The next several days passed as peacefully as the previous ten or so. It was, taken altogether, one of the longer periods of calm in Ana’s life. She had her martial arts classes, and she did her Shaping and Channeling exercises and some weapon drills with Tor or Brosden or whoever else happened to be at the practice yard, but mostly she just… was. She didn’t make any plans, and she didn’t get involved in any drama. She kept herself in the background the best she could while Messy did her job — except for their frequent flights, which was the least inconspicuous thing Ana could possibly do — and allowed herself to just enjoy the strange new feeling that could only be love.

  That love didn’t herald any great change in her personality. She’s thought that it might; she’d thought that perhaps her high Connection Attribute was helping her empathize with others, or something like that, with Messy simply being the one she spent the most time with. But as she spent a significant part of her copious free time analyzing her feelings for all the people most important to her in the Splinter, she came to the same conclusion as always: she liked them. She wanted their company. She’d regret losing them and wanted to avoid the sting of rejection. But all of them — even Touanne, even Tellak and Kaira and Jisha — were ultimately replaceable in a way that Messy was not. She concluded that either Devotion had fundamentally changed her in some way, or Messy was just special. And with the way Ana felt it was impossible not to choose to believe in the latter.

  Those days were pleasant and relaxing, and not in any way profitable. Ana had picked up Level 8 in Charm after her conversation with Liu and Belov, but that was it. She still practiced several of her Skills, but despite all the hours she put in, she didn’t get any Level increases. The theory that there needed to be some stress, some pressure, seemed to hold true; Ana didn’t so much as negotiate for the price of a meal, so none of her Skills Leveled up.

  And Ana didn’t care. She was the happiest she could remember being in years. No pressure, no responsibilities, no real worries. She was in love — not just deeply invested, but actually, butterflies-in-the-stomach in love — and she was sure that it came from Messy and herself, through some kind of beautiful alchemy that had nothing to do with her Class or Abilities. And while she hoped that it would never end, she was also sure that she’d never find anything like it with anyone else. She didn’t want to. She loved Messy. Messy might be the only person she was able to love, and she was fine with that. The idea of loving anyone else seemed, in some way, cheap. Tawdry, even.

  Perhaps that was not an entirely healthy way of looking at it. Ana didn’t care about that, either.

  On the evening of the fourth day after Ana’s meeting with Liu and Belov, Rayni and the kids returned from their Delve. They’d all gained Levels, except Ray; Lesirell and Perrion were both Level 12, Jisha was Level 11, and Deni had gained 2 Levels, putting her at Level 9. Ana bought them all a round of drinks to celebrate, and then another for good measure. Non-alcoholic drinks for Jisha and Deni, to their great disappointment; standards may be different in the world of the Splinters, but for some things Ana’s roots just ran too deep. Buying alcohol for kids was one of those.

  “You should have seen us!” Jisha gushed. “Ray found a low-tier Delve, because of course she did. She’s great. She taught me how to clean a rabbit! I thought I’d throw up, but I did it! Anyway, she found a good Delve for us, and we tore through it like nothing! Me and Lesirell, side by side, we kept everything we faced locked down, and we all just took them apart and closed the Delve. Then we went around, killed a couple of demons, and did a lot of forest stuff before we did it again. I’ve learned so much. You don’t even know!”

  “And you’re all okay,” Ana stated. She could see that very well herself, but it was always good to hear.

  “I mean…” Jisha said evasively. “We’re all fine now.”

  “But…?”

  “I got clawed a bit. A couple of times. Nothing big!”

  Ana looked at her. Her first instinct was to scold her. But she wasn’t the girl’s mom, and she’d promised Jisha — and she herself wanted — to take her along if Jisha could learn to be a passable frontliner. And she wasn’t always going to be close enough to take any injuries for her. So instead she said, “How’d you handle it? You kept fighting?”

  “I kept fighting,” Jisha said. There was a lot of remembered pain on her face, but pride, too. “I cried a lot. The first time I had three really bad scratches down my leg, like this.” She showed with three fingers from mid-thigh, where her skirt-plates would have ended, to her knee. “I never thought anything could hurt so much. But the others were relying on me, right? And I wasn’t going to let fucking Monsieur Blaireau and Madame Renarde get to Deni or Ray or Perrion.”

  At Ana’s blank look she said, “Cartoons?” And when Ana raised an eyebrow at her she giggled and said, “Fuck you, I’m sixteen!”

  Other than that initial conversation, Ana insisted on Jisha speaking Inter-Guild, and the girl really had improved a lot in her time with Ray and the others. As it was, Ana saw no reason she couldn’t trust her to hold her own. The true test of that, though, would be when they all went out again, three days later. Then Ana would see her progress for herself.

  “I, uh…” Jisha said, later, after they’d all eaten and the group conversation had devolved into smaller ones again. Ana and Messy let her take her time putting her words in order. “Strong reason for me, learn Inter-Guild. I go later to Ma?tresse Touanne. Mistress? Mistress Touanne. For… how I say…? Aptitude! When can ask, she test aptitude!”

  “Touanne is testing you for an aptitude for the Craft of Life?” Messy asked, speaking slowly and clearly. “That’s wonderful!”

  “Magic!” Jisha said, and her face and aura both glowed with longing and excitement. “To heal, with just touch. If I can.”

  Ana wanted to tell her not to get her hopes up. She didn’t see all too much similarity between Touanne and the other Life-mages and Jisha. The girl was kind and caring, sure, but to Ana it looked much more like loyalty and protectiveness, rather than Touanne’s all-encompassing and self-sacrificing compassion. But, hell. Jisha was excited, and if Touanne had thought there was something there worth testing, then Ana really wasn’t competent to doubt her. In fact, she hoped that she was wrong! Having someone with them who was both tough and could heal would be a god-send. Or goddess-send, as the case might be.

  So instead of following her gut instinct, Ana put her hand on Jisha’s and squeezed. “Good luck,” she said, giving Jisha a reassuring smile while Messy threw her arm over the girl’s shoulders, and Jisha smiled back.

  It turned out that Touanne did indeed know a lot more than Ana. At least she was a much better judge of people. Ana learned that later the same evening when she and Messy had to hurriedly throw on some clothes as there was first some jubilant yelling in the street outside, which they’d been far too distracted to pay any heed, and then the slamming of the street-front door, someone running up the stairs, and a furious banging on their door accompanied by an expletive-laden torrent of French that amounted to “I did it!”

  “Good news?” Messy panted, trying to put her hair in some kind of order.

  “Good news,” Ana confirmed wryly. “Should I tell her to fuck off, or…?”

  “Maybe not, but… Can you talk to her in the hallway?” Messy said, rapidly blushing. “I think I’d like to air this place out before inviting anyone in.”

  The absolute horror on Jisha’s face when she realized what she’d interrupted, as Ana both congratulated her for her achievement and scolded her for waking up half the neighborhood, almost made the interruption worth it.

  The next evening, Ana and Messy were sitting in a quiet corner of the common room at The Master’s Mistress, an inn and one of their favorite places for dinner. It was the inn from which Petra had borrowed the cook who’d cooked for them on their one and only formal date, and the food was, with all respect to Petra, much better than at her place — at least if you were looking for anything beyond cheap, tasty, and filling.

  They’d had roast venison and wild tubers and greens, along with some candied fruits for dessert, and it had been absolutely delicious. But now the meal was over, and Ana’s nerves were starting to show.

  “So,” she said, putting her hand palm up in the middle of the table.

  “So,” Messy answered, arching one eyebrow as she lightly ran her fingertips over that palm.

  “It’s been a week,” Ana said, and the plea in her voice came all on its own.

  “Less a few hours,” Messy said. “But yes. It’s been a week.”

  Ana closed her hand on the fingers playing in her palm. “Please, Mess. Is it necessary to tease me like this?”

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  “You still need it?”

  “I… Mess, I love you. I’m sure of it. I don’t know what else it could be. And you were right: I don’t love you any less tonight than I did the first time I said it. But I think that’s why I need it. I need to know that I can protect you with everything at my disposal. What if something happens and you get knocked out, Mess? What if I can’t get you in a Party, and something happens to you, and… and you die because I couldn’t die for you?” Ana sniffed, wiping at her eyes with her free hand.There was a rumble and a clap of thunder outside, as though the world itself shuddered at the very idea.

  Ana! The Wayfarer’s voice came, loud and urgent, but Ana waved it off.

  A minute! she thought back. Just a damn minute!

  Messy’s face fell. “Oh, Angel, no!” she said, taking Ana’s hand in both of hers and bringing it to her lips. “No, please don’t say that! Gods beyond, you’ll make me not want to ever be in a Party with you again if… how could I live with myself?”

  “No, no, okay, maybe not die,” Ana said, desperately trying to walk back her words as the Wayfarer insisted that she couldn’t wait. “But you know how tough I am. You know I could walk away from hits that would kill you. Please, Messy, I need—” her voice broke, and she sniffed again. “Please? I’ve sent the offer. Please.”

  Ana, you need to listen! You need to run! Someone’s come through the Waystone, a—

  “Okay,” Messy said, but Ana could tell that she was conflicted. “Okay!” she said again. “If it means this much to you. I—”

  On your feet, Chosen! the Wayfarer screamed into Ana’s mind, loud enough to cut through her trepidation and her relief and make her rise and see that something was terribly wrong. There’d been the thunderclap. As she listened, running feet slapped along the cobbled street outside. And there was a stillness in the air, faint at first but growing stronger, as though the mana was settling into place. On its surface, the stillness was that of a patiently waiting crowd, or of a well built wall with every brick in its place. But below that… no. This was the stillness between the jaws of a tightening vice.

  “What is it, Angel?” Messy asked anxiously.

  “I don't know,” Ana said, “but we need to—”

  The front door of the inn slammed open, and the room fell silent.

  In a moment everyone was looking at the man who stood there in the open door, watching Ana, stone-faced. The first word that came to Ana’s mind was: ‘immaculate’. He was tall, not exceptionally so but enough to stand out, with broad, proud shoulders. His deep tan skin was smooth, except for the faint white lines of a few scars. His long, pale grey leather coat gleamed in the light of the candles and lanterns, and it didn’t have a scratch or stain on it. The same went for his boots and his fine white trousers; they were spotless, and the trousers looked freshly ironed. His head was shaved with not a hint of stubble, and his beard was carefully trimmed and symmetrical. Overall, he looked like he’d just been done up professionally for a fashion shoot.

  The second word was more of a feeling, rather than anything Ana might articulate: ‘calm’. No one shouted in alarm. No one but herself had reacted with anything except sedate curiosity. There was a pervading demand for order emanating from the man, carried on his aura, that had everyone but Ana — Messy included — relaxed and waiting patiently. She felt that aura enveloping her, pushing on her mind, demanding that she stop worrying, stop thinking at all, and just listen.

  It demanded that she submit. Perhaps that was why the third word, which was what the Wayfarer had practically been screaming at her since that thunderclap, was ‘danger’.

  She looked at the man. His eyes were a smooth silver, and though he looked to be in his forties, those eyes had an ageless quality to them. His label said [Human Ascender], and nothing else. And Ana knew that she was in terrible peril, but she had to fight just to be afraid.

  The man spoke, and his voice was deep and even, expressing immutable fact and inviolable law. “You must be the Chosen,” he stated, and it was so. “Come outside, away from these innocents, that you may be judged.”

  Ana stood up straight and followed the Ascender out the door and into the street without looking back. It was such an easy command to follow. She knew that things were likely to get violent. She knew what she herself could do, and she was sure that this man was stronger than her. She had to take this away from the people just having their evening meal. She had to take it away from Messy.

  The Ascender led her into the middle of north Main Street. “Be still,” he told her, and again, it was so easy to just do as he said. Not because Ana wanted to obey, but because she needed time to think — to analyze her opponent. She didn't want to provoke him before she was ready.

  “I’ve been asked to kill you,” the Ascender said as he began walking a slow circle around Ana. When he passed behind her, her neck itched, but she didn’t move. “I find it unseemly to kill a girl whom I know little or nothing about. A girl of little more than twenty. The Wayfarer’s Chosen. Capable in combat. A leader of men. Named… Anastasia?”

  “Yes,” Ana answered, because it was all that was needed.

  “These are not reasons to kill someone,” he stated. “Yet you were also instrumental in fouling the efforts of one of my Lord’s favored faithful. In so doing you contributed to preventing the dissolution of this Splinter, which is necessary for the good of the worlds. A grave sin.”

  “I disagree,” Ana said. She wanted to say more, or nothing at all, but the man’s aura demanded some form of response, and that was all the defense it allowed.

  “Because you are ignorant,” the man stated, and a traitorous part of Ana, the seat of all her self-doubt, wanted to agree with him. She was ignorant about so many things, it told her. Perhaps this was one of them.

  But that didn’t matter, she reminded herself. Because it hadn’t been about that. Preserving the Splinter was incidental, an inoffensive byproduct of preserving her own life and those of Messy and the others she cared about.

  “Yet, I find it difficult to fault you,” the man continued. “The urge to preserve one's home is strong. And our guild has invested much gold and time into this Splinter, in the hope that it will become quite valuable soon.”

  “You’re Bluesky?” Ana asked, because complete information was always a boon when making careful decisions.

  “Nominally. I am a servant of the Sentinel first, but I retain some affection for my family’s guild, which helped me rise to the ranks of the Ascenders. Unfortunately for you, you should not count on us being guild-mates saving you. I see little here to give me confidence that you can be trusted not to make yourself a problem. Tell me, Chosen of the Wayfarer: When I have released the man, Karti, and have killed all those who know how to affect the ritual to reverse the void plague, will you be content to live out your life in meek obscurity?”

  She wanted to say yes. She wanted to swear that if she was allowed to take Messy and a few others with her, she’d sacrifice anything to just be allowed to live in peace. But she knew that it would be a lie. Touanne, Tellak, Simt, hell, even Kaira had learned the ritual, along with so many other mages she knew less well. If they chose to abandon Ana, that was one thing. But if someone took them from her…

  “No,” Ana said, because the question demanded an honest answer.

  “You would seek revenge.”

  She wanted to lie, but she couldn’t. “Yes.”

  The Ascender stopped before her, looking her in the eyes. “Tirelessly.”

  With every word she was signing her own death warrant. “Yes.”

  “Unfortunate,” the Ascender said, and Ana agreed from the depths of her soul. “Very well, let’s get a proper look at you. Outsider,” he mused, and it was an affirmation of all Ana knew. “Yes. That makes sense. But your Class…” he stopped right before her. “Reveal your true Class, girl.”

  For the first time, one of the Ascender’s commands was not easy to follow. This one felt deeply wrong, entirely out of sync with the natural order of things. Ana did not reveal her Class — that was a truth about her. And yet she almost did it, until she caught herself and squashed the impulse.

  “N-no,” she grit out, her steel-grey eyes fixed on the Ascender’s silver ones.

  The man frowned. “I will have no deception or falsehoods. You are to be judged on your true merits. Unhide your Class! If you are harmless enough, I may yet allow you to live.”

  “No!” Ana growled.

  The Ascender took two steps forward, so they were only a foot apart, and looked down on her. Ana’s neck automatically bent backward so she could maintain eye contact, but otherwise she didn't move. The full weight of the Ascender's displeasure descended on her, and it was all she could do not to flinch.

  It was pissing her off, frankly, but she knew deep down that it would be wrong to do anything about it. This was not a time for aggression or posturing, that part of her said. This was a time for truth, and Order. She should do as he said. That was the correct way of things.

  She felt her resistance bend, her will eroding, and the Ascender spoke again.

  “Tell me your Class, girl!” he commanded.

  “G—” Ana choked the word off. “Gu—!” Her treacherous throat tried again and she had to force herself to take a breath, turning the admission into a croak.

  Don’t you dare, the Wayfarer screamed in her mind. Don't you dare break. You’re stronger than that!

  “Go fuck yourself!” Ana spat, and it took everything she had.

  The Ascender slapped her.

  The Ascender didn't try to slap her. He slapped her, hard enough that her head snapped to the side and she stumbled, almost falling. It wasn't that she didn't see it coming. It wasn't that it was so fast that she couldn't possibly have defended herself. But the weight of his command to be still was so great that by the time his movement registered, it was too late.

  Ana hadn't been slapped since she was sixteen, shortly before she ran away to live on the street. She'd been beaten and kicked around, but she’d always made herself enough of a problem that nobody had time to waste on a mere slap. It brought back memories of feeling small, weak, and defenseless, of being forced to hold back her sobs and suffer silently, because any protest would just make things worse. She might have cried now, from the sheer indignity of being slapped like an unruly child, the way she had so many times, or simply from the shame of having been unable to stop it

  But Ana didn't cry. She'd just been attacked.

  Ana was being forced to defend herself.

  Her bonuses kicked in.

  and read 8 chapters ahead of both Splinter Angel and Draka! You also get to read anything else I’m trying out — which is how Splinter Angel got started.

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