Sevenday donged to life at first bell, and I rolled out of bed and straight to the vanity, brushing out my hair and adding some fine oils to detangle it. Elica, for once, was slow to rise.

  "Oooooowwwww," she whined.

  "You're too young for champagne," I said primly. "Your liver is still growing."

  "My liver's fine, my head is what's killing me," she groaned.

  "Elica, you drank too much. Learn to regulate. I don't ever want to worry about you being around alcohol if I'm not there to help you."

  She threw a pillow at me, or my side of the room, whatever. "You don't worry. I take care myself."

  "Promise me, Elica."

  "No. Gimme back my pillow."

  "Lady Elica, do you know what the loudest sound I can make is?" Anyone with a hangover this bad is easy to threaten.

  She paused. "You wouldn't."

  "I absolutely would. Promise me."

  She sounded uncharacteristically meek. "How loud is it?"

  "It would blow out every window in this room all the way to the courtyard."

  "I promise. Pillow?"

  I levitated her pillow back over to her, and she put it over her head and rolled over, trying to force herself back to sleep to escape the hangover she had earned.

  The dress I wanted didn't exist. It was a version of my most usual Sevenday church dress from when I was younger, but sized up for me. So I manufactured it, flax and cotton, linen and leather, silk bows and silver buttons. For once I did not pin and pinion my hair into perfect place, and I let it hang around my face to frame it.

  And then I skipped on the wind itself to carry me swiftly out the door, and down the hall, closing the door securely after I was twenty feet gone and accelerating. I dropped down the center well of the spiral staircase at a dead fall, and caught myself at the bottom with magic, and flew out the front door. I was ready for another day in sunlight.

  Nathan was waiting, dressed in his favorite jacket and trews. They suited him, highlighting the broad shoulders of the Harigold frame, and he was looking at me with a mixed expression as I flew across the quad to his dorm building.

  "That dress?" he said. "I remember it smaller. And it looks different on your complexion now."

  "I lost my tan, sorry," I said with a chuckle. "Will it be all right?"

  "It reminds me that my sister is not skin-deep," he said, and bowed.

  "You'll want to cover your eyes for this part," I said, and readied the way for us. We stepped in together, and a second later we stepped out into the village square. "You're good now," I said, as I shut the door behind us.

  "Oh," he said, blinking blearily as he looked all around us. "Oh, that is quite quick!"

  "It's not without its flaws, but it is expedient," I said, waving to the first of the villagers who were bustling over to see us both.

  Nathan got the lion's share of attention, they had not all seen him just last weekend. One matron gave me a very playful scolding. "You should have told us the young master would be attending with you this week!" she fussed. "I'd've done my hair up proper!" Her husband laughed along, and Nathan seemed very relieved. I suppose he really must have missed this place too.

  Or he thought I was lying about coming to church here last Sevenday. Did he miss this place, or does he think I don't attend at all anymore?

  I shoved those uncharitable thoughts aside. Last week he tore the city apart looking for which church I went to, and then confronted me. And when I told him, he immediately insisted I bring him back. That could be construed to mean that he suspected I had given up on services. Or, he just really wanted to share this time with me.

  There were more people out today, even some of the ones that did not attend weekly prayer that often. Word had gotten around about the Harigold daughter returning, and more people came around to visit with me, and got an extra Nathan in the bargain. We chatted and caught up, lots of shoulderslapping and handshaking, and lots of "those good days we had".

  For him it had been almost as long as for me. After the fire, the family did not hang around here very long, only to salvage what they could and collect themselves before they rode the weary roads to Castle Meadwhite. And he had almost as many childhood memories here as I did. Like most children he did not remember much before two years old, so I had two years on him.

  Huh, by that argument I really am the older sibling, even without counting twenty-plus years of life back on Earth.

  I could see how touched he was by all this, and I watched with a beaming smile as he was taken in by these people, welcomed home. I could see the tears standing in his eyes and I had looked like that just last week. I was almost there again this week, to be honest. And we were still in animated conversation when the bell rang to hustle us inside the building, to start services properly. I watched him stare up, smiling, but just before he headed for the door he turned.

  And he hugged me close, and tight. His arms went under mine and he lifted me easily, pressing the side of his face against my neck. I let my legs dangle and I hugged him back, around his shoulders. I patted the back of his head, and I felt tension drain out of him like a plug was pulled. It was warm, and good.

  He set me down, and we went to be welcomed by the deacon and find our seats.

  Last night I conspired against him, but today I welcome his hugs. What am I.

  We sat in the pub after, taking in a large lunch. Well, he was grabbing bites in between talking breathily and eagerly to all the villagers around, making up for years. Meanwhile, I was just housing this order of pork ribs. I skipped dinner last night for dainty samplings of delicacies and canapés, and no breakfast before church, I was getting hungry enough that I couldn't trust my mood to stay agreeable.

  The conversations started out very general and agreeable, but he was circling around a subject, and eventually, with a dozen locals all joined in one big discussion, he finally cut to the chase.

  "But, this blight that I've read about in the papers?..."

  I froze. Shit. Right. He's been doing plot-relevant shit all week long. Investigating from Hearstcliff, and now I've brought him to Meadowtam.

  "Ah, that's a right bugger," said one farmer. "Got there just in time, we did. Next vill over, at Runsilo? They've been getting sickened bad there. My cousin, yeah. But we've got 'em off the berries and they're turning for the better. Good thing your sister said about it, yeah. Everyone done the right thing here in Skydown. Well, 'cept ol' Yasper by the crick. He tore out all his blackberries but instead of burning he mixed it into the hog slops and now he might lose the whole sounder."

  Nathan turned my way and gave me a blank, inquisitive smile, as if encouraging me to explain myself without judgement. I was staring down at the pork ribs in front of me, frozen in place. "Uh, Yasper's hogs-"

  The farmer laughed. "They're all still in pens, that's not what's butchered here my lady, you'll be fine."

  "Oh thank goodness," I sighed, and started wicking my hands and face clean with a napkin.

  "Natalie?" Nathan prompted me.

  I had my lower face covered by my napkin and I stopped there, hiding my mouth. I raised one pinky finger from the napkin and crooked it down, up, down again, the tiniest little finger wave. Hi. I held my eyes as innocent as possible.

  "Natalie, did you know there'd be a blight?" Nathan said.

  "Ah. Ah ha. Ahem. Nathan, this is one of the occasions I really should not discuss with you. Like, at all."

  "But you know-" he said, leaning in.

  "At all," I said, wincing. My shoulders pulled up and my forehead tipped down. "I'm sorry." If I short-circuit his investigations, and hand him answers, he's going to miss out on over a hundred experience points. That means he won't be able to succeed other challenges later, and miss out on those experience points... it's a snowball effect and he'll be on the wrong side of it! I can't reload a bad save file!

  He stared at me, disbelieving. "But you know-"

  "I've done," I said, meekly, "more than I should have dared, already. But this is not mine to solve. Nathan, you're on the right track. I can offer encouragement when I can't offer answers. Keep going. The threads you've been pulling all week, keep going. Find everything you can, from anything and anyone but me. All right?"

  He stared at me, and there is the disappointment I've spent half a lifetime trying to avoid. "Natalie, people are sick. Some of them are going to die."

  Not "some", Nathan. A lot. "I know," I sighed.

  "If you could save-"

  "Nathan," I said quietly. "I can't stop it. Or things get worse. I can't help you. Or things get worse. And I can't explain why, or things get worse."

  The bonesprite backlash. Meadowtam in flames. The end of the world.

  I balled up the paper towel in my hands. "You're the one, Nathan. Be the hero. It has to be you."

  The death of the Cachexia. Meadowtam rebuilt. The salvation of this whole world.

  Nathan reached over and took my wrists, and my two fists fit inside his hands. "You have never kept a secret from me that you did not have to," he said. "And you've earned my trust and more."

  I got hit with a relief so big that it left me lightheaded. "Thank you. But, fix it."

  He stood, and squeezed my hands once before he let go. "All right, I just need to look around and-"

  I shook my head. "You're not supposed to be here. I need to get you back to Hearstcliff. All this..." I gestured at the pub, the people, the church. "This was for me. Thank you for coming with me today. But your work picks up back in the city. Josse, Lachel, Kurumi, Sicimmi, Curigi, Zauria. The kitchen records, the red ledger, the ring beneath the inn, the fourth door. Those are your clues."

  He stared at me. "What ring beneath what inn?"

  I rolled my eyes. "Nathan. You haven't even been to the Silver Brick Inn? What have you been doing? Fine. Grab Curigi and get to the Silver Brick. Bring a concealable weapon, either a dagger or the sword-cane you found in Casser's wagon."

  "How did you-"

  I fixed him with an exasperated-sister glare.

  He looked chagrined for once. "Very well," he said. He looked around at the villagers who were staring at the two of us in shock and disbelief. "Um, I am sorry, one and all, but my sister says I must bid you bye."

  We made our farewells, and our see-you-soon's, and I got us out of there.

  At the Academy he ran off to get his swordcane and his lady-love, and I flew off to the east. I had my own investigation. I opened up sorcerous senses as I flew, looking for something specific and out of place. I flew fast, but I did not fly high. I was looking for the cave wall. As near to the school as possible. And probably low to the ground.

  My awareness washed out in pulses and waves, seeping out ahead of me and tagging along behind. I pulled up when the lights ran out, and the city pressed flat against the cavern's edge, sloping up sharply. At the base of it, pebbles and sand-like grit. They were displaced, and wounded, the stone was bleeding. I angled up, and flew.

  A wound in the wall, an injury incurred. A chunk ripped away with force and with magic. But not how I would have done it. I would have merged my will the stone and opened it, separated what I need and left the rest in place. I would not have gouged this out and broken the edges away in a crumble of rubble. Whoever broke this stone did not have an affinity for stone essence.

  This was a frame job.

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  A week later Belisa Roadaway caught my hand when I was setting a candy on her desk. She held my wrist, and tugged at it. I leaned down near her face, and I heard her say "thank you" before she let me go. I felt warm and happy all the rest of the day just off the back of that moment. Something I was doing was helping The Broken.

  And the same evening was our first game for the camogie team. We were up against a local college, Skyside Polytechnic.

  Twenty hurlers were loaded into the back of a big wagon with rows of seats, the horse-drawn equivalent of a city bus. Our coach and two managers were with us, and most of the ride was pretty quiet, because the coach was just talking to me.

  "All right, Killer, the commission does have official rules regarding use of magic in the sport," she was saying to me. "No magic items or sigil-scribed is to go onto the field. Nobody is to scribe sigils while they are on the field. No acts of wizardry. No acts of magic that violate the normal rules of contact or handling. No weapons other than a hurley. Sorcery is considered to be an act of the hurler so using it to stop, shove, strike or trip an opponent is still a foul. Any act of magic that affects or endangers any persons out-of-bounds is a foul and penalty. Any use of magic directly upon the sliotar is a penalty."

  "That leaves me a lot of options," I said. "Why didn't they outlaw sorcery entirely like they did sigils and wizardry?"

  "I don't know, research is not my strong suit," the coach said. "I've got all the relevant passages marked and I'm taking them to the judges and referees before first whistle. We've got replacement players in case someone is injured, but if you're red-carded we're down a hurler on field, so don't let that happen. If you think you're going to have trouble following those rules you tell me early as we can side you and swap in, yeah?"

  "Yes coach."

  I was shocked at how little fanfare there was for the game. Only a couple dozen spectators, no ceremony at all other than stretches and warm-ups while the coaches checked in with the judges. And then we moved to our positions. Mine was near the corner, close to the opponent's goal.

  The whistle blew. The four midfielders all desperately clawed for the sliotar and it popped up to the opponent's side. Polytechnic got control and ran for our goal. Our backs closed on it and reversed, and I saw Egnul from a hundred meters back, swatting a long-drive pass straight towards me. I ran to meet it, and I closed on the fallen sliotar just as two Poly players arrived.

  I got my toe in and kicked the sliotar up into the air and brought my hurley around to scoop it over to a teammate, when both hurleys slashed out. One caught me at the shin and broke in half, the other hit my hurley at the grip between my hands and snapped clean through.

  The girl who had just broken her racket against my leg backpedaled, shocked. Damn right I'm channeling steel already. But my hurley is broken in twain too. The sliotar was on the ground again, the players had focused on me instead of getting control of play. I tossed the broken ash staves to the sides, and kicked the sliotar up again, and palmed it. Another hurley shattered itself against my shoulder, and then I hand-passed to myself for a hand-strike, just an open-handed slap against it to send it on its way.

  It shot like a leather bullet between the players straight at the goalie. By reflex she dropped flat to the ground and it caught the net behind her.

  Three points.

  Now, the other hurlers were not swinging at me hard enough to shatter wood, that was an effect of my channeling. I had tuned my steel affinity somewhat to offense, so it would punch back against anything hitting me. Even in our fictionalized rough-and-tumble version of the game people are not throwing lethal swings at the start of the game.

  Coach was bellowing in rage and triumph. "FUCK YEAH KILLER!"

  I saluted her and conjured oak to form a new hurley. Ash breaks too easy for me.

  One of the Poly players holding fragments of her own hurley stepped away from me. "Why does your own coach call you Killer?" she asked, and lost another step, towards her off-side.

  "It's exactly what you think," I said. "It's because of the people I've killed. Sixty and counting. Now gimme some space before she calls you Shitbritches." I aimed my new oak hurley right at her face.

  She bolted.

  That was the last time I took an easy point off of Skyside Polytechnic. Three points in the first minute of play was enough for their coach to adjust tactics. After that I never had less than three players defending me, all focused on control and turnovers rather than contact. If the sliotar came my way one of them would intercept, if I managed to get hold of it one of them would steal. They made it their jobs to keep me from joining the game.

  And that means that the rest of the game had fourteen Academy hurlers against twelve Poly hurlers. That sort of numerical advantage stacks up after a while. And I could stretch that lead, too. If I moved fast enough, my escorts and I could block a lane and tie up play in their backfield, screwing up their coverage. And by the end of the first half, the defenders were starting to get tired. I was boosting my speed with a bit of curved air, forcing them to sprint everywhere to keep up with me.

  At halftime I went to the side for some water and one of the other Academy players bumped up at my side. "We've been telling the Poly hurlers about you," she giggled conspiratorially. It was weird to see someone so large and muscular giggle but she really did sell it. "They didn't want to believe it, but there's no other Harigolds your age. You're doing great, Killer."

  In the second half they rotated defenders, putting three fresh players on me to keep up, but the three I'd exhausted earlier were filling other positions on the pitch, Our fourteen players to nine of their plus three that were exhausted nearly to falling over.

  Our scores were racking up, and the tide was turning heavily against Poly. The coach pulled one of my defenders to deal with the rest of my team, and almost immediately I shot away to pick up a passing strike and sailed the sliotar to one of my teammates in scoring position to get three points. And a couple minutes later, I picked up a high strike to get another point for myself.

  The Poly coach was clearly frustrated, but she put a third player on me again as coverage.

  So now that I had all this coverage, it's time to stretch them out. I made a sudden zig to the side and slashed out with my oaken hurley, and the girl on that side raised hers to block. I was aiming for the paddle, though, and hit it directly, damaging it too much to play. She curled herself over it and ran for the offsides, and I dashed for the sliotar again. A fourth player formed up to keep me locked in, and that was more pressure on their remaining defense players.

  One let herself get pressed too close on the front, and I came up fast. I shouldered down and caught her at the hips, optimal height for a lift and toss. I got the tackle and lifted, following through with a crossed hurley, and she was tossed up in the air. She floated end over end like a slow matador, and hit the ground with a huge THUD behind me.

  The whistle blew and play was stopped, and a stretcher team took her to the healer while a substitute was brought in. I heard one of our players congratulating her on her "close call".

  For the last half-hour of play the Poly coach was screaming at her players to get close enough to keep coverage, but I kept giving them reasons to give me space. I would alternate a fast, relentless endurance-killing pace for minutes and then a rapid dash that left them scrambling to keep up. I would lash out to break hurleys to send them to the sidelines for replacements, and the hurlers were always slow to come back to the field after that. I did not get any more big solid tackles during that game, and no more points, but every minute of that game felt my presence anyway.

  God damn that felt good.

  Apparently I have not managed to restrain my competitive nature.