“One of the jokes I wanted to tell was this one about a puritan, a heathen, and a rabbit going into a bar,” Fig said as we slid down the hill.

  For once I was behind them. My leg wasn’t getting worse, but it wasn’t getting better, either. I hoped the sun would put an end to the death-chill and numbness.

  “Oh?” Jake asked, wings rising and falling with his gait, tail lashing idly. With all those counterbalances, he had no business being clumsy. He held Fig’s hand, helping her along down the slippery grass.

  “Why a rabbit?” I asked.

  Fig cackled and glanced over her shoulder, “That’s what the bartender says! And the rabbit replies, ‘I’m only here because of autocorrect.’”

  Jake laughed. The first part of his laugh was normal, but then it faltered, went off beat. I’d cracked a grin, but I heard Jake’s hitch. Then, I got it. The joke was wrong. It wasn’t wrong because it wasn’t funny, but because Fig wasn’t from our home. How many places had autocorrect, and called it that?

  I shook it off. She could have heard of autocorrect and worked it into a joke, or heard the joke somewhere, or maybe she didn’t really understand the context. We weren’t the only new arrivals in this elaborate holding cell called Convergent City.

  It seemed Jake came to the same conclusion, because his smile was back, as if it had never wavered. We broke out of the perpetual storm of Shade and into the sun. I put a hand up to look at the city horizon. The massive termite mound and the trees, the buildings in the distance beyond Subterania lost color with distance. Twilight’s dim silhouette was nearer, dark with its menacing shroud.

  The warmth of the sun soaked into my exposed skin. I took off my cloak and shook it before slipping it into inventory. My new slick carapace armor—stone gray greaves, bracers, and chestplate—gleamed. Without its buff on Fluidity and Evasion, I wasn’t sure if I’d have been able to get out of the church without help.

  I did. And that’s what counted.

  My limp cleared up as we walked through Subterania. The shaded caverns dotting the barren expanse had always felt creepy. Hollow. Threatening in a way that burrowed under the skin. Ever since Shivrith, a deeper dread had taken root. Not like the throat tightening that came from being close to Thorn Ridge and the sheriff’s department. The gut-twisting kind, like it was still out there. Watching.

  If Shivrith ever got free of Zayan’s grasp, all of us were in for a world of being murdered.

  I parted ways with them in Heartland Park. They headed off to meet Akilah. I went to turn in the ridiculous quest.

  When I walked up the winding stair within Gleamholt, I took it slow. The air was sweet in Heartland, fresh and bright, carrying the rich flavors of honeysuckle and pine. Within the tree core, it was woody and warm. I was actually starting to like it in Heartland.

  A sprite buzzed by, the sound making me cringe inside. Except the people. I could do without some of them, with their gentle, poisoned words and full-on blood goddess worshipping lunacy. I paused at the top of the spiraling staircase and shot a glance around the simple elegance of the throne room. The wolf cloak lay over the intricate wood, but no Ashwynn. I moved to one of the arches leading to the balcony and peered out.

  Then I turned, and he was there. Right beside me, like a horn-headed, skinny Tarzan. Twat. I took a step back and met his smirking gaze with a blink, then a smug grin of my own. The crystal goblet appeared in my hand, willed there from my inventory, the laughter of the dead already inside and playing on a loop.

  “As you requested, my lord,” I said, holding the glass out.

  The look on his face was worth all of it. The smarmy grin was wiped right off, replaced by shock, and then wonder. He snatched the glass and turned it, squinting at the small recording device. It was about the size of my thumb, and not very loud, but we’d cleaned up the conversation and gotten both the original ghost’s maybe-laughter and then Gerdet’s tirade, followed by the priest’s own evil laugh.

  “Wonderful. You’ve done it with the tech instead of magic. How fascinating,” he muttered, turning the glass in his hand, holding it to the light. “It’s not at all how I imagined. Truly delightful. Show me how this works.”

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  I showed him how to turn it on and off and told him where to send it to be recharged.

  At a snap of his fingers, a sprite appeared. “Tea, for myself and Dathai Orc-kin, Jeli.”

  “My lord, I can’t stay long. I have an issue to sort out,” I said.

  Naturally, the part of me that was taken with this fae lord’s charm wanted to stay and bask in his effortless cool, but the much larger, permanently irritable part of me wanted to bail and brood. He was a trickster, and hanging around people like that was as dangerous as it was fun.

  He ignored my words, gesturing towards an outdoor seating arrangement further along the balcony. With a sigh, I went where he pointed and sat on the wood, not carved, but shaped into being by unknown magics. The view was still amazing. From this angle I could see a glimmer of the ocean beyond the mountain.

  A raven lit upon the balcony railing, above the flower beds that ringed the platform. It gwaked at Ashwynn as he settled into a chair, legs crossed, chin resting in his palm as he listened to the bird’s harsh chatter. His gaze slid from it to me, then back to it.

  I turned a scowl at it. “Does that have anything to do with me?”

  “Not particularly,” Ashwynn replied, though I doubted that was true, from that glance.

  “So, you were successful in your gambit with the being called Shivrith and my quest. Commendable,” he murmured, looking me over. “Got yourself some proper armor as well. Orcish make, I presume?”

  I nodded, raising an arm to run fingers over the slick bracer, opalescent sheen over the gray chitin, polished to a shine. I didn’t imagine my armor would stay shiny long, considering my track record for getting into trouble.

  An elf maid appeared around the curve of the tree, carrying a tray. She set the pot out, and I watched her carefully as she prepared the tea and placed the cups before us. Just in case.

  “Do you know what the status Unbound means?” I asked, watching the elf pour the tea into two plain, and yet exquisite wooden cups.

  Ashwynn’s head dipped, gaze slipping to the side as he thought. The breeze caught his hair, lifting it into a sliver of sunshine, the gold of it blazing bright for an instant.

  “An arena fighter mentioned that status on opponents during games,” Ashwynn replied, attention returning to me as I watched the woman’s hands work.

  When she got up to leave, I smiled at Ashwynn and immediately switched our cups. No slight of hand, just a straightforward motion, watching his face as I did it. A slow twist rose at the corner of his mouth.

  “So suspicious, Dathai. It’s like you don’t trust me. And after all we’ve been through,” he purred, lifting the cup to his lips.

  I snorted and picked up my own cup, inhaling the fragrance of the contents. Floral tea. Normally not my favorite, but Heartland’s tea was undeniably special.

  “I heard about your betrothal,” he said.

  I inhaled, instantly choking on hot liquid. The contents of my cup splashed over my lap and a rattling cough exploded out of me, spraying the table in front of me with a fine mist. Ashwynn’s laugh set my hackles up, but I was stuck coughing for a few seconds, pounding my chest with my fist.

  Voj’Kasak would have called karma on that one.

  “I also heard you don’t want it,” Ashwynn continued, his smile sly as a Cheshire cat’s. “You do get yourself in such binds.”

  Once I caught my breath, I shot him an irritated glare. “I tried to get my orc kin to help me, but they said I should marry her because she’s powerful. Fuck that.”

  “I would, but she never asked me,” he smirked, then chuckled softly.

  I almost asked 'fuck or marry,' but, in that moment, I had a spark of inspiration. I rolled my cup between my palms and asked, “Lord Ashwynn, you’ve been here a very long time, right? I know you said you were outside the city, once. Does—does the System try to keep everyone in the city?”

  Ashwynn’s amusement dimmed. His cold blue eyes shifted from lazy to razor sharp. “The force that binds us all, the deity that you call the System, is more akin to tech than to magic. Yes, it controls us all, in one form or another, while offering illusions of free will.

  “Such as our association,” he continued, gesturing at me with his cup. “You were led to me. The force you call System encouraged me to watch you. It knows us, Dathai. It knows how we think and what intrigues us.”

  “Maybe it keeps this place running, but it can be defeated. It told me there was a place called Gateway, and if I could fight my way through… maybe we could stop being pawns,” I hazarded to suggest, my resentment clear by my words, though my tone was calm.

  A low hiss escaped his teeth. He may appreciate the ease of this life, but a being like him? Having to follow the System’s rhythms, with his personal games becoming its quests? No way he liked that.

  “What would you do to be free of it?” I asked softly, leaning forward to place my elbows on my damp knees. Watching his face for any nuance.

  “Everything in my power,” Ashwynn replied simply.

  A fiery sense of relief burned through me, turning every frustrated, futile feeling to ash. My smile spread, slow and feral. “Good. Because I plan on destroying it.”

  -ARCHIVE-