Eliza was in no mood for chances. She’d considered having Liv wait at her burnt-out cottage with a carriage full of their valuables and as many sovereigns as the bank would let her withdraw. But after worrying that that might garner even more attention, she settled on arriving at the palace gate alone, in the cheapest taxi she could hire: a one-axle hansom, pulled by a mule.

And she did so with the bloodshot eyes of someone who had not slept a wink the night before.

The gate guards stared at the cabman like he was both crazy and lost, and were politely pointing him back the way he came when Eliza held a purple envelope out the window.

She’d never seen guards open a gate so fast. One tripped over himself waving her through.

The summons said, come promptly at one o’clock on the day after Allsongs. She’d gotten the day right, but it was now three-thirty.

With more than a quiver of anxiety, she called up to the cabman, “Do not hurry. I’m in no rush,” trying to convince herself of that as much as him.

When the taxi stopped at the front entrance of the palace, the valet ignored them for a solid five minutes until a guard ran up and whispered in his ear.

Shaken, the valet was in the process of ordering two footmen to greet her when Eliza opened the door and helped herself down, wearing her oldest, most soot-stained housecoat.

She raked her fingers through the gray streak in her long dark hair and, forcing herself to walk at a relaxed pace, headed for the door, ignoring the footmen.

The valet took a deep bow. “We are honored by your presence, my Lady.”

Eliza snorted. “Call me Ms. Scaggs.”

“Yes… Ms. Scaggs,” said the valet, sounding like a schoolboy.

“Good, now the door.” She pointed, and he opened it.

“This way?” he asked as much as told her.

Eliza followed politely; she’d been rude enough to the staff already. It wasn’t their fault that their master was a murderous psychopath. Still, most of them must know, and it’s only the ones who didn’t object who would still have a job.

The halls were eerily quiet, and what faces appeared along the way looked exhausted, as if everyone had been up for days.

The throne room sat wide open, still and silent with the king sitting on the stairs in front of the throne, the crown on his lap, and Rina sitting beside him, her chin resting on her knees.

They paid no attention to the valet until he called out, “Announcing… Ms. Scaggs,” saying her name like he was in trouble.

As they looked up, Rina breathed a sigh of relief. She patted the king on the back and followed the valet out.

“I didn’t think you were coming.” The king left the crown on the stairs as he climbed onto the throne.

“And I didn’t want you to think I was too eager,” said Eliza.

“I take it you’re not.”

She arched a brow. “Let’s just say, I’ll be happy if I can get out of here without burning the place down. You’re not planning on kidnapping or threatening me—again—are you… Your Majesty?”

He exhaled, deflating. “No. I was planning on making pleasant chit-chat, showering you with immodest praise, and offering you a position.”

“What position?”

“Any damned position you want, so long as it’s between me and the Church. You were there when the cardinal laid his cards on the table. It was to be your execution if I remember.”

“And I remember you not particularly caring,” she said, anger getting the better of her.

“It’s my job to care about all my subjects, not just two.”

“So, how does blowing up the cathedral help ‘all your subjects’?”

The king paused a moment. “Which would you rather live in, a world full of magic, or one full of witch burnings?”

She took a step back. He had a point.

“The Church has a finger in everything. They tell everyone what to do, how to think. Even the most ridiculous things: No fish on Wednesdays… Telling priests your ‘impure’ thoughts in a wooden box… Sometimes I wonder if they do it merely to test their control, or to make people used to it. And anything they can’t control, they fear. Magic. They will never accept anything with so many… possibilities.”

He stood up and walked down the steps, picking up the crown. “They will wipe it off the face of the Earth if someone doesn’t stop them. And the only means I have—had of preventing this was more fear. They feared the wizards. They feared Ulbrecht.”

“They fear the army, don’t they?”

“The army sits in their damned pews, brainwashed for two hours every Sunday. Half the wizards lie dead, killed by their hands. Or by Ulbrecht. And all I’ve got left to frighten anyone with is a damned chair.”

He threw the crown at the throne and, rattling to the floor, a piece came loose. Eliza waited for it to stop before speaking, “I’m not giving you any more stones.”

“That’s not what I’m asking for. They fear you, don’t they? You can turn anyone to ash with a wave of your hand, can you not?”

“Not Ulbrecht.”

“He’s gone. Everyone else fears you. I fear you.”

Eliza dropped her arms. “I don’t want to be that, a boogeyman.”

“Damn it! you already are.”

“No, not to everyone.” She thought of Liv, and Rina, and Stephan, and even Thelemule.

“So, what are the rest of us to do… if we don’t want to live in a dark age?”

“You could always try giving more power to the people. Once they have a taste for it, they might not give it up so freely, even to the Church.”

The king scowled. “Optimistic to a fault. You can’t give power; you can only take it. If I left a vacuum the cardinal would fill it. And what of your wizards? What becomes of them under Church rule?”

“If they’re smart, they’ll leave. I plan to.”

“Some of us don’t have that luxury.”

“Then why don’t you try a solution that doesn’t involve fire or killing… Answer me, there is one thing I never got, about your whole ‘plot.’”

“Yes?”

“If you were planning on using the bombs on the Church, why did you let Josephine in on it, during that meeting? Surely, if the Church knew you had the blooms, you couldn’t have bombed the cathedral.”

The king glanced aside for a moment, then met her gaze and answered, “She was to be the first target, her carriage incinerated before she could report.”

“You’d set a bloom off in the city at random?”

He shook his head. “On Cutter bridge, on her way back. The damage would have been contained, and it would have had the same effect as the Council Clock. We would have used the one Drake found in the river. Even you would have thought it was Shivar.”

“So, my refusal to give them to you?”

“Saved her life, yes.”

Eliza turned her back on him. “Good luck with all your future endeavors, all the murderings and whatnot. I’m sure there are plenty of wizards who can help you with that. And look, please don’t bother assassinating me. I plan on leaving quietly.”

“Wait!” yelled the king, and he started a whole rambling speech, but Eliza was already out the door.

Then she was in the foyer, frustrated that the taxi had left.

“Wait,” said Rina, and when Eliza turned around, she saw the princess shaking, and not from the cold. “Before you go, there is something you should see.”

Eliza was trying to think of a gentle way to break the news that she was not going to be the king’s new enforcer.

“In the library.” A tear rolled down Rina’s cheek.

 

⬩ ⬩ ⬩

 

The first book Eliza saw lying on the floor was next to its torn-off cover.

She bent down and read, ‘The Art of Healing.’

When she glanced back, Rina pointed down the aisle and stepped out of the room.

Eliza continued. The next tome, ‘Modern Medicine’, was ripped in half.

And the third, ‘Spark’s use in First Aid,’ had all its pages torn out.

She stopped reading them after that, and once she reached the end of the row, she found a small open area with a desk.

Marco was in a wheelchair. His eyes dark and sunken, his back arched in an unnatural position.

She wondered why he would sit that way… until she saw his spine twitch and pull itself even tighter, and then his arm, and then his leg, straining against him like they weren’t a part of the whole of his body.

A white-haired servant, a maid, stood next to him, deathly silent, holding a book out for him to read.

As Marco turned his head, his eyes jerked past Eliza, then back again, just a little too far.

“Take a break,” he muttered, and the maid sat the book on the desk and left.

Eliza was silent, trying to think of anything to say.

When she didn’t, he asked, “What do you think of my system? Any book that doesn’t offer hope goes on the floor.”

“And those that do?” she asked, afraid of the answer.

“On that table.” He twitched a nod towards a small desk. On it sat a single book, thin with a bright pink cover.

Suddenly nauseous, she stepped over and looked. ‘Swain’s Fairy Tales.’

“You might still recover,” she whispered.

He spoke with forced control, “Apparently, spark is a wonderful thing if you want to close a wound or amputate a leg safely. But it cannot repair damage that’s already been done.”

“Just give it some time.”

He huffed. “If I’d known my last ‘good’ days were the ones I was hobbling around on crutches, I would have cherished them more.”

“You saved me, Thelemule, Liv, everyone…”

With a jerking motion, he raised his face to hers. “One last valiant effort.”

“The people still need you.”

He dropped his head. “I can’t even piss by myself.”

“Does that matter?” she asked, knowing it did.

“So, you’ve come to give me a pep talk? Some stirring words that will make all this better.” As his arms shook, Eliza realized he was trying to motion to his body.

“Actually… I thought that’s why Rina sent me down here… To get one from you.”

Marco’s torso arched painfully as he tried to laugh. “Sorry to disappoint. I suggest you try ‘just giving it some time.’”

“Sorry.” She stepped back, feeling too much pity to bite back.

“Look,” he glared around but not at her, his eyes bouncing, “I’ll do my best, I’ll always do my best, even if I don’t really want to. But haven’t I earned a little self-pity? Just go, and I’m sure the next time you see me, I’ll be the happy little cripple with nothing but sage advice for people who pray to the Song Mother, thanking her that they’re not me. But right now…” He ground his teeth. “Just go.”

What could she say? Eyes watering, she nodded and left.

 

⬩ ⬩ ⬩

 

Back home after a quick search, Eliza found Liv in the attic, standing in the snow amidst the broken glass of shattered windows, staring out across the townhouse’s back garden. She was wearing the red bow dress, the one Rina had worn the last time she’d visited. Liv’s blonde hair, grown halfway down her back with the aid of Thelemule’s spell, was tied with white ribbons. All-in-all quite festive, and yet, her face was drawn and serious, as though she’d gotten lost in thought during a game of dress up.

“Hey,” said Eliza, wondering if Liv had seen her.

Without turning her head, the girl answered, “How’d it go? Did he want you to be the new Ulbrecht or the new Drake?”

“Both, I think.”

“How’d he take to disappointment? Do we have time to pack, or should we start fleeing now?”

“Actually, we’re staying.”

Liv turned at that. “Really?”

 

Eliza shrugged. “You’re looking at the king’s new bodyguard, part-time, on retainer to protect the royal family, and occasionally…” she sighed, “threaten his enemies… but my regular assignment will be the wellbeing of the prince.”

“George?” Liv made a sour face.

“No, Marco.”

“Oh, how’d he talk his father into that?”

“Actually, Marco doesn’t know, not yet. We’ll break it to him later.”

“How is he?”

“I’m still working on that.” Eliza gave a worried smile.

Liv glanced back with curiosity. “So, what’s that pay?”

“You know, I forgot to ask. How about you? It looks like you were doing some serious thinking. What about?”

“I don’t want to scare you.”

Eliza flinched. “And you didn’t, until just now.”

“That deal Chanda made with Ulbrecht.”

“To leave Noria and never return, that sounds pretty final, doesn’t it?”

“It’s the other part that’s got me worried.”

“Saving your life? Having the most dangerous man… creature in the world dead set on your survival? That, maybe, is a good thing,” Eliza tried to sound reassuring.

“If my life is so important to him, maybe his plans… need it. He’s heartless, right? Has he done something to me? Should I leave? Does my life somehow put everyone else in danger? Maybe the only way to save the rest of you is for me to…” Her words trailed off ominously.

“Or maybe he just needed you alive in that moment? He didn’t seem worried about your safety earlier.” Eliza paused, thinking of how he’d pulled Liv out of the way of one of her fireballs during their first battle. She shook it off. “Maybe he was planning on using you to get to someone? Maybe me, given he wants the blooms?”

“Maybe.” Liv shook her head, unconvinced.

“Well, let’s figure it out together, all right?”

“Yes, Ms. Scaggs,” Liv said, doing her best Oliver impression. “Hey, did Rina send a note?”

“No.”

Liv looked down, disappointed.

“But she did come back with me. She’s waiting downstairs.”

“What? Why?”

“Strange girl. She’s under the impression that I’m going to turn her into a cat.”

“Really? She wants to do that now?”

“Yes, well, and I think she’s also under the impression that you’re going to do it with her,” Eliza said dryly.

Liv sighed.

“Don’t you want to try being ‘Throat Ripper' again? It might be more fun, knowing you won’t be stuck that way.”

“I don’t know, maybe.” Liv’s face lightened. “It’s just… things are serious right now. I need to do more thinking.”

“Curious, can’t you think as a cat?”

“It’s a bit distracting, and what about Reuben’s funeral?”

“If anyone wouldn’t mind, it would be him, and a bit of distraction might be a good thing right now. Still, it’s not like I’m going to force you.”

“Ah, good,” said Liv, sounding just a tad disappointed.

“But it would get you out of soot cleaning. I’m going to detonate the last stone tonight.”

Liv made her scrunch face.

“And Thelemule will be pleased, since I was going to make him do the cleaning instead.”

“You think he’d give me my scarf back?”

 

⬩ ⬩ ⬩

 

As the Sun rose over the burnt-out cottage, Eliza stood before a pile of stone.

‘Throat Ripper’ and ‘Lady Murder’ were both behaving themselves, looking adorably solemn with black ribbons tied around their necks. Stephan was in a pure white suit, matching the pure white snow. Even Thelemule’s electric blue suit now seemed appropriate, having turned black from soot.

And Eliza, she was just herself, with a streak of gray in her long, dark hair, wearing an old housecoat and sad eyes.

“Farewell, old friend. I’ll miss your stories, your predilection for redheads, your money, the way you wouldn’t have found that funny, and even the way you were a constant pain in my ass.” She smiled, shedding a tear.

“But most of all, I’ll miss the way you were always trying, striving to be a better person.”

As more tears flowed, Eliza sniffled. “In your last moment, you saved a life rather than taking one, my own, and I think you, more than anyone, knew what a precious gift that was.”

She looked around, meeting everyone’s gaze. Stephan smiled back. Throat Ripper, pawed at the ground, once. Lady Murder did likewise. And Thelemule, well Thelemule was crying his eyes out.

“Goodbye, Reuben, musician, patron, courtesan, storyteller, and most definitely not a vampire.”

Eliza watched as each of them placed a stone on the pile, the cats carrying them in their mouths.

She stepped up, gazing at the sunrise, and placed the final stone over her friend.