I’m clapped in mage restraints.

  By mage restraints, I mean that I’m gagged and my hands are stuck in a pair of metal gloves fused together, unable to move even my fingers. Normally, I’d be quivering in anticipation. Instead, my blood boils.

  Somehow, Arriel talks the guards into keeping her amulet, playing the wet-eyed cleric, before they chuck us in a greasy cell. She sits in the opposite corner, eyes closed, amulet clasped. I can’t talk anyway. There’s not much worth saying. We both know Weekes is gone and not coming back.

  I can only sit and steam and think of how utterly fucked I am. Firstly, that half-witted plonker killed someone, and I might end up paying for it. But I can’t throw him under the wagon, no matter how much I'd savor the crunch. Should we have trusted him? It’s too late, anyway. Secondly, Arriel’s probably reconsidering her holy mission here, or thinking of buying her way out. She hardly looks at me, probably fretting about her poor, honest reputation back in Carthesia. Thirdly, I’ve kicked Irminric’s nest, and he’s coming for me as fast as he can whip up his raiders. Once my nondetection spell wears off, he and his scryer can come and collect me. I’ll go from one set of chains to another.

  And fourthly, if I’m in here too long without drink, it’ll kill me. We’re told it’ll be two days before we go to the magistrate. I can't even beg them to move it up. I can barely keep myself thwapping my head against the wall while we wait. My throat’s dry, and all I can taste is stale cloth. My blood’s curdling, my head crashing with black, churning waters. I need a drink.

  The first night, I manage to catch a bit of sleep on a stone bench. I wake a couple times, reaching for my flask, but neither reach nor find one. We’re given a pitiful breakfast – plain rice and dried pork. I give most of the meat to Arriel, and she gives me an extra bit of her rice in return. It’s one of the few times I’m allowed out of the mage restraints, but there’s a crossbow leveled at me the whole time. I nearly get myself shot talking to her.

  I spend the day pacing. I’m jittery, and my limbs have too much energy. It’s hard keeping my thoughts contained. Things start coming back. It claws at my stomach. The only thing that’ll fix it is the slosh of something in a cup. There’s gotta be a guard who’d make an arrangement, but I can’t talk. I have to get out of here, keep moving, but I can’t. I can barely even hum to keep my head occupied. I’ve got the constant feel of something crawling on me. I’m about to start yelling.

  That night, I sleep, but my dreams get odd. There’s black scales and a rocky shore, the constant sound of the roaring ocean. With gut-wrenching, panicking authenticity, I’m back in a hard bed with cold ocean air and the throbbing ache of my body whipping me awake for another day of hell.

  I jump awake. Something’s touching me.

  “Chouncey,” Arriel says quietly. Her chains rattle. The sound cuts through my chest. “Are you okay?”

  I shake her off. I’m shivering and sweat-soaked. My head’s throbbing. My nerves are electric. My ankle itches, but I can’t scratch it. I rub it raw on the edge of the stone bench. It starts bleeding.

  I glance up, and the guard is gone. It must be a shift change. She tugs my gag down just far enough.

  “Do you… need a drink?”

  I’m not sure what that serves by asking, unless she’s got something tucked away in her pocket – any pocket. “Always,” I rasp.

  She gives a sad smile in the darkness. “Have you ever tried to stop?”

  “Why would I?”

  “So you can live longer.”

  I laugh. It’s all I can do. I roll over. The sound of a guard returning comes down the hall. She fixes the gag back.

  The day crawls. I don’t stop sweating, feeling like white-hot embers are flaring in my guts. I can barely get food or water down. My head hasn’t stopped pounding. Arriel watches me pace, something like concern on her face. How much longer can I cling to reality? What state is she gonna find me in tomorrow? I’m the one who’s gotta talk our way out of this with the magistrate. It’ll be first thing in the morning, we’re told. I’ll do anything for them to let me out of here. I half expect Torm to show up and rattle the bars while I’m sleeping. My heart’s racing like he will.

  I barely sleep that night. Deep, black water swallows me, cold and rushing like the bottom of the ocean. It crashes against rocky cliffs, foaming and bottomless. I’m an inch away from falling into it. I’m shaking, crying, losing hold of my body, being pulled in all directions. Like sharp zaps of electricity, I’m watching myself. And then I’m back.

  Something touches me. I nearly jump out of my skin, thrashing. It feels like claws.

  “It’s just me,” Arriel says. I blink. She’s glowing again.

  I’m not sure what she wants. Maybe I’m starting to seize up. Or it’s a fever dream. Or I’m seeing things. Maybe I’m dying. She puts a radiant hand on me. Somehow, the glow is warm. It seeps through the cold sweats, easing things a little. Some of the shakiness subsides. I glance through the bars where the guards are keeping watch. They don’t seem to notice the cutting gold light casting around the cell.

  She holds up her other hand. Her amulet is clasped in it. She’s silent for a long moment. Then, she starts speaking quietly.

  “Dawn Lord, please hear your chosen in an hour of need. We need your light and comfort against crushing darkness. We need strength and fortune to fight injustice and cruelty. We need conviction and endurance to spread your light. And we need healing for the wounds we can’t see. I ask for your power to intervene and guide us toward your everlasting light.”

  Nothing seems to happen. I almost laugh. Everything else is cocked up, so why not this, too? Her god had every chance to help me before. Why would he care now?

  Then, I realize I’ve stopped shaking.

  My stomach settles, my chest eases, my headache calms. The feeling of cold, heavy water pressing on me subsides. A warm, comfortable blanket wraps around my mind. I feel… buzzed, of all things. I sag against the stone bench, exhausted.

  “Get some sleep,” she says gently, rubbing my shoulder.

  And, her golden light fading from my vision, I do.

  We’re woken for another exquisite breakfast. Arriel’s silent through it all. I feel worlds better than yesterday, but how long will it last? I’m not sure why she helped me, aside from not wanting to bunk with my cold, sober corpse. I’m not sure why Iros helped me, either. It’s puzzling. But we can’t talk about it right now. We’ve got more important things.

  After eating, an hour passes, and I pace more. Unless Iros himself is gonna come down and help, I have to talk our way out of this. Finally, a group of guards fetches us. We’re marched upstairs to a small courtroom. I squint around the sunlight pouring in. We’re sat on a couple reed pads facing the podium and desk. I see only guards around. There’s no trial, then. That’s either a good thing or a bad thing. My mage restraints are removed. And, as with most of my better moments lately, a crossbow is leveled at me.

  “Sweet fucking hells,” I say, stretching my jaw. It’s tight, and not in a fun way. I turn to the guard nearby. “Who’s the magistrate here?”

  “Kenal Trevelyan.”

  “Oh, fuck me,” I hiss.

  “What? Is that bad?” Arriel whispers.

  “It’s not gonna be good. We’ve got a… history.”

  She looks over at me, her face flat. “Did you fuck their wife?”

  “I fucked them.”

  She puts her face in her manacled hands. “Gods above. I should’ve gone to hell.”

  “Just let me do the talking here. We’ll wind up an end table for orphans if we’re not careful. Unless you’ve got a lawyer you’ve not told me about.” The Guild sure doesn’t hand them out on charity.

  “I don’t have one. I’ve never needed it.”

  “And what an upstanding member of society you are. No innocent person’s ever been jailed.”

  She sits up, rolling her eyes. “I can send for one in Carthesia, but you’re the lowest common denominator here.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It’s the lowest factor between two –”

  “I know the definition, before you start trying to explain music theory to the bard –”

  She only opens her mouth.

  The door across the room quietly slides open, and a vaguely familiar face enters. It’s a high elf, tall and slender. Twinky. They’ve got long, blond hair and cheekbones to cut glass, held serenely over a rich black kimono. They take one look at me, then sigh, sitting cross-legged on the pad behind the large desk.

  “Chouncey,” they say flatly.

  I give my warmest smile. “Kenal. It’s lovely seeing you again. Have you been keeping well?”

  They write something down. “I don’t want to drag this out. You’re being accused of disturbing the peace and safety, public drunkenness, and aiding by association in a murder. Do you have a statement?”

  Arriel looks at me, knuckling her amulet. I stand, clasping my chained hands. The nearby guards are coiled springs.

  “Well,” I say. “First of all, I’d like to apologize for bringing ill behavior to this fine city. Rest assured, we’re just passing through and were planning on hiring your hard-working ships and sailors first thing in the morning. It was never our intent to bring harm to these lovely people, yourself included. I’ve dearly enjoyed my time here, and I hope it won’t be the last.”

  I clear my throat, glancing down at Arriel.

  “As for the rest, well… it’s been a difficult few months. Since we last saw each other, I met my comely wife in Carthesia, and we're headed south to my ailing parents. It’s been their wish for me to marry a woman of the highest quality for many years. Of course, she’s got her faults – we all do. When I first met her, she was deep in her dregs and prone to all manner of trouble. It’s a burden I’ve been happy shouldering, even now, and with my help, she's seen progress. She’s found faith in the Dawn Lord, may we all walk in his light, but the drink’s not so easily shaken. What we have here is a relapse, and she’s deeply sorry and, frankly, embarrassed for the trouble she’s caused. She means no harm and vows to do her best to be a more upstanding member of society going forward. You can be sure I’ll keep an eye on her.” I glance at her again, smiling sadly. “I love her with all my heart, and I’m not one to condemn someone for a simple mistake. I hope, my fair Kenal, you understand.”

  Arriel grips her chains, looking an inch away from strangling me with them.

  Kenal keeps writing, then sets their pen down. “Interesting,” they say. “I’ve been notified of this bounty set out by the Byrian Isles for your return.” They hold up a familiar poster. “Would you care to explain?”

  Fuck me. I keep myself together. I want to ask if Takazaki and the whole nation of Horonai are accomplices to slavery, but I know the answer. They are, if there’s profit in it. Everywhere is.

  I grimace, gesturing. “They had me out there for some shows and didn’t pay what the contract said. They didn’t like me telling the Players’ Guild about it.”

  They write some more. One thing that’s quickly coming back to me is how difficult they are to read.

  “Are you registered with the Players’ Guild?”

  “It lapsed. I couldn’t make it to the audition in time, being in Carthesia.”

  They keep writing. Arriel only sits beside me, face in hands. I think she might be praying.

  “We have a suspect for the murder – a rabbitfolk who was seen in your company. The Tall Candle Inn says you purchased a room, stating that he’s your son.”

  I hope Weekes is far and gone from here, if only so I don’t catch him. I shrug. “Respectfully, what goes on between my wife and I in our bedroom is a private matter, your honor.”

  Arriel gives something between a snort and a hitched breath. Maybe she’s crying.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Kenal gives me a long look before returning to their writing.

  “Look,” I continue. “You know me to be a fair and honest person, if not flawed like the rest of us. I’m hoping, for all our past –”

  They raise a hand. “That’s enough.” It comes out a bit frantic. The guards eye each other.

  I pause. “…that you can work with me on this. I’m sure you’ve got more pressing grievances to be seeing to.”

  They sigh, writing something down. “Well, someone is dead, and you and your wife were involved. So, there must be punishment. However, since it wasn’t you, there are a couple ways we can proceed. Firstly, I’m willing to offer you a bargain. You’ll pay a fine of a hundred gold –”

  “A hundred –” I stop, nearly losing my legs. Then, I remember the platinum Arriel has stashed in her purse. They’re gonna let us pay our way out – without handing me over to Irminric. It’s the first bit of luck I’ve had in months.

  “Yes. One hundred gold and you’ll aid us in finding the person responsible for the murder. The second option –”

  “We’ll take it,” I say.

  Kenal pauses. Arriel looks at me with an expression I’ve seen shortly before she cracks a head with her mace. The kind of money’s nothing to her, and the sooner we get the fuck out of here, the sooner I get a drink. As for Weekes, he’s probably left us anyway. I don’t give a fiend’s fiery shit if he’s gotta dance around some guards.

  “Very well,” Kenal says. “You’ll both be released in the morning, and we’ll discuss payment. Please get your wife some help in the meantime.” They pause again. “And Chouncey. Don’t make me do this again.”

  I’ve just gotta make it until morning. I throw out my best charming smile. “As much as I like seeing your lovely face, we’ll keep to the straight path.”

  I’m nudged awake.

  I jump and turn. It’s Arriel. It’s the middle of the night again. The only light is the torch down the hall. I'm shivering. We’re back in our cell, and I’m in godsforsaken mage restraints again.

  I roll over on the hard stone bench. She huddles in close. In the faint light, her brows are pulled together.

  “Stay quiet. I can hear fighting outside.”

  I peek up, listening. I can’t hear shit. I stand unsteadily and press my face against the bars, looking down the hall. The usual guard is gone. I’m shaking again, my heart racing. It’s a miracle I even fell asleep in the first place. Is it Torm or Catherine coming to collect me? Or Irminric himself? Cold dread twists my stomach. I can’t fight back. I can't even teleport away.

  A crash comes from the other side of the door. Then, a groan and the clatter of an armored body collapsing. I hear the jingle of keys and the fumbling of a lock. It goes on for a few moments. Arriel pulls me back, pushing me into the rear corner and spreading herself in front of me. A sweaty musk wafts from the back of her neck, piquant and feminine. I take another sniff. Her hair’s got a faint whiff of verbena oil. She smacks my thigh.

  The door creaks open, and quiet footsteps come down the hall. Light comes with it. I squint.

  It’s Weekes.

  He’s holding a torch in front of him like a weapon. The glimmer of magical armor covers his dark gray hakama. A scrap of dark cloth is tied over his elongated snout.

  My blood sears. I growl. I can’t fucking talk. He turns and rushes over, keeping his voice low. “Hey! There you are. I came to get you out of here.”

  Arriel sighs and rubs her face with her chained hands. “They’re releasing us in the morning.”

  He stops. His ears droop. It’s quiet for a long, long moment as we all look at each other. “Oh.”

  “Did you kill someone?” she asks, her voice muted.

  “A few.”

  I growl again. I’m gonna stuff his tail in his ass.

  Arriel sighs. “We have to go, then. Get us out of here.”

  “Okay. One second. Disperse.”

  There’s a slight wrench in my guts and a puff of wind. Suddenly, we’re outside the cell.

  He sets the torch down, taking the gag off me. I shove him away. “You absolute sumph! –”

  “Now is not the time,” Arriel hisses. She grabs the keys from Weekes and sorts through them, looking for the one for her chains.

  I turn and smack him on the ear with my metal gloves.

  He staggers, grunting and clutching himself. “Ow! What –”

  “We were gonna be fine!” I spit. “I got them off your damn cotton ball tail and everything! You leporine imbecile!”

  “Chouncey! We have to go,” Arriel hisses.

  I whack my metal gloves against the stone wall. I'm as good as an armless roper as long as I’ve got these on. I need to get out of here right now. Where’s the damned key?

  “Sorry,” he groans, still clutching his ear. “I couldn’t just leave you.”

  I breathe. “Well, good thinking on the mask. It’s definitely working.”

  “Thanks.”

  His ears and the upper half of his rabbit face are still clearly visible. He pulls it down, in case we were expecting someone else. Arriel shoots me a glare. She’s still fumbling with the keys, trying all of them. I squat and brace myself against the wall, straining and wrenching my hands from the restraints. It hurts. Something cracks. I’m starting to sweat on top of the shaking.

  “We can stash the necklace somewhere they won’t find it. That will buy us some time,” Weekes says.

  “Chouncey says he can teleport us,” Arriel says.

  I can, now that I’ve got my voice back. I strain and struggle against the metal. “I’m not leaving without my instrument,” I grunt.

  “Can you get another lute?” Weekes says.

  I turn and smack him on the ear again. “You’ll eat your broad teeth if you say that again.”

  He grips his ear again. “Fuck – why –”

  Arriel shoots me another glare. “They have my armor and all of my things, too. We have to find it.”

  “I thought you left it at the inn,” I say.

  “No.”

  She’s keeping it stacked in her colon, for all I care. I brace and strain again, sweat pouring off me. It’s giving me a bit of lubrication, at least. My right hand rips free. I flex it.

  We all whirl at the commotion down the hall.

  “Someone broke in –”

  A guard appears, spotting us through the open door. Before I can do anything, Weekes’ longbow materializes. He’s got an arrow knocked and sends it off. It crackles with magic.

  The guard flies back, the arrow skewering a chunk of his stomach. His dying screech splits the air.

  “Sweet fucking hells, quit killing people!” I snap.

  Arriel’s chains hit the floor. She hustles over, trying a key on my remaining hand. The band around the wrist comes off. I sling the whole thing into the cell.

  We hear more shouts upstairs.

  “Stay close if you want out of here!” I bolt down the hall.

  To the left, a door leads upstairs. It’s where the guard came from. I slam it shut. There’s no time to find the key. To the right is a guard room. It’s empty aside from some bodies. They’re in a similar state to the one we just stepped over. I push inside, scanning around.

  The door to the stairs opens. Four guards pour in.

  “Call the alarm!” one shouts. “We need backup!”

  Weekes slings off another arrow, sending her flying back against the stairs. I grab a stool, ripping off a leg. A guard comes at me with a sword. This isn’t gonna end well. I duck back, then under. I whack his knee. The stool leg splinters. I smack him across the face. The two halves go flying. He slashes. Blood sprays from my arm. It burns. I punch him in the fucking mouth. I shove him back into the others. He stumbles over a table, collapsing.

  “Dawn Lord, strike my enemies!”

  A blast of gold, fiery magic sings past me. It incinerates a guard with the faint sound of a choir. I turn, and Arriel’s holding a hand out, amulet clutched in the other one.

  “Ow, gods! Help!”

  I whirl. Weekes is on the ground, a small puddle of blood around him. He’s clutching his head. A rabbit ear is lying on the ground.

  Two guards are left. One of them has a sword drawn, blood dripping on it. The sound of heavy boots comes from above.

  “I’m looking for my instrument. I don’t suppose either of you folks know where it is?” I say. I scratch under my eye, stroking a magical connection. Their eyes flash pink for the briefest of moments.

  They blink and step over Weekes, coming closer. Shit. It was a long shot, especially without my mandolin.

  I dive after the sword the dead guard was holding. I grab it, blocking just in time. It’s not a Vasterholmian shortsword, but it's sharp. I slash a couple times, hitting armor. I dodge and thrust, sticking it through a gap. Blood pours. A fist comes at me. My vision explodes. Something cracks. The room spins. Arriel sends another blast of gold energy. The guard shrieks and thrashes, collapsing. The other one's dead, too. I feel sunburnt.

  Weekes is still lying on the ground, keening and crying. I’m soaked in sweat, the room spinning, lungs burning. I’m not sure if the sounds I’m hearing are real. I need a drink, straightaway, or we’re gonna be in an even worse way.

  “Chouncey, are you okay?” Arriel asks.

  “I’m fine,” I gasp.

  I glance around. We’re in a guard room. A table has food and cups on it, scattered from the fight. There’s a slim chance these guards were drinking. I stumble over anyway, checking around. I find one cup still half-full. It’s ale. My stomach turns. I snap my fingers and make it taste like whiskey, at least. I slug it back. It's thick and dark. I gag.

  I pause. There’s a closet. I can’t magic through it without my godsdamned mandolin. I push Arriel away and try the handle. It’s locked. I grab a hammer from a nearby shelf above an anvil and bash the lock. More footsteps rattle overhead. Arriel closes the door to the stairs, wedging a chair under it. Then she crouches next to Weekes.

  “I think I can grow it back,” she says.

  “You’ve just gotta stick with us, Cheeks,” I say.

  “You have to stick with us, too,” Arriel says.

  “I’m doing just fine,” I grunt, blasting apart the lock. It clatters to the floor. I fling open the closet.

  My legs go weak. Sitting inside is my mandolin.

  Arriel hustles over. I grab my instrument, my mail coat, and my belt of swords. My other things are there, too. I check my flasks, and they’re empty. Regular asswipes. “Fuck me!”

  “There’s no time,” she says, grabbing her mace. “Here.”

  I don’t see her armor anywhere. She grabs her purse, pulling out a smooth coin made of black metal. She turns and flicks it with a thumb. It lands on the floor, but it doesn’t clatter. It expands.

  A black hole opens up.

  It’s a magical demiplane, about ten feet across. I don’t have time to wonder about it. I toss my armor and swords in, slinging my mandolin across my back. I turn back, looking for anything valuable. There’s some confiscated gold. I toss it in. There’s some weapons and armor we can sell -

  “Are you stealing –”

  “Fuck off,” I snap.

  There’s something that looks like a crossbow, but without the arms. It’s made of metal, with a long barrel pointing off the end of it, about the length of my hand. I pick it up and examine it. I peer down the barrel but don’t see –

  Arriel slaps it out of my hands. “That’s a gun, you idiot.”

  “That’s uncalled for –” I pause. There’s a metal canister sitting on a shelf, about the size of a small log. I cock my head, looking at it. I’ve seen these before. Where have I seen these before?

  She jostles me. “They’re coming –”

  “Hang on!” I grab it. It’s heavy. It smells… acrid. That’s where I’ve seen it before – on Guild caravans.

  I crouch, gently lowering it into the hole. It’s deeper than I thought. My head’s pounding as I reach as far down as I can, waist-deep, letting it drop the rest of the way. It lands with a deep clang.

  Arriel hauls me up by my shirt. “It’s time to go!”

  The door to the stairs bangs and rattles. I stand and shuffle over, kicking Weekes’ missing ear into the hole. She lifts the edge. It shrinks back into a coin.

  Weekes keens. “Wait, where –”

  “If you don’t come along, I’m gonna use it for a bookmark,” I say. I squat and gather him, hefting him on my shoulders. There's not much to him. Even so, I’m drenched in sweat. It’s unbearably hot in here. The room’s starting to spin.

  The door to the stairs bursts open. I whirl. A whole platoon of guards pours in.

  “The carriage is leaving!” I bark.

  “Go!” Arriel grabs my arm.

  I grab a crackling ley line and sing:

  I’m sincerely sorry for a curt goodbye

  But we’ll think of you fondly in Sunai

  Pink pulses around us in a swirling cloud, becoming blackness. My stomach flips upside down. And we’re ripped from the room.

  A split second later, I’m wet.

  We’re hurled into water. The only light comes from the moons. It ripples off waves. My feet sink, and water crowds around my neck. It’s colder and more puckersome than a yeti’s cock.

  “Fuck me,” I gasp.

  “Gods!” I hear Arriel splashing nearby. Something bumps me. I find footing on a rock. Then, I’m underwater.

  It’s Weekes. He thrashes, gurgling and screaming. He clutches me like sweet death. I find the bottom again, pushing upward. I surface. I can taste metal from his ear stump.

  “Quit –”

  “Respirate!” he incants, moving around. His voice cracks.

  An air bubble encircles my head. I heft him up, keeping him overhead.

  “Quit moving, or I’m gonna send you back!” I snap.

  He stops.

  Arriel paddles ahead, finally standing. Sopping wet clothes hang off her. She wrings out her braid. I can see the shoreline about fifty feet away. Beyond it is the faint glow of a town. I heave, dizzily forcing my way through water, holding Weekes up like a rucksack. Closer, I toss him aside. He splays, standing a moment later. He spews water, fur slicked to him. The water doesn’t seem to touch his head. He must have an air bubble, too. It makes an odd echo. Despite it, I can barely breathe.

  I turn, looking around. Water crashes against a sandy beach. It’s fresh water, so it must be Lake Saki. It’s in the southern part of Horonai, close to the ocean that lines southern Rheda. I wasn’t too far off. I glance up at the moons. Sure enough, the rings around Coramine are gone. Toward the center of the lake, something glimmers, sending off a faint glow. I squint, staring at it.

  Shivering, I wade to shore where Arriel and Weekes are sitting. We’re all dripping wet. He’s got dark blood down the side of his face.

  “I can stop the bleeding, but I’ll need more time to reattach it,” Arriel says. “Here. Dawn Lord, mend this wound.”

  She holds her amulet, and a gold glow flares from her hand. Weekes’ ear stump seals over.

  I sling my mandolin off, tipping it over. Water sloshes out. I toss it into the sand with a discordant clang, then turn to them.

  “Alright,” I say. I kick sand at Weekes. “You’ve paid your dumbass tax, and that’ll go to good use. But I’m not gonna hang for that, of all the stupidest fucking reasons to get killed right now!”

  “I’m sorry! I couldn’t leave you, but I didn’t know what to do! I suck at this. I just… the bounty hunter thing isn’t working, okay?”

  “So, what exactly are you bringing to the table, here, then?”

  Weekes shrugs. “I mean… I don’t really care about the money. It’s just for my dad. I don’t know if he even really needs it. He said I should… make friends.”

  I stop, sighing. He’s doing the thing where he looks pathetic again, blinking sand out of his big eyes. Wet fur’s sticking out from the back of his head.

  “We appreciate your initiative,” Arriel says. She gives him a half-smile and pats his knee.

  I gesture at her. “Why are you even still here?”

  “I already told you,” she says evenly. “Until Iros sends me home, I’m staying.”

  I hold my arms out, gesturing to the giant lake and bare moonlight. “Well, here’s where we are. I’m thinking this was a huge fucking mistake.”

  “We had a setback,” Arriel says evenly. “But we got out. And we’ll keep moving forward.”

  “We’re not moving forward to Takazaki again, that's for certain,” I snap. I’m absolutely begging for something biting in a glass. “If this is what it’s gonna be like, making a team sport of this, I’ll be on my way.”

  “Chouncey,” she says gently. “We’re all tired and on edge. Let’s sleep on it and figure things out in the morning. Can you stay here for one night?”

  I hate her tone, but she’s right. I’m inching closer to losing my mind with each minute we sit here. I wrap my arms across myself, shivering. Maybe it’s better to ditch these two – just teleport off and make my own way. Maybe it wasn’t worth the trouble of bringing on more people. But it’s all the quicker Irminric will find me. My throat’s bone dry and itching for the clinging taste of numbness. The sound of waves crashing and buzzing electrifies my spine. I’m inching ever closer to the churning black waters in my head. But I have to stay with them. We’re all locked in this together, now. I plop on the beach, lying in the sand.

  “You’re bleeding,” she says. “May I?”

  She reaches for me. I chuck sand at her. She recoils and sputters. I look at my forearm. It’s coated in blood. My stomach roils. I fumble for my mandolin, hashing out a terrible few chords. It does the job. It crackles and glows with pink magic, drawing on its own little ley line. The gash seals over, itching all the while. With an odd tightness, something snaps back together in my face, too. I toss the mandolin back aside. I sing and touch my forehead, grasping the thrumming sixth ley line for nondetection.

  “Okay,” she says quietly. “Where are we?”

  “Sunai,” I say. I’m spinning despite lying still. It’s making me sick. I won’t be able to walk soon. This air bubble around my head is giving me a headache. I hold up a finger, and a small, illusory map of the southeastern quarter of Rheda appears. “It’s got good access to the dunes. We’ll head south from here. Cheeks, get rid of this fucking bubble.”

  “Sorry,” he says sheepishly. “I panicked.”

  It fades. Cool, night air hits me. I’m exhausted.

  “Let’s sleep in the necklace,” Weekes says.

  “I’m headed into town,” I say. “I need several drinks. And a cock in my ass.”

  Arriel sighs. “I’ll come with.”

  I turn to her. “Are you offering?”

  I get a face full of sand for it.