taught you?”

 

“Outrageous no? To think my father elected his own mistress to teach his own child. Turn right.”

 

Paz did as they were instructed, coming upon a blue door already opened to the garden. They had to admit, the gardens were as lovely as everyone had said they were. Multi-tiered rows of flowers, shrubs carved into the designs of animals, marbled sculptures of women running from grinning satyrs. In the midst, a great fountain bubbled loudly, a great tiered statue of fish and mermaids twisted together, reaching to the overcast sky. It was sundown, and Kor Kura was at its reddest, illuminated by the ruddy glow of the sinking sun. The palace grounds were raised enough to overlook a great deal of the city, its leaning spires and sinking towers creating a spiny skyline. The great clocktower with just a bit of a lean, its cyclops eye scanning the landscape. Paz wondered if Karmen and the rest were alright over there.

 

“Look Paz, over there by the lilies…that must be the ward.”

 

It was certainly something. Unlike the other magnificently carved sculptures, this was a crude thing of iron rods and twine. A vile scarecrow crucified in the middle of a bed of white lilies, its mangled arms upheld with rope.

 

“That thing just showed up one day. Merouda put it there, muttering at it. I didn’t know what it was for, and she refused to tell me or anyone.”

 

Paz drew closer. As they did, a very funny pain formed at the back of their teeth, and their ears began to ring.

 

“You feel that?” Paz asked

 

“No? Are you alright?”

 

“You don’t feel anything? I feel…”

 

A slow realization hit Paz. Why would Catarina be able to feel anything? She hadn’t been exposed to the Old Speech like Paz had. Paz had even attempted speaking it a few times. They had used it, they had created fire and pain with it. They could feel it now, or a warped perverted mockery of it emanating from that strange creation in the flower bed. This was the thing that was hurting Saxa and kept her away, just like a scarecrow.

 

Paz’s mouth went dry, and they stepped away from the object.

 

“Paz, I know you’re still learning but is it possible- could you break the ward now?”

“But- the plan, you scheduled it..”

 

“Yes but, well… we’re already here. I don’t think it would hurt to try?”

 

Paz looked over their shoulder, wondering if anyone even bothered to notice them. The gardens were occupied by a spattering of servants setting up tents and merry festival poles, none were anywhere near Paz or the flowerbed.

 

They tried to remember the instructions Saxa Hortus had given them. It wasn’t much. Saxa simply asked them to repeat what they said and to not command. Whatever that meant. But then how were you supposed to get something to undo itself without telling it to? How did any of this work?

 

Breathing out, Paz closed their eyes and made to speak. The words were nearly out when the garden was suddenly alive with shouts of terror from the servants.

Paz turned around quickly and saw the clock tower on fire.

 

Did I do that? Paz thought in a moment of panic. But no, that would have been impossible. They hadn’t even said a single word of the Old Speech. Something must have gone wrong.

 

 

Chapter Eleven

 

Dogsbody took full responsibility for the incident. He had gotten too enthusiastic with the placement of the fireworks, and the amount of fireworks in general. Faustin didn’t help much in the proceedings, his contribution of family wealth in the form of jewelry had bought them enough for five St. Gusti Feasts and Dogsbody simply hadn’t thought about the repercussions of setting them all off at once in a very old building with its wooden floors, rafters, pillars, and arches.

 

Karmen felt like she was suddenly in the middle of a campfire. She had attached the banner and had let it fly as soon as the sun touched the horizon line. She had wondered if anyone could actually see the banner, they were so high up. She didn’t need to worry about not being seen now. Explosions of blue and gold spewed from the windows of the tower. Smoke billowed from every crack in the stone wall and fire licked every single surface it could find. Karmen clambered higher up the roof and tried to call for Dogsbody or Hugo to do something.

 

Not that there was much that could be done.

 

A loud thrash of metal alerted her to the zippery cage down below. Doors swung open, belching smoke and fire as the haphazard thing wobbled out of the gate. Dogsbody and Faustin were inside, holding onto the cage for dear life while Hugo operated the crank in the middle.

 

“Hey! Wait! Wait for me!” Karmen shouted. “WAIT UP YOU IDIOTS!”

 

They couldn’t hear her over the whistle and pop of the fireworks. Karmen would have to be quick.

 

Stealing herself, she slid down the spired roof of the clocktower and jumped onto the top of the zippery. Her whole body slammed against the metal roof painfully and the entire line shook under the exertion.

 

“Oi! Karmen! Get in!!” Dogsbody poked his head out of the side of the cage, smiling like a madman.

 

“Just get this thing moving!” Karmen snapped back “No time!”

 

Hugo had already begun turning the crank again, as fast as he could. The zippery scooted along the long line of cording that connected it from the clocktower to another building just across the way. The whole line groaned from the weight of its passengers, the line un-oiled. It made a terrible shrieking noise as the cage traveled, setting teeth on edge.

It would have been an almost pleasant trip in any other context. But not when you were clinging to the roof of the cage with a fiery pillar raging behind you. All the worse still was she could only cling with one hand, her malformed wing flapped uselessly. The bandages she had used to keep it wrapped and closed to her body had untangled, leaving a trail of oily rags behind her. She could see the specks of people stopping and looking at them and the clock tower. Surely their job was done.

 

The zippery halted. Something was stuck, and the cage swung dangerously from side to side. She could hear Faustin wail and Dogsbody’s cursing. Karmen gritted her teeth and scooted a little up ahead to see an empty bird’s nest had crammed into the gears of the zippery, making it impossible to move forward along the line. Taking her pocket knife she jammed it into the gears and dug out the clutter of straw and twigs from within. The zippery lurched forward to life suddenly and violently, sending the unbalanced Karmen over the edge.

 

For a brief moment, Karmen had a vision. It wasn’t a life flashing before her eyes. It was like a dream, a spark of wild fancy as she fell to her death. She saw her malformed wing suddenly grow feathers, beautiful and black as a raven. No longer diseased, oozing oil, quietly painful and ugly. It glistened, and she felt her whole body lift and turn into some great bird, her transformation saving her from splattering to the ground.

But it was just a vision. She still fell.

 

It was Dogsbody who grabbed her by the back of her shirt. She cried out as the city spun in front of her eyes.

 

Dogsbody nearly fell out of the cage himself. He was a small man, Karmen a healthy two heads higher. Half his body was dragged out of the cage, his spindly legs flailed for purchase as he tried to take a better hold of Karmen. Faustin grabbed him before he could fall out after Karmen, and Hugo grabbed hold of Faustin. In a swift haul they plucked Karmen out of the sky and brought her crashing into the confines of the cage. The entire metal line groaned from the stress, and Hugo quickly returned to the crank. He sweated and turned it as fast as he could, moving the cage along the line and onto the safety of a landing ramp on the other side.

 

A line of guards waited for them. They had seen the Clocktower go up in flames and saw the zippery with the very suspiciously devil-masked people inside. Some were dispatched with the fire brigade to save the tower guards, while others were sent up to wait and arrest the villains flailing like birds in the zippery cage.

 

“Shit! Karmen, you gotta stay in here.” Hugo whispered as the zippery finally creaked to stop at the landing. Karmen was still lying on the floor of the cage, obscured by the metal sides. She could make out the tops of the soldiers' heads, but they could not see her. She hoped they couldn’t. Her wing was instantly identifiable, and the whole plot would be ruined.

 

“Well, lad, ready for your first real scrap?” Dogsbody grinned at Faustin, brandishing his dagger. He pulled his own make-shift devil’s mask over his face.

 

“I’ve done this before!” Faustin’s voice warbled petulantly from behind his Green Devil's guise. “I’ve been rabble-rousing for a whole five months now.”

 

“Remember, no killing. We can’t risk that sort of thing.” Karmen hissed. “Dogs, you hear me?”

 

“Aaah..not even a little maim?”

 

“I swear…”

 

“Alright alright. No fun then. Let's go Hugo- time to have no fun.”

 

The three of them jumped out of the cage, swords held high. Rather, two of them jumped out and Faustin tumbled out. Karmen didn’t dare risk jumping out herself with her easily recognizable wing unfolded, dripping oil and shedding what little feathers it had. Besides, after almost falling to her death was more than enough to take away anyone’s verve for adventure.

 

That arm of hers ached, and she wondered if the vision she had while falling was really just a mad hallucination before death. Did her wing have its own life as a beast and she just a dream of a human? Maybe Merouda actually killed the real Karmen all those years ago and she’s now just a ghost, tethered, a half creation.

 

********

 

Catarina was suffocating. Both from the heat of the humid, summer evening and the confines of the travel bag. She felt sick swinging from side to side, unable to peek her head out for oxygen. She knew Paz was running, and there was some great commotion going on but she had hidden away as soon as the screaming and yelling had begun.

 

It had something to do with the clock tower. From the bits and pieces of conversation she overheard with her sharp rabbit ears, the clocktower was all anyone was shouting and hollering about. Hopefully, this was according to her plan for a diversion. Hopefully, it didn’t get too out of hand.

 

Not only was she sweltering from her surroundings, her chest boiled over with unquenchable rage. Merouda…

 

To be in her presence again, powerless, hiding away in a sack as much an animal as she looked. The humiliation bit deep into her, tearing Catarina apart until she was all gristle and flesh. Every single slight, lie, and manipulation Merouda had acted on flashed before her eyes and it was all she could do to keep herself from leaping out of the sack and sinking her teeth into Merouda’s throat.

 

But all she could do was swing uselessly back and forth as Paz ran. Oh Paz, that innocent soul. How Catarina regretted entangling the youth in this scheme. If it wasn’t for their skill with language and the fact an ancient Giant had somehow taken a liking to them, Catarina would have sent them away weeks ago. How ironic it was.

 

The ensuing hours stretched on for what felt like a millennium. Swinging in the sack, Catarina could hear the whole noise of the city pass her by. It was Paz who she first saw, after spending a millennia in the sack. Catarina found herself back at the Marisol Inn & Bath. Milla was leaning at the door, panting and wiping her brow and Paz looked wide-eyed as usual.

 

“The Clocktower?” Catarina asked, shaking her body from the confines of the sack.

 

“It's…on fire,” Milla said.

 

“On. Fire?”

 

“Yep. Guess uh, they got a little carried away.”

 

Catarina’s ruby-red eyes blinked, and she ground her teeth.

 

“You said you wanted a diversion? I mean it might not be exactly what you wanted..”

 

“I wanted a banner, and some visual theatrics.” Catarina’s voice rattled low, trapped within her rabbit’s body “I didn’t want to set a historical landmark on fire!”

 

She hopped in uncontrollable rage, from one end of her humble room to the other, thumping her legs as she went.

 

“What if this puts a stop to the feast entirely! What then?

 

“They’re not gonna cancel the feast. You know as well as I, not even the great flood of ’02 stopped it.”

 

“But-“

 

“We got ourselves a proper boogeyman for Merouda and those palace stooges to get worked up over. They’ll be looking for that idiot everywhere while we’ll be serving pigeon pies. We sneak this kid in, they do some hocus pocus, and bam. Saxa goes in, does her thing, you get your bloody revenge, and I get paid. Just as we planned it. Right? Right?” Millia turned to Paz, looking for reassurance. All she got was an inconclusive nod.

Catarina gnawed her teeth and scratched at the waxed wood of the table.

 

“What more can we possibly do? This plan was lopsided as it is.”

Milla was right. As much as Catarina hated to admit it, the Blanca Family matriarch was right. The entire plan was built on adrenaline and pushed by sheer dumb will. It was her fault the clock tower of Kor Kura was up in flames. Taking responsibility was a part of her burden as an Orozco, so she ceased her clawing and dismissed her small audience.

Whatever happened would happen, she had to wait the night out.

 

It was an impossible wait. She could see the burning clocktower outside her window, a torch on a jagged horizon. An arch of water eventually sprayed over the flames, and the fire brigade finally arrived. Wryly Catarina recalled when her father had doubted that inventor’s blueprints for the clever water pump system. He had almost sent the man away if it wasn’t for her tugging on her father’s sleeves. She may have inadvertently caused the fire, but it was through her influence it was at least being put out efficiently.

 

Where was her father? Usually, he attended meetings, especially when they concerned Saint Gusto’s festival in some way. He should have been at the dinner. The last time she saw him, he had the same pallid complexion mother had. The same distant look in his eyes.

 

She ran to him. She had cried out, her body still in pain from the twisting and folding into the form of an animal. She had stopped Merouda from pouring that little bottle of liquid into his drink. She had caught her, right in time.

 

But it didn’t matter, did it? She’d been cast out now for weeks, as good as dead to everyone in the palace. Who would stop her from poisoning her father now? Has she done it already?

 

Catarina didn’t sleep that night. She hunched in her little pile of blankets on the floor, waiting for daybreak.

 

It was Karmen who approached her first. The girl with the cursed wing, her face sooty from the fire, but otherwise unharmed. Hugo and Dogsbody had taken respite at the Twin Goats just as they always did, and Faustin was nursing some light injury, hidden away back at the warehouse. Karmen had brought Catarina fresh hay and a full report of all that took place.

 

“And what’s it look like out there? What is the mood of the city guards?”

 

“Hard to tell. Kind of hard to rattle those guys, they work in Kor Kura yeah?”

 

“Do you think they suspect The Green Devil?”

 

“Yeah. That’s all anybody was talking about, even at the Twin Goats. We made sure he was good and noticed. Faustin just loves it.”

 

Catarina took up a bit of the hay and chewed, her thoughts fuzzy from lack of sleep.

 

“Hey, since you were at the palace…did you- was Josephine..”

 

“No. She wasn’t there.”

 

Karmen balled up her first, nodding. Without another word she left Catarina for breakfast and thoughts of the upcoming day. It was most likely the final time she could properly address everyone she had dragged into this endeavor of revenge. She would have to make a speech of some kind. It would have to be damn good.

 

She arrived at the warehouse at noon. She was early, as was her habit. Catarina hopped from one side of the empty building to another, watching each pawn in her game trickled in, one or two at a time.

 

First Karmen, accompanied by Gustav, the rough leader of the crew she had hired.

 

Catarina was finding it hard to remember what day it was. Even as the warehouse filled with faces of the familiar and the unfamiliar, the weight that settled on her heart since the day she was found in the desert by the odd little student with the ink-stained hands was crashing down on her. The inborn Orozco confidence was being crushed out of her the fuller the warehouse got. She could still smell the smoke of the clock tower in the air. The smoke she had caused.

 

Each decision she made had a consequence. She was sinking, just like the Kor Kura in her dream.

 

********

 

Paz sank too.

 

They followed along with Catarina’s speech but heard nothing. After they left for their room. They didn’t leave for the rest of the day.

 

Catarina had mentioned them. She had said how important Paz was and how they were going to let Saxa Hortus into the palace grounds. Catarina had spoken so highly of Paz, and how the plan relied on the strength of the giant if they were to have any advantage against the palace guards and the formidable Camaradas.

 

Paz sat listlessly on their modest bed, holding their notebook and trying to write something down. Empty pages screamed up at them, grabbing them by the shoulders and demanding to be made a masterpiece. But every time Paz tried to write about what they had seen, thoughts of giants and echoes of the Old Speech rang in their ears. At the back of their mind, the cold, dead egg of Saxa Hortus spun around, the image of that foul scarecrow in the palace garden…

 

Focus. Paz just needed to focus. Sweaty hands clumsily scrawled a few notes. They never felt more hypocritical as they tried to describe Catarina, Karmen and Milla Blanca in pure academic terms. And it was so overwhelmingly hot in their room, the humidity of summer suffocating. Wiping their hands on their robes they took up the quill and tried to write again. Where had they left off? They read the meager notes of their first encounter with Saxa Hortus.

 

Saxa Hortus… the Giant with an egg long gone cold. The last of the Giants as far as anyone knew. Her language was stolen away. An ancient language, some theorized the first language on the globe. Paz could feel it in their head. They had grown more familiar with it, even with just the briefest of practices…

 

Paz got up from their spot on the edge of the bed. They needed to stretch, they needed to focus-

 

They needed to not panic.

 

It was a brewing thing that started that morning listening to Catarina’s address and now clawed to the surface. An intense unstoppable fear spilled out of Paz. Tears, then uncontrollable breath.

 

Paz knew they had made a mistake.

 

They had followed Catarina into the city in hopes of writing their Opus. They weren’t supposed to get tied into a barely feasible assassination plot. It was that wicked curiosity for the Old Speech that tempted them. Sheer childish arrogance had whisked them from impartiality, the promise of learning something they shouldn’t. How different were they from that woman in white? They were only supposed to be writing, something which Paz had done very little of. Paz was no longer the impartial observer, writing events as they unfolded. Now they were a character in their own story.

 

And Paz didn’t want to be in the story anymore.

 

So they quietly packed up what little belongings they had and left.

 

 

Chapter Twelve

 

“They... left?” 

 

Catarina was quietly settled on a barrel, watching the Blanca crew load carts for the Feast. It was just an evening away. 

 

Milla was ready to burst. Her coarse face burned red in rage, fists balled. She was the last to know. It had been by Catarina’s design. From the time they had spent together, Catarina had gauged Milla was the kind of person who operated best under pressure and with little time on her hands to react. A pressurized bottle of champagne, easy to shake into a frenzy. If Milla had known earlier that Paz had disappeared, Milla would have called the entire plot off. Catarina couldn’t allow it. Not when there was still a chance of success. What little chance there was. 

 

The lack of an ancient and mysteriously powerful giant to take out the bulk of the guards was troubling. Though the Blancas were no longer under suspicion of collaborating with Señor Diablo (as far as Catarina knew), security would nonetheless be tight. Even worse now that this devil figure had seemingly set the beloved clocktower on fire. 

 

The clumsy tapestry of Catarina’s plan had already unraveled. Paz had snagged the thread and pulled. 

 

“Yes, they left. This morning I found their room empty. Travel bag gone. No notebook. They would never leave their notebook.” 

 

Milla reacted with a string of curses Catarina had only ever heard rumors of. 

 

“Now what? We just go in without Saxa? Even with the hired hands we still have a skeleton crew! Against the Glass Palace guards? Against the Camaradas?” 

 

“Hugo was a Camarada.” 

 

“Was. And there’s only one of him!” 

 

“We can adjust. We will choose stealth over strength. Take Merouda out in a quiet alcove, just like King Firenze II of old.” 

 

Milla turned away with a growl, off to kick at stones and spit elaborate curses to the cloudy sky. 

 

Catarina did not curse. She breathed and watched. 

 

Everyone had reacted to the news a little differently. Karmen’s hired help Gustav, the strongman, was cynically joyful in marching off to a possible death. Karmen herself had been as enraged as Milla was now, though her anger was the boiling sort that pierced hot but kept under the surface. She was still helping with the carts and concealing the swords, but there was a drag to her steps and a shortness of patience.

 

Hugo and Dogsbody waffled between alarmed and angry. Dogsbody had threatened to walk twice that day. He also threatened to skin Paz if he ever saw them again. Catarina felt the fire of him, even as he stamped about in his silly fool’s costume for Saint Gusti’s Feast. Hugo drank more, and talked less.
 

It was only Faustin who seemed optimistic. That was no surprise, he was an idiot. What was surprising was his faith in Paz. 

 

“They’re a good kid. They’ll come back.” 

 

“Such confidence in someone you barely know.” Catarina ground her teeth slightly. She remained composed. 

 

“I’m a great judge of character.”

 

Faustin’s right eye was black, swollen over from a scrape escaping the clocktower, and his knuckles were bandaged. Still, he was all excitement and smiles, free to chase his dream of being a known vigilante.
 

Catarina wondered if he would survive. She supposed he wouldn’t. Hardly a shame. He was a perfect waste of power and money. 

 

She’d make good use of her power and money, once she had it back. As soon as Merouda was dead, she’d force her father to relinquish his title to her. If he was still alive. She was of age; it was her right to start running things, anyway. She’d undo the evils Merouda wrought. She would create a Kor Kura worthy of the title Jewel of the Southern Scrape. 

 

Leaping off of the barrel, Catarina bounded from one of her pawns to the other, chattering orders at them. She ignored the dread of the festival and bit back at the betrayal she felt. That odd, little student who found her in the desert may have saved her life, but she could do without them. She didn’t need them.
 

She was Catarina D’Angelique Orozco. So she lost a pawn. She would rearrange the board from a new angle. She didn’t rely on the weak. 

 

********

 

What a wonder for the desert to rain so much, and yet so little life grew. Outside the spiked walls of the city, only the tar-trees and bone-dry bushes took in the warm rain of the summer storms. Inside the walls, it was a destructive nuisance, causing damage and sinking the city lower. Construction was perpetual and never ending. As soon as the summer storms ceased, work would begin over the dry, winter months, only to be all undone once again. 

 

But the storms didn’t stop the excitement of the festival. If anything, the thunderous sky signaled the beginning of the feasts, and the city began to color itself in earnest. Rain-soaked ribbons, floral wreaths, and statues of Saint Gusti were everywhere. Little awnings protected the shrines. Candles flickered around icons of the saint crushing the head of the dragon under his heel. 

 

There was Merouda, too. Her own iconography was almost as prevalent as Saint Gusti now: elegant figures of white ivory with soft hands folded in holy contemplation. Her painted eyes overlooked the never-ending buildings she commissioned, the marching lines of the soldiers who protected the city in her name. The innumerable, starving vagabonds of the city, long-forgotten, clung to her image, hoping she would shelter and feed them. 

 

Her unblinking, painted eyes watched on.

 

They watched Paz too. 

 

It was a slow journey for the student. Walking the muddy streets of Kor Kura in a rainstorm wasn’t easy. The ground tried to swallow them up with each foot step. It was physically exhausting, but mentally it was even worse. 

 

No matter how far they got, they felt a snag of a thread pulling them back to the warehouse, back into the action of the story they were desperately trying to abandon. They didn’t want anything to do with Catarina and her schemes for revenge. Why did they feel that tug of trepidation at their heart? It was the right thing to leave. 

 

Paz rested under the archway of a bridge. Travelers and beggars alike huddled underneath for protection from the storm, waiting for the ground to be less treacherous. Overhead, little alcoves built into the bridge provided pockets for icons and candles. Weak flames illuminated against the storm while the ivory faces of innumerable Meroudas gazed benevolently. 

 

There was a twisting in Paz’s stomach, just looking at those little images. They had been haunted by that face ever since they left the Glass Palace. She’d spoken words as sharp as barbs but coated in genteel honey.

 

They thought of Saxa Hortus, then. The Giant’s words were stolen away, scrawled into a book against her wishes. What a cruel thing to do—and to what purpose was Merouda planning on using such knowledge? She had already used it to hurt. Paz doubted anything good could come from it.