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Rise, my servant, rise! Rise---

"Is the tea not to your liking, my dear?"

Gwennit looked up from her cup. She still saw Arthas in the light reflecting from its dark surface. "I'm sorry. It's lovely, thank you, Your Grace."

"You need not persist in formality! I am simply Theotar."

Gwennit nodded and took a sip. There was something medicinal about the tea. Something green. Plague-like. Familiar and comfortable. Gubbins nudged her and refilled her cup. Steam broke on its surface. Hot tea. Bright light. The Ember Ward was as far from Icecrown as one could get---

Gwennit looked up at Theotar's hand on her arm.

"Are you well, my friend?"

"I think I'm a little tired."

Theotar watched her, his eyes vivid and steady. "I know tiredness well."

Which was a very kind way of saying madness recognised madness. But that was Theotar, kind.

He set down his cup. "Shall we take a stroll?"

In the Ember Ward's relentless light, Gwennit slowed and stopped. She closed her eyes. Even through her eyelids, the light poured into her, and its warmth filled her unbeating heart. Flashes of a life, gone and forgotten, cut through her mind: songs; children; someone whose face and voice she could not find. A life that would never mean anything.

"My dear?"

She opened her eyes to find Theotar watching her from beneath his parasol.

"What is it, my little friend?" he said.

"Nothing. Erm." Gwennit looked out towards the Shrouded Asylum. "Could I ask you something?"

"You may ask me anything!"

"I'm sorry, this is rude, but what are you the duke of?"

Theotar smirked. "Of what am I the duke, or of what was I the duke?"

"Both, I suppose."

He set off towards the desolate cliffs. Gwennit followed. He pulled her into a cliff face's shade.

"Once, I was the Duke of Thornhill. Imagine, me in charge of an entire House! Oh, it was dreadful. So much work. But my prince asked, and I obeyed." He smiled at something. Something long past, if Gwennit was any judge.

"What about now? Sinfall?"

"The Ember Ward, I suppose."

"So it's honorary. Now."

"You know, I don't think anyone's ever brought it up. Thank you for doing so!"

Gwennit smiled. Theotar made her smile more than she had in a lifetime. "It would be rude of them, wouldn't it?"

"You understand! Yes! You are one of the good ones, my mortal friend."

"I don't think I'm quite as mortal as the other Maw Walkers."

"Your tea has simply been steeped more than once." Theotar's smile dimmed. "Though I do wonder what it is that makes you so sad. There is something of the lich about you, I think."

Gwennit flinched. Theotar squeezed her hand.

"We're not so different, the two of us."

He placed her hand on his elbow and motioned his parasol towards Sinfall. "Come! We are taking a stroll, are we not? Then let us stroll!"

#

Of all the Maw Walkers, the strange little warlock was the quietest. She came, she took Renathal's orders, she thanked him, and she left. Now and then came a soft word, that his hair looked especially nice, or Nadjia's fighting form was especially good. And she smiled at Theotar, of course. Her smiles held loss. Of what, Renathal could guess, given her quasi-mortal state.

The Alliance, or so he had heard, was less than sympathetic to their resurrected dead.

Once again, she came to him with her report of the day. She answered his questions--"Yes, Your Highness," "No, Your Highness," "I believe Maldraxxi allegiance has been secured, Your Highness"--and bobbed an unnecessary curtsy, and went to whatever cell within the Sinfall barracks she called her own. As ever, she wore black, shrouded like a corpse save her face. Renathal knew corpses well enough. Not all Maw Walkers survived their duties, after all.

In the end, he had questions, and ones that needed answers: as to her loyalty, her intentions, and simply why she was so very different from the others that pledged their services.

"Maw Walker," he said just as she turned. She paused and looked back. "You know you are welcome here. You're free to speak and do as you please."

"Yes, Your Highness. Thank you, Your Highness." She glanced at Theotar and was gone.

Renathal sighed. He could read a soul as well as any Harvester. This particular Maw Walker's was covered in frost and ash, like something from the peak of a distant mountain.

"Theotar," he called, and Theotar looked up from pouring a cup of tea.

"My prince?"

Renathal nodded to the Gallery of Mirrors, the central hub deep within Sinfall. Theotar followed via shadows through a hidden passage and a warded mirror and into Renathal's suite. Renathal paced his drawing room.

"What do you know about that Maw Walker? The little undead."

"Gwennit?" Theotar sat with his tea and took a drink. "She's shy. Lovely manners, sweet thing. We take tea quite, quite often. I look forward to seeing her. Gubbins adores her, and Tubbins is fond as well. Even Sybille has taken to speaking with--forgive me, I prattle. What do you wish to know?"

"I'm worried. She's so quiet, she's hard to get a bead on. I think she's trustworthy, but I have questions. She looks so lost. Always, so very lost. She seems to see you as a sort of anchor."

"As I said, we have tea."

Renathal chuckled. "That's like saying mortals breathe air."

"You could have tea if you bothered to think of anything beyond the Sire, you know."

"I think of our people. The king has failed in his duty, and so it falls to me."

"I know you better than that, my dear. But what did you need to know about my little friend?"

"Is she as trustworthy as the others?"

"I believe so. But I think, my dear prince, what you want to know is that she was one of the Lich King's. Not Bolvar."

"Oh. Oh, no wonder."

"No wonder?"

"Her soul. The stain on it. I assume you've noticed."

"You know I'm not a Harvester. But, yes. It flakes away sometimes, when she smiles, but I can't see what's underneath."

"I'd like to ask you a favour. You're welcome to say no."

"My prince?"

Renathal took a deep breath and faced the hearth, hands behind his back. "I'd like you to soulbind with her."

"Renathal! I thought you had manners! You don't ask people to do things like that! Rude prince!"

Renathal laughed. "You sound like I've spilt a bottle of ink on the rug!"

"I will not invade anyone's privacy for the sake of your curiosity! You ought to be ashamed." Theotar slurped his tea, proof enough of his outrage.

"I am ashamed. It's a shameful thing to ask. But I'm thinking of Revendreth. She's frail, now that Denathrius is lost. I need to be aware of any risks to her safety. Especially if those risks could support the Windrunner."

"What are you talking about?"

Renathal turned enough to face him. Theotar watched, cup and saucer in his hands. Spots of anima glowed on his cheeks.

"After Arthas fell, Sylvanas Windrunner rescued his former soldiers, yes?" Renathal said.

"Then betrayed all of them!"

"Which doesn't mean their loyalties have changed."

"Hers have. Her soul is caked with sin, but not treachery."

"Why would someone with such great sins help us?"

"I never said they were hers." Theotar stood with his cup and came to touch Renathal's face. "I would ask you to soulbind with her, but I know you won't. You only have the two, don't you?"

"The one."

"The two. The Sire may be lost, but you still belong to each other." Theotar drew Renathal down to kiss his forehead. "If I soulbind with anyone, it will be by my decision, not your request. You should know better!"

Renathal took Theotar's cup and finished his tea. Theotar snatched it from his hand. "Rude prince!"

Renathal laughed. "Only to bother you."

"Which is much worse! If you're going to be terrible, be honest with it!"

"You know I only asked because we need help. If she's trustworthy--I don't know, but there's something immense within her. It's like a flicker in the corner of my eye. When I turn to look, it's gone."

"Which doesn't excuse what you ask of me."

"I know." Renathal frowned. "I know." He waved Theotar off. "Go on. Back to your teapot."

"Hmph! I don't think I'll invite you to join me any more." He kissed the corner of Renathal's mouth--Renathal returned it--and showed himself out.

Renathal smiled to himself as Theotar stepped through the mirror. Still, he tapped his foot.

The Maw Walker. The Lich King's soldier. Windrunner's.

He could only hope his remaining soulbind was right.

#

There was probably a reason Renathal sent Gwennit rather than some other Maw Walker, but Theotar still found it indelicate to provide such a heavy guard. After all, Draven was more than suitable to control one dear little warlock. Sending him to Bastion, too, as though kindness and tea gave him power over her soul, could have been an insult if he did not know Renathal better than that.

As far as tests of loyalty went, it lacked elegance.

"Draw a picture," Draven said in his ear as they watched Gwennit aid Mikanikos at the Eternal Forge. "It'll last longer."

"What are you talking about, my dear general?"

"You haven't taken your eyes off her since we got here. You in pebble love or something?" Draven elbowed him.

Theotar scoffed. "She is a friend! I worry about my friends."

"You worry about this one an awful lot."

"The prince asked me to keep an eye on her. He's worried about her, too."

Draven straightened. "What kind of worry? She's not working with the Maw, is she?"

"No, of course not. Poor little sombre thing."

But even madness could never blind Theotar to the change in Gwennit once she set foot in Bastion. Even while working at the Forge, she looked back over her shoulder every moment. Kept reaching for her staff. Expecting an attack. Of course, she was always agitated when she returned from Bastion, though a good cup of tea usually settled things.

Mikanikos held up the finished crown. He put it in Gwennit's hands. Theotar tensed as she lifted it as though to wear it.

"My dear!"

Gwennit paused and looked at him. Her mouth remained a grim line, but some of the tension across her shoulders softened.

Theotar smiled. "Why don't you test it? Without wearing it, of course, my friend. Perhaps smashing some things will brighten your spirits!"

Draven rubbed his eyes. "What are you doing, you idiot?"

"Giving her a chance."

Possibly a stupid thing to do, but most of the Maw Walkers enjoyed rampant destruction. Dreadful sin, but practical.

Gwennit watched him a moment, and nodded. She lifted the crown until it hovered above her, and---

Theotar winced when her first flames landed. A Forsworn centurion, a massive thing of metal and rage, toppled and shattered on the ground. Forsworn rushed to attack formation. They fell from the sky under jets of anima and fire. Another centurion. Another crash. Each time a Forsworn fell, Gwennit grew colder. Stiffer. Crueller. The terrible frost on her soul grew to ice. Bluer and bluer flames burst from her hands and the crown until the ground glazed beneath her and snow whipped through the air.

"My dear!" Theotar called as icy fire rained from the sky. "It seems to work."

She snapped her attention from the Forsworn falling before her. Her eyes glowed blue. Ice blue. Theotar clutched his teacup as though it could protect him from Arthas's army.

"On it." Draven took to the air. Theotar yelped as Draven yanked him into the air by the seat of his trousers.

"Manners!"

"Shut it!"

Theotar grabbed the crown from above Gwennit's head just before Draven snatched her. She kicked his hand, driving her heel into his enormous thumb until he growled.

"Stop that, Maw Walker!"

"My dear, leave the good general alone!"

Still, she gripped her staff. Blue sparks rained from her fingertips. Theotar watched her, sipping what tea had survived the ordeal, and hoped the stewards would return his teapot.

In Sinfall, Gwennit stormed to the barracks. Theotar left Draven to deal with Renathal and followed her. Still, he had to knock on a few cell doors before he found her.

"Are you all right, my dear?" he said when she yanked the door open, ready to cast. She slouched and sat on the edge of her cot.

"You shouldn't be here."

"Gwennit, my dear friend, what happened?" Theotar shut the door. He cast a ward to keep Renathal and Draven from finding them for the moment, and sat in the tiny cell's lone chair, a rickety wooden thing at a desk no finer.

"I won't go back to Bastion. I don't care what the prince does about it."

He should have grabbed his teapot. Some things absolutely required tea. "May I sit with you, my friend?"

Gwennit watched him. Theotar set his cup and saucer on the desk. She shifted to the foot of the small cot. Theotar sat as close to her as seemed polite.

She hunched forward with her elbows on her knees. "Not all of us took the reanimation process well, when Arthas raised the first of us. There are--" she motioned to her head "--flickers, someone else's life. I'm not anyone because of him."

"Oh, but you are! You are! You, er." Theotar looked around the cell, with its stone walls. The other Maw Walkers had things, bags brimming with them. They took them to their cells, never to be seen again. But nothing beyond an inkwell and blotter sat on Gwennit's desk. The cot held only the two of them, a coarse blanket, and a pillow. Her bags sat in a tidy row, open to show only essentials.

"You are Gwennit," Theotar finally said. "Surely that means something."

"The Blightcaller named me that. He said I wasn't worth a raw gwennit. I don't even know what it means."

"Oh, my dear." Theotar hesitated, but rested his hand on her shoulder. "You are something great. You are a Maw Walker!"

"I wish I had stayed in Undercity to rot. Then I wouldn't have to watch Bastion do what Arthas did to me. The 'great reward'. Only for the best souls!"

Theotar scooted closer and put his arm around Gwennit's shoulders. It was rude, terribly rude, but sometimes, rudeness carried more power than manners. Gwennit shivered and leaned against him.

"I imagine a gwennit is some delicious pastry," Theotar said. "It only needs time and warmth to come into its own."

"Great. I'm dessert."

"There are worse things to be."

They sat in silence. Gwennit made no effort to move. Theotar studied the walls. The chiselled stones held lovely swirly patterns like the ones dust devils left in the Ember Ward. He would need to find something to bring them out. Perhaps a rug, or a couple of tapestries. Certainly a parasol, the most essential of accessories. One simply could not do without a parasol, at least not in polite company.

A sound made him look down. Gwennit hummed to herself.

"What is that you're singing, my dear?"

She sat up. "Nothing. I'm sorry."

"It's not nothing. Is it a song? Sing it for me, please?"

"I...."

"Please, my dear?"

Gwennit nodded. She took a breath, and sang.

"I sent my love a silver rose
"She sent to me a bee.
"It stung me right upon my nose
"A sight for all to see.
"I sent to her a golden fish
"She gave to me some wine
"Upon a stone I made a wish
"She'd love me for all time."

"My dear. Your voice is terribly sweet. Though what exactly is a bee, and why does it sting?"

She smiled, and the frost on her soul melted. "It's an insect. They like flowers. They sting if you frighten them."

"Lovely! Where did you hear this beautiful song?"

Gwennit shrugged. "It's always been with me. Since I woke from--from Arthas. It's all I've got."

"Then why do you cling so to what isn't there? Why have you not created a new life? One you can call yours."

Gwennit moved to sit at the desk. "Could you do that? Lose everything you were and simply begin again?"

"I did! Twice!" Theotar spread his arms and looked about the room. "That is Revendreth's entire purpose!"

"You were---"

"Deserving of my first fate. I won't give you details, but they were unpleasant." Theotar smiled. "Then I survived the Ember Ward, and now I am here!"

"But you're a duke. Your ruled Thornhill."

"Please, I administrated at best---"

A knock sounded at the door. Indeed, the privacy ward had dissolved.

"Maw Walker," Renathal called, his voice muffled behind the rough wood. "I need to speak with you."

"A moment, my prince." Theotar leaned forward and patted Gwennit's hand. "Think about what I said. It is not only our sins we carry, but those enacted upon us." He got the door. "Be gentle with her."

"I should have known I'd find you here. Your bloody wards."

Theotar chuckled. He nodded to Gwennit. "Come and have tea later. In my parlour."

She nodded, but the frost had returned to her soul.

As tempting as it was to listen through the door, manners came first. Theotar went to find Gubbins and, with luck, his second best tea set.

#

Draven's report was not what Renathal wanted to hear.

"Maw Walker," he said, and she shrugged. "I am addressing you, Gwennit of Undercity."

"Yes, Your Highness."

"Tell me what happened."

She looked at him. In her eyes glinted hints of frost. "Bastion happened, Your Highness."

"What did Bastion ever do to you?"

She bit her lips shut. Renathal folded his arms.

"If you cannot be trusted, I will be forced to exile you from my realm. Revendreth cannot afford a diplomatic incident---"

"The Forsworn are right."

Renathal blinked. "Explain yourself."

"What's my name?"

"Gwennit of---"

"No. What is my name? Who am I? Where did I come from? You don't know, do you?"

"I have reason enough already to doubt your loyalties---"

"I have no allegiance to Arthas!"

Her voice echoed. Renathal stepped back. Frost gathered on the walls. Lich frost. The stain on the Maw Walker's soul thickened into ice. Watching as though she might lunge, Renathal put out his hand.

"I know you have no loyalty to him. My concern is with the Banshee Queen---"

"She betrayed my people after giving us hope. I followed her, Your Highness, and it nearly destroyed me." Snow sifted from the ceiling, from the stone itself. "If you doubt me, send me away. But let me say goodbye to Theotar."

"I don't want to---"

"If you doubt me," and the snow thickened, "send me away. But let me say goodbye to Theotar."

That was where her loyalty lay. In kindness, and mischief, and tea, and perhaps the only one in a lifetime to show her real care. Renathal nodded.

"Forgive me. Only, I can't have an emissary who shows such fervent hatred for one of the only allies we've got."

"Then don't send me back."

"I may not always have a choice."

Gwennit looked away. The snow stopped, and what lay at Renathal's feet dissolved to mist. Still, the walls stood in their shroud of frost, like the black shroud Gwennit always wore.

Renathal licked his lips and laid his hand on her head. "You need not blindly obey. I am not my Sire."

"I'm not mine, either."

"Please understand my concerns. The fate of all that exists lies on you and your fellow Maw Walkers."

Gwennit refused to speak. Renathal stepped back and bowed, and left her be. From the other side of the door, he heard her sing something about a silver rose.

#

It was late before Gwennit gathered herself enough for the walls to melt. There were no days or nights in Revendreth, only eternal light, but some sort of clock within her said when the sun ought to rise or set. Late in the evening, after an hour of singing her song to herself, she stood, tidied her robes, and set for the only place she was truly welcome.

Her walk--as, indeed, she did prefer to walk, her fel hunter sniffing the ground behind her--took her on a detour, thanks to a pile of rubble and some panicked dredgers. One fell and scraped his knee. Gwennit picked him up, kissed his head and wound, and returned to her walk before the rest could demand the same. The road took her through a copse of cages---

"Oh, hello there, Maw Walker! You're not Gwennit, are you?"

Gwennit looked around. An ash ghoul flailed for her robe.

"Up here, you silly girl."

She looked up to find a venthyr crammed into a cage with enough books for a library.

"Do you need help, sir?" she said.

"Oh, no, no, no. You're not Gwennit, are you? I was hoping to meet her. Theotar says such lovely things. Lord Scowl."

Gwennit curtsied. "Gwennit of Undercity, at your service, my lord."

"Oh, it is you! Well. He did say you have a propensity for the drab. You really ought to see my tailor."

"I---"

"Oh, come now, girl. Theotar may eschew any sort of sense, but the rest of us would see you in velvet. Are you off for tea?"

"Yes, my lord?"

"Well. Give this to Tubbins, would you?" Lord Scowl tossed a book, which Gwennit hardly caught. "I've made some notes in the margins. If he has any hopes to publish, he ought to heed them. Goodness, child, don't stand there like a dredger."

"I like dredgers, my lord."

"You think I'd read Tubbins's excuse for a manuscript if I didn't? Go on, get going." He picked up another book. "If you find anything new to read, bring it by, would you?"

"Do you need help?"

"Oh, no, no, no, no. Plenty of time to read up here." Lord Scowl opened the book and tucked his tatted bookmark in his sleeve. "Give Theotar my best, would you? Strange girl."

Gwennit looked around, in case any goblins were hiding with cameras and microphones. She curtsied once more and set deeper into the Ember Ward. As she walked, taking in the heat and light, she glanced at the plain brown book in her hand. The cover read, in Theotar's delicate script:

Tubbins's Story

She opened it to read, in a different hand entirely:

Wons appun a rilly gud tym, dere wus a hansum, clevva, rite ejjucaded yun drejjer cald Tubbins. He liv wiv hiz bruvva Gubbins, oo wernt as hansum or clevva or annyfing but a rite nise blowk al da saym, anna fang cald Theotar, oo elp wiv da punchooashun.

Gwennit laughed---

She clapped her hand to her mouth.

An ash ghoul's cry echoed in the distance. Gwennit held her breath, frozen to the spot. She looked at the book.

Theotar wus rite nise fer a fang. E ad tee an alays gayv sum 2 Tubbins an Gubbins an Sybille an da skaree laydee wiv toolz.

Another laugh threatened in her belly.

Gwennit ran.

"My dear!" Theotar stood as soon as she set foot in the parlour, and guided her to a chair. "Are the locals bothering you again? I've told them, leave my guests alone---"

Gwennit picked up a steaming teacup and gulped down the full contents. Theotar took the cup from her hand and laced their fingers together.

"Did Renathal say something?"

She shook her head and set the book on the table. "Lord Scowl sent this for Tubbins. He made some notes."

"Surely Victor said nothing."

"No."

"Something must have---"

"I laughed."

Theotar cocked his head and crouched in front of her. "My dear. How long has it been since you---"

"Never."

"Oh, my dear." He hugged her. Gwennit went stiff, but wrapped her arms around him. "You must be terrified!"

"I shouted at the prince. I thought he was going to say I was in league with Arthas."

"No, no, he would never do that. You must understand, he never expected to take the mantle of the Sire as he has. He never wanted to rule. But needs must, and so he does. He is as frightened as you are this moment, but dares not show it."

"I can't laugh." It came out a whisper. "I did things."

"Under Arthas?"

Gwennit nodded.

"So what you're saying is that Arthas did things, and forced you to go along."

"I could have stopped him---"

"My dear." Theotar dragged his armchair in front of hers. "You could no more have stopped him than I could have resisted the light. You could no more have stopped him than Renathal could have turned aside and let the Sire destroy Revendreth!"

"But I did---"

"Terrible things. As did I, once!" Theotar filled the cup he had taken from her hands and held it out. It was part of his second-best tea set, a blue delft thing that brought flashes of a cottage, Lordaeron in the distance, of children playing like dredgers in the muck---

She shook off the images and took the cup.

"You poor thing." Theotar took his own tea and sat back. "I cannot imagine what your soul looks like under its stains."

Gwennit drew her teacup to her chest. "Why are you looking at my soul?"

"Why are you looking at my skin?"

"What else am I supposed to look at?"

Theotar lifted his cup as he nodded. He took a sip.

Tubbins waddled in with Gubbins. Gubbins cried, "Sad lady!" and ran to hug her. Tubbins nodded. He brightened when he saw the book on the table, and took it to read in the corner. He frowned when he opened it.

"That fang thinks he can mark up me blasted masterpiece!"

Gwennit chuckled. She dropped her cup. It shattered in a spray of tea.

Theotar stood and took her shaking hands. "Perhaps this isn't the best time for tea."

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'll fix it. I'll get you another one---"

"Stop."

Gwennit froze. Theotar peered into her eyes and huffed.

"You've had far too much light today! You need something stronger than tea."

Gwennit could pay no attention to the shadows they walked. They emerged in Darkhaven. Theotar led her to a building with a sign that said, "The Hennery."

"Theotar, sweetheart!" A venthyr woman with towering blonde hair and a sizeable bosom rushed from behind the bar and hugged him. They kissed the air at each other's cheeks. "What you doing here, you silly thing?"

"Mona, darling! Meet Gwennit." Theotar bowed with a flourish. "She is in dire need."

"Love, blood, or anima?"

"Alcohol!"

"Bit of all three, then." Mona looked Gwennit up and down and smirked at Theotar. "I'll sell you my bed one of these days, Theotar. Your little friend can come too."

Theotar scoffed. "Still so terribly rude!"

He sat Gwennit at the dark wooden bar. Mona poured a glass of something red. Gwennit narrowed her eyes at the glistening liquid, which swirled with something much like fae sparkles.

"Did Theotar break your heart, sweetie?" Mona leaned on her elbows. "Is that why he's brought you here? Never you mind. He does that to everyone. Friend to all, lover to none."

"There was Renathal! And the Countess!"

"Ages ago! What's going on that you got to come and see old Mona? First time in forever."

"You know I love to come and see you! Sinfall is a terribly busy place, my darling. But Gwennit is in a difficult position."

Gwennit picked up the glass and sniffed it. It smelled like flowers and a bit like blight. She knocked it back in one.

"Careful, me dowsabel! That's my most potent stock! Odd little thing, en't she? One of those Maw Walkers in and out?"

"The very same. And a dear friend."

"Could I have another, please?" Gwennit said.

"You sure about that, dearie---"

"Yes," Theotar said. "What Gwennit wants, she shall get."

"It's not my arse getting her home." Mona poured another, and added a drop of anima. "For the hangover."

Gwennit drank it, and bothered to taste it this time. It tasted like the air in the Ember Ward, sharp and full of strange plants. "Another one, please, miss."

"Wait a moment, my dear." Theotar patted her shoulder. "Perhaps some tea?"

"I'll get the pot." Mona sighed and went into the back room. "Don't half keep me running."

Gwennit folded her arms on the bar and rested her head there. She had laughed. Everyone laughed. But not everyone had slaughtered countless in the name of the Lich King. Not everyone burned with lich ice the moment they set foot in Bastion. She looked up when Theotar patted her back.

"You'll be all right, my dear friend. We all suffer for Revendreth, and we come out better than we were."

Gwennit nodded. She swallowed the words on her tongue, that all the suffering in the Shadowlands would not save her from the Maw, in time. Nowhere else suited a soldier of Arthas.

Mona returned with a steaming teapot. "You're only lucky I keep the kettle on. Fond of a cuppa meself, these days. No thanks to Theotar, here."

"I am an excellent influence!"

"You're some sort of influence, that's for sure. You take sugar, dearie?"

Gwennit shook her head. "No, thank you, miss."

"Don't you start with the manners." Mona poured three cups and pushed two across the bar. "I already got a duke here to put up with. Don't need a duchess." She winked.

Gwennit nodded and picked up her cup. She sipped it without letting it cool, and closed her eyes at the burn in her mouth.

"What sort of trouble you in? Lover problems?"

"... Lich King."

"Oh, blimey!" Mona put her hand to her chest. "That's a bit beyond me. Need a Harvester for that sort of muck!"

"I think a bit of alcohol will be sufficient," Theotar said.

"What she had was more than a bit. Oi! Marn!"

A stone fiend popped out from behind a row of bottles. "You rang, boss?"

Mona waved her hand at an ornate box on the end of the bar. "Give us a bit of music, what? This one needs it."

The stone fiend saluted and flitted to the box, which he opened. Grunting, he pushed a crank on its side, and a soft, tinkling waltz began to play. He leaned against the wall, panting, as the crank moved on its own.

"Nothing like a song to bring out the good in the world," Mona said, and Gwennit nodded.

Theotar stood and bowed to Mona. "Might I have this dance?"

"You wicked thing." Mona shook her head but stepped from behind the bar and curtsied. "Be the end of me, you will."

"There are finer venthyr to be had." Theotar drew her to a clear spot and pulled her into the air. Mona laughed. The sound cut through Gwennit, and she set her cup on its saucer before her hands could shake too much. "Besides, I know for a fact," Theotar said as he spun Mona through the air, "you would much rather the Countess than me."

"I en't picky."

"Then you would rather Gwennit than me!"

"Well. She is easy on the eyes. In a green sort of way."

"Why don't you ask her to dance, then?"

"I don't know how," Gwennit said, more to the bar than Theotar.

"Nonsense, my dear!" Theotar spun Mona, and settled to the floor next to Gwennit. He held out his hand. "Let me show you."

"I really don't know how." Gwennit shook her head, and her brain moved an instant behind the rest. Maybe two glasses of whatever Mona gave her was too much. "You two were---"

"Please, my dear? Only, you look so lonely, and I cannot bear to see you miserable while we have our fun. If I, a known lunatic, deserves to enjoy himself, you more than do."

Gwennit looked at his hand. Theotar grinned. She took his hand, and yelped when he pulled her into the air.

"No need to be frightened! I am more than strong enough to carry you."

Gwennit clutched him around the chest. The wooden floor, ages below them, wavered as more alcohol seeped into her head. Mona hovered nearby, dancing with Marn's tiny hands between her fingers, Marn as smug as a stone fiend could be.

Theotar spun Gwennit in a circle. "Whee!"

Gwennit huffed and hid her face against his chest. Theotar kept her aloft, safe, as though he was made of all the light and warmth the Ember Ward could ever give. He sang to the music, nonsense sounds that made more sense than they ought. He held her waist with both hands, his fingers strong and sharp and gentle.

For the first time in a lifetime, Gwennit's heart gave a single, sluggish beat.

"Oh," Mona said, and settled to the floor. She went behind the bar and took up her tea.

The music ended, and the box closed on its own. Even when her feet touched the floor, Gwennit held fast to Theotar, trembling. Far too soon, he stepped back and kissed her hand. And peered.

"Are you all right, my dear?"

"I think the alcohol got to me."

"Is that not its purpose?" He got her to the bar, and she drank her tea in one go. Mona refilled the cup.

"You best be gentle with her, Theotar," she said under her breath. "Don't make me beat your arse."

"When am I not gentle?"

"You're oblivious, is what you are. I miss when you had a mind in that skull of yours. Blazing, it were."

"Hmph! Gwennit, are you going to sit there and let her treat me this way?"

Gwennit sipped her tea.

Theotar pouted. "Nobody loves Theotar!"

"Go back to the Countess, you old fool." Still, Mona took Gwennit's hand. "You all right, there, me dowsabel?"

"She is a dowsabel, is she not? The dredgers all have the loveliest things to say."

"I'm sorry, I--I don't know what that is." Like a gwennit. Like a raw gwennit.

"We're calling you a sweetheart." Mona squeezed and let go of Gwennit's hand. "Such a shy little thing, you are. I s'pose that's part of why you're here, innit?"

"If you'd to stay the night," and Theotar grinned, "I'd be more than willing to purchase you a bed."

"I don't think it's my bed she wants, dearie."

Gwennit took a sip of tea and set the cup on its saucer. "Could I have another drink, please, miss?"

"What do you mean, not yours? Who wouldn't want to share a bed with the delightful Mona!"

"You."

Theotar scoffed. "You know me better than that."

"How'd a soppy old romantic like you get in with a soppy old whore like me?" Mona took down a clean glass and filled it with liquor and anima. "Last one, me dowsabel. I en't having you walk off the edge of the world."

"As if I would allow it!"

"I know what you'd allow. Go and put on a shirt."

Theotar folded his arms around his chest. "I am resplendent!"

"You're only lucky I give you an exception to me dress code."

"Oh! Oh, my tender heart! You wound me, Mona!"

"Drink your bloody tea!"

The clock somewhere inside Gwennit said it should have been long past dark when she stood to stretch her legs, and crumpled to the floor. The room, dark and cool, swam all around her. Theotar swept from his chair and pulled her to her feet.

"That's why I said no more." Mona crossed her arms. "You need the guest room, me dowsabel?"

"I can get our little dowsabel home safely."

"I'm all ri---"

The world tipped as Theotar picked her up. Gwennit stared at the wall as she leaned against him. Mona shook her head.

"You let me know how she is when she wakes up. Most people don't get more than one of my special distillation. Keep her company, would you?"

"I think she would do better with sleep than tea."

"You are such a blasted fool, Theotar. Blind as a stone."

"Hey!" Marn said. "I resent that!"

"I en't talking to you! Dowsabel, you going to be all right?"

Gwennit nodded and turned her head to hide her face against Theotar's chest. She woke in her cell, Theotar spreading the scratchy blanket over her. He tucked her hair beneath her veil and kissed her forehead. Gwennit rolled onto her side and snuggled into her blanket.

For once, she did not dream of Arthas.

#

Gubbins liked happy. Gubbins liked Theotar! Theotar came home after long time with sad lady. Gubbins ran for hug!

"Teetar! Gubbins miss you!"

"'Lo, guv," Tubbins said. Book made Tubbins mad!

Theotar picked Gubbins up. Gave Gubbins hug! "Hello, my dears!" Theotar kissed Gubbins on head. Gubbins clapped hands! "How are you today?"

"That blasted fang marked up me book."

"Gubbins happy!"

"I shall speak with Victor. Such an editor, that one! But lovely in his own way."

"Where sad lady?" Gubbins said.

Theotar sat in nice parlour chair. Gubbins sat in Theotar's lap for more hugs!

"She's sleeping it off, I'm afraid."

"Sleep what off?" Gubbins said. Not sad lady skin! Sad lady needed skin!

"Not tea. Oh, I could use a cup. Why have the stewards not returned my teapot yet?"

"Dunno, guv," Tubbins said. "You want me to knock 'em about a bit? Send a message?"

"More words, less violence, I think." Theotar sighed. He looked sad. Gubbins hugged him.

"Teetar sad!"

"You are a good friend, Gubbins. You always know the truth."

"Gubbins smart!"

"As clever as a Gubbins!" Theotar smiled! Theotar was happy! "Gubbins, my dear, what do you think of Gwennit?"

"Sad lady nice. Real good. Gubbins like lots."

"Aye, word about the muck pool is she's kissing bruises now. I'd let her kiss my bruises."

"Tubbins! Manners!"

"I said bruises!"

"Hmph. Have you forgot everything I've taught you? Gubbins hasn't. He would never forget!"

Gubbins nodded! Gubbins smart! "Sad lady nice!"

"The soul below has far to go," Sybille said. She was smoky. She had jar of frog. "The liches come and bring the snow!"

Theotar nodded. "Yes, I quite agree. She has a great deal ahead of her. I do hope she can come into her own." Theotar got quiet. "Renathal says we are all stronger together. I wonder if he was right."

"Right about what, guv?"

"A suggestion. So rude of him! Though I suppose I see his point. Not that I will ever let him know!"

"Bound together, one to one, bound together, moon and sun."

Theotar laughed. Theotar real happy! "Excellent point, my dear. Perhaps I should speak with Mona again before I do something rash?"

"Strong, strong, harsh and long. Dance the dance and sing the song."

"How do you know about that?"

Sybille ate frog.

"Sad lady friend," Gubbins said, and nodded.

Theotar sighed. "Yes, I suppose that really is the final word on the matter. Renathal will never let me hear the end of this."

"What are you lot blathering about?" Tubbins said.

"Two souls to one, the day is done."

"Precisely, Sybille! A soulbind with our dear Gwennit. I do hope it lets me see beneath the ash on her soul. If she agrees."

Sybille burped frog guts. "Where snow lay thick, the roses grow. Must sift the soil, the seeds must sow!"

"My dear, I really don't think she looks at me that way."

Sybille ate frog guts.

"Teetar happy?" Gubbins said.

Theotar looked at Gubbins. Theotar smiled! "Yes, my dear friend. I think I am."

#

The strange little Maw Walker wore her veil over her face when she came for the day's assignment. Renathal frowned.

"Are you all right?"

She mumbled something that might have been, "Mona."

Renathal nodded. "I've had a glass of that myself. As I recall, Denathrius thought I'd died in my sleep."

She muttered.

"Sorry?"

Even through her veil, her glare burned. "Three."

"You had--by the Maw. Would you like a day or two to yourself? I think we'll survive that long without you."

The Maw Walker grunted and turned to return to the barracks.

"Gwennit, my dear!" Theotar scurried over, a blue delft teacup in his hand. He must not have got his favourite back yet. "Before you go, could I speak with you?"

"Nngh."

Theotar opened his parasol over the Maw Walker's head. "You really ought to keep this for the time being. Forgive me. I ought to have stopped you, but you were so very miserable."

"What's going on?" Renathal said. "Are you trying to kill my Maw Walkers?"

"Of course not! I was trying to make her feel better."

"By giving her the sire of all hangovers?"

"Nn, quiet," the Maw Walker said.

"She needed a pick-me-up. Perhaps we ought to find a flake of the gargon."

"Perhaps we ought to not take the Maw Walkers to see Mona. You weren't trying to get her bedded---"

"No! Perhaps. Only a little."

Renathal rubbed his eyes. "I'd blame the Ember Ward, but this is actually an improvement. The poor Accuser. I don't think she ever got her bloody corset back."

"Nngh, head---"

Theotar poked Renathal in the chest. "You are the one who introduced me to Mona!"

Renathal leaned close enough that the whole of Sinfall might not hear him. "Because I thought we might sleep with her. I didn't expect the two of you to become a rogues' den."

"That sort of thing is precisely why I stopped sharing your bed, my prince!"

"WhyIgottahearthis?"

Renathal looked at the Maw Walker. Theotar kissed her hand.

"I'm terribly sorry, my dear. This is an old argument."

"Too old," Renathal said.

"Wannagobed," the Maw Walker said.

Theotar bit his lip, like he did when he had something important on his mind. Renathal lifted his eyebrows. Surely he had not reconsidered---

The Maw Walker stepped closer to Theotar. "Tea."

"Of course, my dear friend. Your poor head. Come downstairs. Renathal, you, too. This concerns you."

"I have got things to do---"

"Let Draven handle them. Look at him, standing there like a boulder. With his fingers in my sugar bowl! Draven!"

The Maw Walker winced. Draven yanked his fingers from the sugar bowl and shuffled away. He stuffed a sugar lump in his mouth, and Theotar scoffed.

"What is the Stonewright teaching them?"

"How to fight, I believe. Manners would only get in the way."

Renathal set for the noble suites. Theotar followed, the Maw Walker huddled against him under the parasol. Renathal waited outside Theotar's door, not far from his own, until the two of them caught up.

In the drawing room, the Maw Walker curled on her side on Theotar's ridiculous green velvet couch, facing the back of it. It made her even smaller than usual, fragile and slight. Theotar took a folded blanket from the back of his chair--a stack of books sat next to it, with a pair of reading glasses on top--and laid it over the Maw Walker.

"Gwennit? Do you need to rest, my dear, or can you listen?"

Renathal sat by the hearth, which burned with anima-tinged flames. The Maw Walker muttered something, and Theotar laughed.

"Then I'll do all the speaking." He sat at the Maw Walker's feet. Fussing with a corner of the blanket, he said, "Do you know what a soulbind--forgive me, I said I would do the speaking."

"Nnh."

"You're in no state, my dear." Theotar bent and kissed her somewhere around her cheek, through her veil. "Go to sleep. I'll speak with you later. All right, my little dowsabel?"

The Maw Walker groaned and pulled the blanket over her head. Theotar chuckled and ran his fingers down her arm. He took Renathal to the next room, the small back parlour.

"I only wanted you to know, my dear. I shan't force her."

"Mm-hmm." Renathal folded his arms. "What if she says no?"

"Then you will remain my one and only soulbind."

Renathal nodded. He shifted his weight. Theotar sighed and kissed him, soft and chaste.

"Are you jealous, my prince?"

"No."

"So, yes."

"Why would I be jealous?"

"I know you. But simply because you're not in my bed any more doesn't mean you aren't in my heart."

"We could always try ag---"

Theotar put his finger over Renathal's mouth. "Time changes all, my prince, including the two of us. I would rather keep you as my dearest friend than lose you again as my lover."

Renathal fidgeted and pushed his hair back. He nodded. "If I have to choose between the two, then I will say the same."

"Honestly?"

"Honestly."

Theotar smiled. Renathal bowed.

"Stay here and look after the Maw Walker. Let me know how she is when you can. You got her into this mess, you get her out."

"And I should know better. But we both know I never will." Theotar kissed Renathal's cheek and waved him out. "Go! Go. I need to put the kettle on."

Renathal took a moment to look in on the Maw Walker. She lay hidden under a layer of red wool, not a breath in her body. Only the twitch of her shoulders said she was alive, in as much as one of Arthas's victims could ever be called such a thing.

#

Gwennit woke to a stone giant kneeling on her skull.

Or something of the ilk.

What should have been a cry for help came out as a groan. Something hot nudged her hand.

"I was getting worried! Here, drink. Do I need to hold the cup for you, my little dowsabel?"

"... Teeadar?"

"You are on my couch. No need to panic. I suppose I ought to send word to Mona that you're still alive. Sit up, my dear."

Gwennit's limbs remained limp despite her best efforts. The warmth on her hand went away, and Theotar lifted her to lean against the couch's arm. She opened her mouth, and found a dredger bog inside.

"Here." Theotar held a cup to her lips. She took a mouthful and pressed her face to the couch's arm. It was nicer than a cot, especially with her everything throbbing, with the centre of the explosion lodged in her head. "No, my dear, drink more."

Gwennit managed half the cup before her stomach turned and she pushed Theotar's hands away. "Maw. Brain."

Theotar chuckled. "I know precisely what you mean. Mona has slid me drinks from time to time. Oh, your veil." He pulled the cloth over her head. "You have such pretty white hair. Why do you hide it?"

Gwennit shrugged. She lay on the couch with the blanket pulled to her ear.

"Would you like me to read to you? Gubbins has been writing his autobiography. It's quite the adventure!"

Gwennit shrugged, and nodded. It might not help her head, but it would ensure she did not crumble to dust alone.

Theotar grinned and put on a pair of half-moon glasses, and took a brown-backed book from the top of the tidy stack beside his chair. He sat next to her feet and opened the book.

"'Twas in the dark and safety of the bog that I first set gaze upon the world and rose---"

"Gubbinswroddis?"

"Don't slur, my dowsabel. He dictated. The poor dear still has difficulty with his letters. I may have translated a bit."

"Mm."

"Would you like me to continue?"

"Mm-hmm."

Theotar squeezed her foot through the blanket and returned to the book. "Where was I? Oh, I'll start again. ''Twas in the dark and safety of the bog that I first set gaze upon this world and rose to join it in my gentle and humble way. I, Gubbins, am a mere dredger, but my dear friends and brothers in duty call me the finest of my people, a noble spirit blessed with clarity of conviction and the greatest gift of truth....'"

Gwennit closed her eyes and listened. Theotar's voice eased the Maw bursting forth from inside her head, and she wriggled down the couch to put her feet against his thigh. He patted her knee and left his hand there. Despite the misery behind her eyes, despite every speck of undeath radiating in her bones, Gwennit smiled.

She woke to quiet and the plague-like scent of mushroom tea. Her body returned to its parody of life enough for her to grope on the floor and find a cup and saucer. She took a long drink that made blisters on her palate, and opened her eyes. Theotar sat in his chair, his glasses halfway down his nose, reading something with a blue cover, its title written in an unfamiliar language. He glanced up and shut the book on his finger.

"You dozed off. Would you like something to eat, my dear? A bit of dry toast, perhaps?"

Gwennit nodded and finished her tea. Before she could set down the cup, Theotar picked up his delft teapot and refilled it. "I shall be right back!"

Gwennit sipped her tea, and managed to sit up and draw her knees to her chest. She balanced the cup on one, letting its warmth seep into her stiff hands. Theotar returned with a small plate and two slices of dark Revendreth bread. He held up his finger and tossed the bread into the air.

Gwennit stared as he shot a burst of flame on the slices, and caught them, toasted, on the plate. He bowed.

"You're a mage," Gwennit said.

"Of course! What else would I be? A fire mage, to be specific. Not so useful in the Ember Ward, I fear."

Gwennit giggled and clapped her hand over her mouth.

"What a sweet sound!" Theotar sat next to her and offered the plate, which she took. "Would you like me to read to you some more? Or I could be quiet, if you'd prefer."

"Read? Please?"

"Anything for my dowsabel!"

Gwennit hid her smile behind her teacup.

She kept to herself and nibbled her toast while Theotar read. Gubbins, it seemed, was more interesting than she knew, or he had a bigger imagination. Riding wild bats? Taming light-maddened gargons? Making friends with stone giants was a different story. Everyone loved Gubbins. She loved Gubbins. If anyone dared harm a hair on his green little head---

Theotar rested his hand on her knee, still reading, his glasses at the end of his nose. Gwennit's stomach jumped. She looked at him. He glanced at her and winked.

Oh, no.

Oh, no, no, no, no.

He deserved so much better. So much more. Not her. Not less than a raw gwennit.

She shot to her feet. "I need to go."

"Gwennit!"

"Sorry. Sorry." Her head threatened to burst as she bolted for the door. She left her teacup and plate on a table and ran to her cell, and leaned against the door, safe inside.

No. No. Not for one of Arthas's.

Not for a soldier of the lich.

She crouched on the floor, covering her mouth with her hands. Before Theotar could find her, she snatched her bags and ran to the Pridefall mirror.

Undercity. Undercity. She deserved to rot in Undercity. Not sit next to someone kind, and good, and gentle, and happy to read aloud until her hangover went away.

An hour later, she had a bedsit in Undercity, a headache, and a sinking feeling she had broken something precious.

#

"Slow down, dearie. You need a drink?"

Mona sighed as Theotar put his head on the bar. "I don't know what happened! One minute, I was reading Gubbins's book to her, and the next, all her things were gone!"

"You tell anyone?"

"I am too ashamed!"

Mona filled a glass with her special distillation and set it in front of him. "Drink."

Theotar wrinkled his nose. "Haven't you got a kettle on somewhere?"

"Drink it."

Glowering, Theotar picked up the glass and took a sip. He shuddered and put his forehead on his folded arms. "I have no idea what you make this from, and I don't think I want to."

"Really. After what you've put in a teapot or ten."

"Needs must."

"I told you to be gentle with her, you blooming eejit."

"I was! She's a very delicate little thing. Oh, the poor dowsabel. I have frightened her away, and I don't even know how!"

Mona went to the door, turned out the CLOSED sign, locked up, and sat next to Theotar. "If it makes you feel any better, dearie, I think she scared herself."

"How in the Maw would that happen? She was simply sitting there. Listening! She has terribly bony knees, you know."

"Maybe because she's falling in love with you, me dear heart."

Theotar lifted his head.

He knocked back his drink.

"Oi!" Mona snatched the glass. "I said drink it, not pound it! She did that, and look what happened!"

"I think I need a lie-down."

"I know, dearie. Come upstairs. I'll give you a cuddle, on the house."

Theotar shook his head. "This is terrible. Damn Arthas! Damn him and everything he ever did!"

"Let me guess, she don't think she deserves to be happy 'cause of what she done under him. I've seen it before. Lots of our lot are like that in younger days."

"I wasn't!"

"Sweetheart, you went through the Ember Ward and only came out a few screws loose. You are absolutely a special case."

"I've lost a Maw Walker. Renathal is going to fling me into the In-Between without even a rope."

"Renathal wouldn't do anything like that. The Accuser, maybe. Ooh, a firecracker, she is."

"Is there a single titled Harvester you've yet to coax into your bed?"

"Stonewright. I hold out hope."

"My poor dowsabel. Could I have another drink, my dear?"

Mona snapped her fingers. Marn swept down and took the glass and bottle to the back. Theotar sighed.

Mona patted his back. "You miss her."

"Of course I do! She's my friend! Poor Gubbins will be heartbroken."

"Theotar, you en't brought anyone to me unannounced since the Countess. You sure that's all there is to it?"

"Yes! She is far too fragile to endure any such thing!"

"Says the bloke who collected every stray in the Ember Ward. Never mind half the cats in Thornhill."

"I will not do that to her. I am not a monster. Not any more." He gripped his face. "Oh, no. I am a monster."

Mona hugged him. "You got any idea where she could've gone? Where's she from?"

"Undercity. It's blighted on the surface, she says. Nothing can live there at all."

"I'd lay money she's there, then." Mona clapped her hand on Theotar's shoulder. "You wait here, me darling."

"Are you putting on the kettle?"

"Fine, I'll put the kettle on. Don't half run meself ragged over you and yours."

It took a few minutes to gather everything she needed--and put the bloody kettle on--and she found Theotar eyeing a bottle of Maldraxxi sherry. She set in front of him a stack of her good stationery, an inkwell of lovely dark red ink, a stick of sealing wax, and her good dip-pen, a pretty glass thing with fine gold threads twisted through.

"I got my own Maw Walkers, me darling. You write our little dowsabel a letter, saying you en't angry with her. Beyond that, what it says is between the two of you."

"I don't think this is a good idea, my dear."

"And I think it is. Imagine if you'd run off your early days with Renathal. How would he feel?"

"Like getting drunk."

Mona tapped the paper. "Don't waste it, less you fancy buying me a fresh box. Say what you mean, mean what you say."

"I think I would like a walk to clear my head first."

"... Only 'til the drink starts kicking in. I said a cuddle on the house, not a week of sleep."

At the back of the Hennery, Theotar gazed at the mire far below. Mona stood with him, watching anima mites flit through the air. A breeze brought the scent of her roses. Theotar turned his head, and his eyes widened.

"Silver roses," he said.

"Aye. They got aphids again?"

Theotar shook his head. He went to the rosebush and picked one of the nicer blooms (of course), and went in through the back of the building, studying the flower. Mona rolled her eyes--when he wanted to be inscrutable, he could bloody well be a void--and looked over the roses (aphid-free, Sire's mercy). At the bar, Theotar held the dip-pen in the air, the rose on the bar-top next to him. Mona went to check the kettle, and a few minutes later, she set a full tea tray next to him.

With that, she went upstairs to tidy her bedroom--her proper one, not her working one. If Theotar wanted his cuddle, and bless him if he did, he wasn't having it where the rest got theirs.

#

Since the Battle for Lordaeron, work had all but vanished in Undercity. It was why Gwennit left in the first place. Damn the Alliance. First they turned away their own, then they stormed the only home left to the ones they forsook. As if any of the Forsaken had a say in their fate, especially those like Gwennit, tainted with lich frost and lost to their pasts. As if none of them lived in Lordaeron in the old days.

On her third day there, she found a tiny junk shop in the Magic Quarter, really no more than a stall. The owner, a tired old man with a missing eye, smiled as though it hurt him.

"What can I do for you, my girl? You looking for something?"

"Work, please."

The man sank. "There's nothing. Nothing here." He motioned to his wares. "You want a stack of old letters? A tea set? I found it in the wreckage in Brill. Only thing in the cottage that survived. But work? The Alliance stole it all. Leave while you can, little one."

Gwennit nodded. She had nowhere to go, but she nodded. She flinched when she saw the tea set: four cups and saucers and a pot, all repaired with enamel and gold dust, all pink and white. Theotar's favourite colours.

She walked back to her bedsit, wondering if things were any better in Silvermoon, and if she could afford the daily flights back and forth.

Outside the bank, a goblin leaned against the wall, looking over the tops of his dark glasses. He pushed himself up and pointed at her with both hands.

"Heya, toots. You know where I can find a babe called Gwennit?"

Gwennit scowled, but curtsied. "At your service, sir."

The goblin drew a comb through his greased hair, and took a roll of paper tied at the ends with red ribbon from his leather jacket. "Got something for ya. You know a guy named Theo?"

"No?"

"What?" The goblin slumped. "Come on! Guy said he'd pay me five hundred smackeroos if I got this letter to ya! But I hafta make sure it's really you, or I don't get nothin'!"

"I don't know a Theo. I know a Theotar---"

The goblin snapped his fingers. "That's it, Theo-tar. Just like the muck in the Endmire, eh, babe?"

Gwennit drew her hands to her chest. "Is he angry with me?"

"I don't know, toots, I'm just the messenger. Look, you gonna give me something to prove I delivered this thing, or not?"

"I don't really have anything." Gwennit looked down at herself. From the bottom of her robe, she ripped a strip of cloth. "Will this do?"

"How should I know? Ah, it'll work. If he don't pay up, I'll find ya. I need a date for the Trade Prince's Annual Boogie!"

"... I don't really dance."

"Ah, sure ya do. Anyway." The goblin snatched the cloth from Gwennit's hand and tossed the parcel at her chest. She caught it. "Name's Sulliben, if ya ever need anything. I can get whatever ya want. Here, there, Shadowlands, you name it. See ya, toots."

He sauntered towards the bat handler. Gwennit watched him until he flew off, and looked at the parcel in her hands. Something lumpy sat in the middle, which explained the ribbons on the ends. Dowsabel, it read.

She ran to her tiny room.

Her hands quivered as she untied the ribbons. A wilted, silvery rose fell from the paper.

A silver rose.

She picked it up. Its drying petals had not yet grown brittle, and she touched each one in a broad spiral. Her heart twitched inside her chest, and again, a full beat. She unrolled the letter.

Gwennit, my dear little dowsabel,

The rose is from the bush behind Mona's establishment. I saw it, and your song and sweet voice came to me as though in a vision. Mona believes you frightened yourself. She says you are falling in love with me! And then she gave me a glass of that awful stuff she fed you. I am terribly torn with myself, as you are such a fragile little thing, but I miss you so very much. Please, you need not be afraid, least of all of me.

I am not angry with you. Mona said to make sure you know that. I could never be angry with you! You have broken one of my teacups, and I am still not angry with you.

Forgive my rambling. Only, you have grown ever so dear to me. Under the stain on your soul, there is a kind woman. A gentle woman, who kisses dredgers' bruises, and listens to a daft fool when he natters on about tea. You have a lovely laugh and a dear voice, and you are so very sad and lost, but not, I think, so sad and lost as you were. Please come home. You always have a seat at my tea parties, and a place in my heart, whatever you truly want of me. You deserve all the happiness the living realms and the Shadowlands can offer, and I will give them to you in any way I can. Ask, and I will give you my very soul.

I hope this letter finds you. Mona's connections can be dubious, but they come from a good place. I hope.

If you cannot return, write to me. Tell me you are safe.

With the greatest of affection,
Theotar

P.S., if you return, there is something I wish to speak with you about. It is very important to me, and I do hope it will be to you, too.

Gwennit found herself clutching the rose to her chest. Its scent lingered on her fingers, sweet and heady. She pressed the flower to her nose and breathed.

Before she left Undercity, she visited the man at the junk stall, and greatly overpaid for the tea set.

#

"Where sad lady?" Gubbins said for the dozenth time that day.

Theotar shook his head and fussed with the strip of black cloth around his wrist. She had got his letter, at least. "I don't know, my dear. I hope she is well. It's been days."

"They fly, they fly, look to the sky!"

"Yes, Sybille, I heard you the first time, but she would have sent a note. Surely?"

Sybille chewed on a rock.

Tubbins sighed and hopped down from his chair. "Come on, guv. We got to get you out of here. You been sitting there for---"

"Gubbins happy! Gubbins miss sad lady!"

Theotar looked up from his tea. In the doorway of his parlour stood Gwennit, wrapped in black as ever, the hem of her robe ragged from being torn.

"I'm sorry," she said.

Theotar did not realise he had moved until he picked Gwennit up and spun her around. She held on with both arms, her face pressed to his shoulder.

"My little dowsabel!" Theotar kissed her head. "Are you hurt? Please tell me you're not angry with---"

He went still when she kissed him.

Perhaps Mona and Sybille really were right.

Gwennit jerked her head back. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to---"

"My dear." And he kissed her in return. It was not the same as kissing Renathal or the Countess had been, so long ago, but there was a hint of the same flavour. The same tenderness. A taste of things to come, with a bit of luck.

"Roses grow," Sybille said. "The seeds must sow."

As usual, she was right.

Theotar set Gwennit down, but could not quite let go. She slipped free and took off one of her bags. She dug through, pulling out things wrapped in straw.

"It's not your delft set," she said, looking through her few things, "but I--it was there, and I...."

Theotar knelt and unwrapped the largest of the pieces. In the layers of straw, he found a delicate porcelain teapot, old enough to have seen Lordaeron. He ran his fingers over the fine gold veins and pools where it had broken and been restored.

"Oh, Gwennit. Dowsabel." He grinned. "It's you!"

She looked at him. "I'm a teapot?"

"No, look." He traced one of the gold paths. "You were broken, yet you came back together. See how much more beautiful it is with the cracks? With the gold?"

Gwennit shook her head. "It's not the same thing."

"I beg to differ." Theotar lifted her chin with his fingertip so he could see her. "You are most remarkable."

She blinked several times. Her mouth worked as though she wanted to speak, but had gone dumb. She took his hand---

"Hullo, Theotar." Vulca strolled in. "How are--oh, she came back, did she? Eugh, you will not believe the day I've had."

Theotar looked at her, then back at Gwennit. He chuckled. Gwennit huffed, her smile tentative, and covered her mouth as she giggled. And giggled. And giggled some more.

A lovely sound indeed.

#

A soulbind, he said, only when they were alone in his parlour. Belonging. Joined for eternity.

She said yes.

Oh, yes, yes, yes, yes.

#

Renathal watched from a safe distance as Theotar and the little Maw Walker bonded. Her smiles were less lost, though still not open and bright until she looked at Theotar. Theotar, meanwhile, had gone silly beneath his dignity, just as he did aeons before, when it was the two of them at the Forge of Souls.

His soulbind tugged. A new rope lashed to a hull. A new direction in which to be drawn.

Renathal looked down when the Accuser touched his arm.

"Are you all right, my prince?"

He smiled. "I will be."

Still, she took his elbow and stood with him to watch. It helped. It helped. It---

Theotar glanced at him and winked. Renathal grinned.

After all, any speck of happiness in such dark times was a thing to be celebrated, was it not? Even if he was not the beneficiary. Even if he would never be so again.

Perhaps it was time to make his own happiness, or it would be once Revendreth was safe. After all, if it could happen for a soldier of Arthas, surely it could happen for him.