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“Damn, Xenk,” grunted Holga. “And I thought I looked shit in a dress.”
“No, no. She looks...” Edgin slowly circled the paladin, studying the way the taffeta hung on her body. If Edgin was honest – utterly, completely honest and not at all biased – then Xenk was beautiful, even with her perfect features set so sternly. But with her muscular shoulders and solid pose, the flowing fabric sat awkwardly on her curves. Edgin had noted Xenk's grace in battle – noted as a point of strategy, as an important skill to keep in mind when planning, and not at all something she thought of in the small hours – but the woman stood strong and square, like a shield ready to rebuff all assaults. “Uh. She looks okay.”
“Yeah, might need to aim higher than okay if you all want to get into that ball,” said Doric, raising one eyebrow. Edgin huffed.
Xenk turned this way and that, the fabric rustling as it caught on her muscular form. “I am not sure I could fight in this.”
Edgin huffed louder. “It's not gonna come to that.”
“Might come to that,” Holga said, and grabbed Xenk, steering her back behind the folding screen. “Let's see what else the Harpers have got lying around.”
Edgin frowned and ran a hand through her hair, trying not to think about the Harpers and why they wanted Xenk to infiltrate this ball. At least they'd all cleared off, leaving the sanctuary empty so they could play dress up for the afternoon. Edgin didn't need some former colleague tutting every time she suggested something. Doric's sharp tongue was bad enough.
“Do these robes make me look like a distinguished mage?” Simon piped up, stroking the embroidered fabric down over his lean figure.
“Definitely,” declared Edgin, clamping a hand on his shoulder. She glared at Doric and Kira as the two of them exchanged a glance.
“Better,” said Holga, settling the fine jacket upon Xenk's shoulders.
Xenk adjusted the cuffs, inspecting her reflection in the silvered surface of the mirror. “This certainly seems more practical.” The knee-length breeches moved easily as she tested a few battle poses, the loose shirt flowing with her as she slipped from one stance to another.
“Yeah. Suits you more too,” said Holga, slapping Xenk's bicep, a smile dancing on her fierce mouth. “Just 'cos Edgin can wear anything, doesn't mean we all can.”
A sequence of images flitted through Xenk's mind: Edgin in all those dresses she'd tried, red, purple, blue as her eyes. Edgin wearing an outfit like this, the long jacket accentuating her hips. Edgin wearing nothing at all.
Xenk cleared her throat. “Might we conceal my dagger up one of the sleeves?”
Holga grinned, gesturing to her own jacket. “Already figured out how to fit two axes in this bastard.”
Xenk's ponderment on the possible parentage of a garment shattered as Edgin's voice cut through the screen. “You two get lost back there?”
Steeling herself, Xenk stepped out to face another inspection. Though she was unused to the luxury of this material, the cut of it was comfortable and she hoped it would pass muster.
Kira's eyes widened. “Wow,” she murmured.
“Yeah, much better,” said Doric, sharp brows softening as she nodded.
Edgin coughed, her cheeks unaccountably pink. “That'll do.”
“I hope so,” said Xenk, forcing down the shy fluttering in her chest by tugging on the lapels. “We must gain entry to Hallimar's manor tonight, come what may.”
“Don't worry,” said Edgin, her smile warm with effortless charm as she brushed some dust from Xenk's shoulder. “The Harpers' invitation is a perfect forgery. Those old assholes can still do some things right.”
“I do not think their rectums were involved in the process,” said Xenk, skin tingling a little beneath Edgin's touch.
Holga snorted, but Edgin blithely ignored her, sliding an arm around Xenk's shoulders. “And you've got a copy of the key, yeah?”
Xenk swallowed, half at the embrace, half at the question. “I can open Hallimar's vault,” she evaded, which was not a lie, not strictly a lie – but if Edgin knew exactly what the Harpers were asking of her, a pointless argument might ensue, and they did not have so much time to prepare. “Would you sew my dagger into the jacket for me?”
Edgin chuckled, clapping her on the back, sending another tingle shooting down her spine. “Always knew you had something up your sleeve.”
“Not yet,” Xenk murmured, slightly dazed. At least Edgin had changed back into her usual shirt and breeches for now; that blue dress had been entirely too distracting, the way it had caressed all of her –
“Hope your sewing's better than your knitting, Eddi,” said Holga, with a tone Xenk was beginning to recognise as fond teasing.
Edgin huffed, mercifully stepping away. “Mended your shirt after that bullywug sliced it up, didn't I?”
“Yeah, and it split open again the next day,” grunted Holga.
Edgin crossed her arms. “Because you flexed too hard!”
Xenk bit down on a smile, letting the friends' banter wash over her, carry her, keep her from thinking about what she must do – what would happen if she failed.
Doric sighed loudly. “Come on,” she said, looping her arm into Xenk's and leading her away. “Let's see if the Harpers have a nice tiara to cover your tattoo...”
“Just leave all the talking to me,” hissed Edgin, dropping her voice low, leaning in close to Xenk. She didn't need to, really, that paladin could hear a pin drop a mile away – but the gesture gave her words a certain gravitas, and that was important.
“You wish me to spend the evening in silence?” murmured Xenk, utterly sincere as she fixed Edgin with those warm, dark eyes.
Edgin swallowed a sigh. “Leave all the talking to me... until we get inside.” The guards didn't seem too finicky, making quick progress through the snake of queueing guests, giving more scrutiny to the shimmering invitations than the figures clad in silk and gold and jewels. But with a dagger up Xenk's sleeve, four small axes squeezed round Holga's torso, and even Simon's bag of holding cleverly stitched into his robes – Well, the four of them couldn't stand too much attention.
She was glad they'd left Doric to look after Kira. This wasn't a masquerade ball, sadly, and those tiefling horns and tail would stick out like a sore thumb. And with a room full of cultists, a wild shape disguise – or an invisibility pendant – would too easily smell of magic. She just hoped nobody would notice an inconsistent sorcerer and a slightly undead paladin among all these fucking necromancers.
“Simon,” growled Holga, from behind her. “Stop fiddling with your robes.”
“Sorry,” he whined, still awkwardly shuffling. “They just don't fit right since Edgin sewed –”
Edgin jabbed an elbow into his sternum. “Complain later. Guards now.”
Simon let out a grumpy rush of air, but clammed up as the couple in front of them were waved through the checkpoint. Edgin urged her mouth into a polished smile, assuming a confident but relaxed pose as she held out the invitation, like being granted entrance was inevitable.
The burliest guard took the card, eyes roving over the enchanted swirls of calligraphy. He wrinkled his nose, moustache twitching. “You four together?”
Edgin loosed a sparkling laugh, smooth as the champagne no doubt flowing inside. “Oh, yes,” she said, just slightly dismissive, because all these cultists were definitely dicks and they'd definitely be a dick to a guard. “It's going to be a lovely evening.”
He grunted, probably thinking his evening wasn't so lovely, and handed their invitation to his smaller partner. “Enjoy the festivities,” he said, with the tone of a man who meant I hope you choke on an olive.
“Thank you,” simpered Edgin, beaming as the guards ushered them through the doors. Gods, she was a great performer.
That mask faltered slightly as they stepped from the corridor to the ballroom, breath catching in her throat. The room was heaving with guests, all dressed to perfection, whirling across the lavish marble floor. Ribbons tumbled from the high domed ceiling, matching the bouquets of spring blooms placed every few feet, lit by flameless lanterns. Footmen wove through the crowd, carrying trays of canapes or bubbling drinks, quietly offering indulgence. It was a bright, light, luxurious event. Nobody would guess these fuckers were celebrating an imminent apocalypse.
Disgust simmering in her stomach, Edgin corralled her friends to one side, dropping her voice low again. “Right. Split up, spread out. Take note of the guards, time their movements, find the dark spots. You all memorised the Harpers' map, yeah? We've gotta find a way to that vault, gotta grab that orb tonight or things'll get ugly tomorrow.”
They all nodded and dispersed, Holga and Simon slithering through the throng like the practised thieves they were. As she slipped in the opposite direction, Edgin's gaze lingered on Xenk, so striking in her jacket and breeches – even now there was something of a paladin about her, too honest to really disappear into the lie. Shit, was bringing her a mistake? But Xenk had insisted on attending – Elder Narvon had insisted they were just accompanying her – and Edgin had her suspicions, like maybe they needed Xenk's pure magic to subdue the Orb of Vinnion and smuggle that evil object out of here unnoticed. Their last chance to avert disaster before the full moon tomorrow.
Shaking the worries from her head like cobwebs, Edgin drifted over to the orchestra, assuming the air of a music connoisseur judging every note – a role made all the more believable for being true. They were very good, actually. Pitch perfect. Good rhythm. Just enough emotion in the melody to keep things interesting, not too much to distract the dancers.
It made her wish she had her lute. Not to play, obviously. For protection. All she had was a knife strapped to her calf, and what good was that going to do if a hundred cultists turned on her? Assuming she could even scrabble it out from under the swishing layers of blue silk in time. No, this was a stealth operation, a heist like all the ones they'd run before. Sighing, artfully flicking the hair from her shoulders, Edgin coolly surveyed the positions of the guards on this side of the room. One there, two there. An unguarded door, but if she remembered the map that just led to a closet. One patrolling there...
She caught sight of Xenk again, lingering on the edge of the crowd, tall and steady and intense. People kept glancing at her, more than glancing, and Edgin couldn't blame them. For all her awkward words and inconvenient morals, the woman just oozed charisma. Even when she wasn't trying. Even when she was trying to be invisible, actually. Shit. At least Doric had managed to hide Szass Tam's mark under a little silver clip. That sigil was far too recognisable on the street, let alone a room where every other asshole was a necromancer.
Edgin's stomach clenched as she saw a man lock his gaze on Xenk, angling towards her, and quickly darted over before he could attempt conversation. “Hey,” she said, sliding in close, claiming Xenk for herself. “Spotted anything useful?”
“I have not,” said Xenk, forehead creasing slightly. “And I am concerned. People keep staring.”
Edgin nudged her, summoning a playful grin. “Because we're gorgeous.” She chose the plural deliberately, partly because it was true, partly because it was dangerous to tell Xenk specifically that she was –
Xenk hummed, frown deepening as she wrinkled her nose.
Edgin leaned closer. “You smell something?”
“Everything,” said Xenk, mouth smearing to a grimace. “These people reek of undeath.”
Edgin glanced up and down Xenk's form. “Are they –”
“No,” she said quickly. “They are mortal. But their dabbling in the puppetry of the departed has stained their souls. The stench of their cursed work lingers in the air.”
“You alright?” asked Edgin, laying a hand on Xenk's arm.
“It is unpleasant, nothing more,” the paladin assured her. “And I hope I will not have to endure it for long.”
“No, hopefully not long,” agreed Edgin, casting her eyes around for Holga, for Simon. The ball would go on for hours – but who knew how long it'd take them to break into the vault, or find the orb once inside? The sooner they slipped out of this ballroom the better. She saw her friends slinking among the guests, doing their best to seem casual, like they weren't scanning every exit – and she saw that man again, piercing gaze still fixed on Xenk. He shifted on his feet, like he was still considering approaching them, and Edgin's stomach clenched harder. She quickly turned back to Xenk. “Can you dance?”
“The Harpers have tutored me in such matters,” Xenk said, earnest and calm.
Edgin remembered her own lessons with the Harpers, remembered practising with Zia, and swallowed down that ache. “Come on then,” she urged, clasping Xenk's fingers, glove to glove. “Dance with me. If people are watching us, they're not watching Holga and Simon.”
Xenk let Edgin guide her to the dance floor. “Which of us shall lead?”
“I'm taller,” said Edgin, a spark of stubborn pride flaring in her chest. At least she had something on the paladin, even if it was only an inch. “I'll lead.”
Murmuring agreement, Xenk settled one hand on Edgin's shoulder, the other curling over Edgin's fingers. They counted one, two, three beats and joined the rhythm, twirling across the floor. True to her word, as she always was, Xenk really could dance: all that grace on the battlefield translated to smooth spins and pivots, her muscular body flowing through the steps.
Edgin focused on keeping her own pace, trying not to let Xenk's touch distract her. She steered them around the dancefloor, flitting between the other guests, drawing envious glances. Gods, Xenk might look awkward in a dress, but she had a steady sort of elegance – limbs effortlessly finding the pose, eyes bright and attentive, locs carefully pinned back with silver clasps, lips lightly dusted with a tint of colour –
No, no, shut up, brain. Edgin cleared her throat, tilting her head towards a cluster of people, where a bulky man was holding court. “Is that Hallimar?”
“Indeed,” said Xenk, voice taking on a sharp edge, almost bitter. “The scent of evil flows from him most of all.”
Edgin frowned, the back of her neck bristling at the thought of his magic. He was a bear of a man, sturdy-legged and barrel-chested, with a natural gravitas that drew the eye. The acolytes around him hung on his every word, every gesture. Fuck, if they had to fight him... His punch would be almost as dangerous as his spells, and his crowd of followers another danger on top of that. They couldn't get this wrong.
“Do not worry,” said Xenk, corners of her mouth quirking upwards, nearly teasing. “He will not notice us. It will not come to that.”
“That's my line,” said Edgin, feigning a huff, but she squeezed Xenk's hand fondly.
Xenk smiled, her face lighting up in the glow of the magic lanterns. Gods, she really was gorgeous. And dancing with her was so easy, so sweet –
Edgin's chest shivered with her breath. She couldn't let herself get caught up in this, in the fairytale of swirling around the floor with Xenk, those strong hands resting on her body. It was just part of the heist. But maybe – maybe if they pulled this off – maybe the Harpers would throw them a party, and she could ask Xenk to dance, and maybe Xenk would even say yes –
Swallowing down the sensation of the paladin pressed so close, Edgin turned her gaze back to the ball. She was pretty sure her cheeks were burning, but she couldn't think about that, couldn't think about Xenk, had to keep watch in case –
Across the room, Edgin caught sight of Simon, the sorcerer raising his eyebrows as he made eye contact for a second. Following the flow of the other dancers, keeping her steps casual, Edgin waltzed Xenk over to where she'd seen him.
As they stepped off the dancefloor, panting slightly, Simon emerged from the crowd to lean close for a few moments. “Third door on the east wall, half covered by drapes. You've got five seconds once the guard's walked past before she turns round again,” he said, not quite looking at them. “Holga will provide a distraction.” And then he was gone, slipping back into the throng.
Turning with every ounce of nonchalance, Edgin glanced at the third door – glanced at the guests, some of them still lingering on her and Xenk. “Come on,” she said, affecting a coquettish smile, tangling her fingers with Xenk's gloved hand. “Pretend we're going to make out.”
Xenk hummed sharply as Edgin steered her into position. “How do we make an out?”
“Kissing,” said Edgin, suppressing a sigh, gathering Xenk in close. “Act like we're sneaking off to kiss.” She didn't look around, trusting that Holga would create a distraction – not at all distracted by a confused paladin curling those strong arms around her. Over Xenk's shoulder she could see the guard, just striding past the door –
A clang of metal and a smash of glass clattered behind them. “Hey,” called Holga's gruff voice. “Watch where you're going.”
“Go, go,” urged Edgin, dragging Xenk towards the door, barely sparing a thought for the poor footman that Holga had accidentally bumped into. They had five seconds – Four – But they were through the drapes – Three – She shoved the door open – Two – Pulled Xenk inside – One –
Edgin held her breath as Xenk kicked the door shut behind them. Xenk froze, head tilted, listening intently as the ball continued on the other side, as the guard surely patrolled past their hiding place. But she didn't reach for the dagger up her sleeve, just nodded after several frantic heartbeats.
“Holga?” whispered Edgin, hoping their friend had managed to slip back into the crowd, expertly shedding that attention.
Xenk's brows twitched, eyes intense as they narrowed. “I do not hear them arresting her,” she murmured, which was about as much as they could hope for.
“Right. Good.” Edgin set off down the corridor, heart still thumping, knowing the dangers weren't over yet. “Let's find that vault.”
Xenk turned her head, examining the different paths. If she remembered the Harpers' map correctly, it was east, north, west, north – so now they must turn west. “This way,” she said, gesturing for Edgin to follow her.
The bard padded after her, nearly silent in her soft shoes, only the gentle rustle of her dress giving her away. Xenk glanced at it as they crept down the corridor. That blue really did bring out Edgin's eyes – and the fabric wrapped around her tempting form, highlighting every curve and dip. Xenk swallowed. Normally she would dismiss such dangerous thoughts, banish them from her mind, but right now they were a welcome distraction from the knowledge of the task ahead.
“That way next, yeah?” whispered Edgin, pointing at the fork ahead.
“Yes,” agreed Xenk, tiptoeing towards it. “We are close to the vault n–”
A footstep echoed, too loud and in the wrong direction. Xenk held her arm out, ushering Edgin back into an alcove, hand just pressing on the woman's waist. “Guard,” she muttered, forcing down a shiver at that touch.
Edgin froze next to her, and Xenk listened closely. She heard the clink of armour, the thump of the feet, the tap of a spear butt upon the floor – but the guard did not turn down their corridor, nor down the one they hoped to take.
“Come, we may proceed,” urged Xenk, striding out again. The Harpers had warned her there may be guards deeper inside, but could not provide details of their routes, Hallimar's protection changing after every failed mission. But they were almost at their destination, almost at the vault, and nothing guarded that except – except the seal –
Xenk glanced at Edgin as they turned to step through the archway, the last threshold before the vault itself. The bard grinned at her, but Xenk could not summon a smile in return, the weight of her task heavy on her soul.
She cast her gaze onto the vault, studying it in person for the very first time. Opposite them stood a mahogany door, thick and plain, already ominous without the crimson magic that floated just above the surface. The pattern of the sigil brought goosebumps to her skin – there was something cruel about those curves, something familiar, and the stench of undeath lingered in the air. Xenk shuddered to think of how this spell was cast.
“Alright,” said Edgin, eyes shimmering as she laid a hand on Xenk's shoulder. “Unlock it then.”
Inhaling slowly, nose stinging with the acrid scent of evil, Xenk peeled off her gloves and stepped towards the glowing door, one hand outstretched. She pressed her palm to the hovering red glow, lines pulsing like a heartbeat, and braced herself.
“Whoa, hey,” said Edgin, catching at her elbow. “I thought you had a key?”
“Hallimar's key is unique,” said Xenk, turning her head, hand still pushed against the spell. It throbbed against her skin, whispering, tempting, burning. “I must unlock the door's magic.”
“Dark magic,” said Edgin, narrowing her eyes, that bright blue turning sharp. “I don't need to smell it to know that's dark magic. No, Xenk, we'll just steal the key.”
Xenk twisted slightly, glancing back at the carved archway, back towards the ballroom, to the party where sycophants hovered around Hallimar like flies. “Even were we able to get close, the key is bound to him. It will scream without his touch. The Harpers tried before.”
Edgin raised her eyebrows. “When you say scream...”
“I mean it emits a piercing noise, almost beyond bearing,” said Xenk, frowning a little.
“Oh. Right, you were being literal,” said Edgin, fingers still curling over Xenk's arm. “For a moment I thought you'd discovered metaphor.”
Xenk sighed. “I understand metaphor. I merely find it confuses matters.”
“Yeah.” Edgin swept her tongue over her lower lip. “Well, you know what confuses me? Why you think I'm gonna let you fuck around with dark magic. If anyone's doing this, it's me.”
Xenk studied her. That noble sentiment was why she had returned to the bard, why they had journeyed together for some months now – that little spark of Harper, still thrumming within her. But that earnest declaration did not make the act possible. And perhaps only a demonstration would convince her. “If you wish to try...” said Xenk, stepping away, gesturing to the pulsing magic with stinging fingers.
Triumph flickering in her eyes, Edgin took Xenk's place. She stretched with a flourish, slipped off her own gloves, and grabbed for the magic.
Her hand went straight through the spell.
Xenk swallowed a guilty smile as Edgin frowned, snatching at the magic again and again. Edgin paused, a look of concentration settling on her face, and tried once more. But it was no use.
Edgin turned back to Xenk, practically pouting. “What's the trick to it? How do I touch it?”
“You cannot,” Xenk said softly, laying a hand on her shoulder.
“But you did,” huffed Edgin.
“Because dark magic already lingers inside me,” Xenk said, rubbing her thumb over the smooth silk of Edgin's gown. “Like calls to like. It recognises that I am the same.”
“Which is why I can't let you do it.” Edgin's forehead creased, eyes sharp with worry. “Xenk, if this activates your curse...”
“My paladin vows will protect me,” Xenk said.
Edgin raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”
“They are a certainty,” Xenk said, calm and earnest. “That pure magic is as unshakeable as my faith.”
Edgin's eyes flickered and she looked down, muttering, “Faith is more fragile than you think...”
Xenk's heart twinged, thinking of Edgin's broken Harper vows. “Edgin, we have few options,” she said, gentle but urging. “If we do not take the Orb of Vinnion tonight, Hallimar will use it tomorrow. I am in a unique position: touched by dark magic, yet protected by good. I alone can reach inside the spell without it overwhelming me. That is why the Harpers sent me.”
“Damned Harpers,” muttered Edgin, then looked up. Light dawned in her eyes. “The Helm of Disjunction. Simon can use the helmet, disable the spell.”
“And summon every guard and every guest straight to us,” Xenk said regretfully. “We cannot fight every acolyte of Hallimar's cult.”
“But we...” Edgin stared at her, that protective spirit prickling at this denial. “But I can't...”
“Edgin, were there another plan, I know you would find it,” Xenk murmured, squeezing her shoulder gently. “But there is not.”
“Shit,” hissed Edgin, gazing dropping again. For a few moments, she visibly squirmed, battling with herself – then she clenched her jaw, tilting her chin up. “You start glowing red and I'm dragging you out of here, orb or no orb.”
“If I begin glowing,” Xenk said, smiling as she released Edgin and reached for the magic again, “you have my permission to do so.”
Edgin sighed and stepped back, letting Xenk assume the place directly in front of the door. Inhaling a stinging breath, laden with that sharp rot, Xenk settled into her stance, pressing her palm flat against that pulsing magic again.
She was no wizard, nor even a sorcerer like Simon, but the way the dark spell whispered greetings let her understand something of its construction. Xenk trailed her eyes across its lines and swirls, following the sigil, noting its corrupt curves. This mark here... If she turned this line counter-clockwise, the fulcrum would collapse, and all the rest unravel around it – like removing the keystone from the archway behind her.
Throat bobbing as she swallowed, Xenk curled her fingers over that line, easing her touch inside the spell, that hateful magic nipping like tiny, ravenous teeth – but she persisted, slow and even, until she grasped that line like a lever, burning against her skin. Xenk took a deep breath and began to turn it.
The form resisted, the line stubborn rather than refusing, like forcing a tree limb to bend. But though it moved, achingly slowly, every fraction of that twist increased the pain beneath Xenk's skin. Those teeth became endless needles, prickling her flesh, pin-sharp and sliding deep. She breathed through it – but as she turned the lever, that clamouring burn began to creep through her hand, into her wrist, up her forearm.
Swallowing down a hiss, Xenk tensed her shoulders. She must do this. But as she forced the pinion round, that raw and screaming ache climbed up her arm, into her shoulder, spreading across her chest.
That hiss escaped and Edgin stepped closer, hand hovering over her shoulder for a moment before pressing down. “Xenk?”
Xenk grunted through gritted teeth. “I can succeed, Edgin.”
But every fraction of that turn ratcheted the pain deeper, further, louder. It clawed up her throat, seeping into her head, rising like a stinging tide. But Xenk held fast, held that lever, turned it, turned it, turned it.
A groan rumbled on her tongue as that sharp roar reached her mouth. Edgin's hand tightened at the sound, but the agony claimed her tongue and Xenk tasted blood, all words of reassurance melting to a gasp. She swallowed it down, swallowed it all down, and pushed against that line of magic with all the strength yet in her arm.
It inched forward, trembling, resisting her, and Xenk maintained her grip. But with each bitter advance that terrible ache grew, swelling inside her, rising up her face. The pressure of it stung her flesh, but she refused to give up, clutching the horrible sigil tight – and the stench of rot changed to the tang of iron, hot and wet as fresh blood filled her nose. She winced, hand shaking on the pulsing line, as that scarlet liquid trickled towards her aching lips.
“Shit, Xenk, you're bleeding,” croaked Edgin, hand squeezing her shoulder.
“I cannot stop,” choked Xenk, the trail of blood dripping down her mouth as she spoke. “Let – Let me do this, Edgin.”
Edgin exhaled sharply, less a sigh and more a rush of horror. But her grip stayed steady on Xenk's shoulder, and Xenk savoured that, revelled in the precious comfort, the bard's touch a balm against that endless, endless ache.
But infinity layered upon infinity and the pain yet expanded as Xenk twisted the lever further. The torrent roared inside her, flooding her body, now reaching as high as her ears. Xenk moaned, desperate and wavering, as blood burst inside that delicate channel, dulling her sensitive hearing.
“Xenk, your ears,” hissed Edgin, her voice muffled by the liquid. But her hand kept that grip on Xenk's shoulder, strong and earnest.
“A little more,” begged Xenk, eyes stinging – with tears rather than that ache.
But she knew it would not be long. Shuddering, shaking with the agony, Xenk turned the level further. The pressure in her head grew, stabbing like a knife, like a hundred knives, slicing hot and deep – like that time in Abrigar, when the priestess slipped the dagger just beneath her greave – and Xenk pushed against the weight of it, insisting, refusing to give in. There was not much more, not so far to go. But the pain swelled and scraped and clawed at her, building and building, until –
Raw fire jabbed at her tear ducts as blood spilled out. Xenk whined, blinking hard, real tears mixing with the hot crimson. Gods, oh gods, it was so much – But she had to do this, she must – There was no one else, no one but her – It was her duty – Oh, gods, the pain –
“Xenk, stop,” choked Edgin, sliding in close.
“Not yet,” gasped Xenk, barely more than a whimper, her trembling hand almost slipping from the spell.
But Edgin's hand was steady, still steady on her shoulder. Xenk could feel her there, feel her almost vibrating with concern, that need to protect so heavy in the air. She hated that the woman had to witness this, almost wished she'd thought to send her away – but with that roaring pain stabbing at her tender flesh, she ached to have Edgin near.
Squinting through the growing brine, Xenk grasped the lever harder. She turned it and turned it, that fire rolling down her chest, down her legs, conquering her knees. Xenk wobbled, almost buckled, but Edgin caught her, faithful arms sliding around her. Inhaling a jagged breath, Xenk leaned on that embrace, summoning everything to turn that pulsing line as blood poured from her eyes, her ears, her nose.
The agony rattled through her, loud and strong, like a deep bell knelling in her mind. But she twisted the magic, even as it twisted her, only her paladin vows converting it to pain and not corruption. It was so much, so wrong, so nearly done. Blood spilled from her, but Edgin held her tight, supporting her in this trial. A cry tumbling from her stinging lips, Xenk twisted, turned, pulled –
The red lines shimmered and then flickered out.
Groaning as the pressure vanished, Xenk surrendered to her weight. Edgin could not hold her – only guide her to the floor, slowing her, protecting her.
“Xenk?” whispered Edgin, voice hoarse, blue eyes wide. “Xenk?”
“It is done,” mumbled Xenk, body still trembling with the echo of that pain, as though it gripped her still.
“Are you okay?” asked Edgin, palm finding Xenk's cheek, hesitant and tender.
“I will be fine,” groaned Xenk, lifting a shaking hand to push at Edgin's shoulder. “Find the orb, or this is all for naught.”
Wide eyes shimmering, Edgin squeezed her for a moment – then flung herself upright, darting into the vault, footsteps tapping as Xenk loosed a moan.
Xenk half slumped towards the floor. She could feel the blood dripping from her chin, soiling the fine clothes. But she told herself it did not matter. Simon could magic them clean again, the way he'd vanished the mud after they all waded into a bog to escape an enchanted statue. The pain did not matter either. All that mattered was retrieving the orb.
A long ache later, Edgin returned with their prize, sliding her other hand around Xenk again. “I've got the orb. Can you heal yourself?”
Xenk glanced at the sphere in Edgin's hand, swirling with scarlet magic, ominous as that sigil – deep as the blood slick upon her face. “No. It does not work that way.”
Edgin huffed, frowning. She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket, shoving the orb inside instead, and dabbed at the crimson liquid trickling from Xenk's eyes, the flow slowing now. “But you're injured.”
Xenk inhaled shakily, grasping at Edgin's arm. “Not in a way my magic can heal. My vows protected me from permanent damage, but there will be... be temporary effects.”
Blue eyes wide and soft, Edgin gently wiped Xenk's bloody tears away. “Can you walk?”
Xenk assessed the tremor in her body, muscles tired, singing with the memory of that pain. “If you assist me,” she murmured.
Edgin nodded, stowing her handkerchief, then slipped her arms around Xenk and hoisted her up. “Come on, let's get out of here. Get you safe.”
Shivering in Edgin's soft embrace, Xenk murmured, “I'll be fine.”
“Yeah,” Edgin said, fierce and tender, leading Xenk to the archway. “I'll make sure of it.”
A fond smile crept across Xenk's aching lips, but she had no breath left for words. She merely leaned on Edgin, letting the bard hold her up, the two of them shuffling back into the corridor.
They wove back through the labyrinth of the mansion, their progress slow until Xenk froze. “Footsteps,” she croaked, and Edgin flattened them against the wall as best she could. Xenk listened, heart pounding, as the footfalls – two sets – turned towards them –
“I think it's this way,” said a hesitant voice that she recognised as Simon.
Xenk sighed and squeezed Edgin in relief. “It is the others.”
Edgin sighed too, leaning away from the wall to wave as the familiar figures rounded the corner. “Hey! Over here. We've got the orb, but Xenk's injured.”
Simon halted, gaping at them, the hither-thither staff now in his hand. He must have wrestled it out of his bag, where Edgin had stitched it under his robes.
“Shit, Xenk,” said Holga, rushing over. “What in nine hells happened to you?”
“I performed the task I was sent here for,” muttered Xenk, as Holga pressed in to her other side.
“Some task,” grunted Holga, strong arms lifting her up, though her voice and touch was as soft as that time she split Xenk's lip open while sparring. “Come on. We're getting out of here.”
“Right, yes. Exit,” said Simon, dithering with worry, fiddling with the staff as the other three slowly advanced. “I think the best way out is if we –”
Xenk barely had time to open her mouth before a door slammed open and another figure dashed into the corridor.
“There they are!” yelled the guard, levelling her spear as more soldiers poured in behind her. “After them!”
“Shit,” squeaked Simon, and threw out his hand towards them. “Lankria oythin!” A huge purple bubble rolled down the corridor, knocking the guards to the ground. Judging by his raised eyebrows, that wasn't what he'd intended to happen, but he ushered the three of them towards a flight of stairs. “Up here!”
“Upstairs?” asked Holga, though she was already helping Xenk up them, almost carrying her now. “How're we gonna get down?”
“I hope you've got a plan,” grunted Edgin, still jammed into Xenk's other side.
“Uh. Same plan as before,” said Simon, fiddling with the staff again. “Just slightly different.”
“Great,” muttered Edgin, and Xenk couldn't tell whether she was sincere or not.
Simon directed them into the first room across the landing, darting over to tug at the window as Xenk struggled along behind. “Holga? Window!” he called, and Holga released Xenk, depositing her weight back onto Edgin, who exhaled sharply but hung on tight.
Holga grabbed the window sash and slammed it upwards with a yell. The moment it was open, Simon pointed the staff outside, firing a portal somewhere out there. “Same plan, right?” he said, turning back to them, aiming the staff at the wall next to Edgin and Xenk. “You keep running, I keep casting.”
Xenk nodded feebly, limbs still aching, but she summoned all her strength as Holga hoisted her up again.
Then Simon shot a portal onto the wall and they all barrelled through it as feet began to thump up the stairs.
They emerged onto the street, still within sight of the manor, the flames of the streetlamps flickering on the cobbles. At this time of night there were few people milling about, most already safely ensconced at home. Xenk took a breath as Simon aimed the staff again, further up the street, away from Hallimar's party –
“Grab them!” roared a voice, thick with anger. “They've got the orb!”
Xenk glanced back, just in time to see Hallimar himself thundering through the main entrance, followed by a gaggle of scowling cultists. But the staff zinged and the portal shimmered as Simon fired the next spell, and they all darted back through the glimmering oval again, stumbling out another hundred feet up the road.
The cultists screamed in rage, but Simon just yelled, “Corner!” and skittered ahead to shoot the staff down the next street. As soon as the portal beside them changed, Edgin and Holga ushered Xenk back through it, Simon quickly scuttling after them.
They emerged onto the second street, out of sight of the cultists, those cries more distant now – but they weren't safe, weren't safe yet, so Simon fired the staff again, and they rushed back through, and he fired again, and they ran, repeating and repeating until –
“That's all the charges for the day,” gasped Simon, eyes wide, trembling almost as much as Xenk.
“Well done. Think we've got enough of a lead,” said Edgin, voice slightly strained as she helped keep Xenk aloft. “The sanctuary's not far. Once we're inside, they won't find us.”
Xenk prayed that was true. But the streets were almost empty, and even with a bard and a barbarian dragging her along, it was easy for them to slip down the alleyway unseen, through the shadows, into the rickety shed – down the hidden stairs, along the left tunnel, along the right one, to the brick wall that looked like a dead end. But when Simon knocked on it – two long taps and three short ones, just as they'd agreed – the whole facade swung backwards.
“You're back! Did you get –” Kira's enthusiasm faltered as her gaze fell on Xenk. “Oh.”
“Do not worry,” Xenk said, finding her most reassuring tone, though it wavered slightly as she limped in. “It appears worse than it is.”
Kira smiled weakly. Doric frowned, but she pushed the secret door closed behind them. “Narvon's here,” she said to Edgin, her voice sharp with warning.
“Great,” muttered Edgin, and Xenk could not judge whether she was sincere this time either. “Come on, Xenk. You need to lie down.”
Xenk groaned in agreement, and let the bard and the barbarian guide her to one of the narrow beds that lined the far wall of the sanctuary, eagerly sinking into the thin mattress. A sigh had barely passed her lips before a shadow loomed over them.
“I'll leave you to it,” grunted Holga, and scarpered.
“I am glad to see you return,” said Narvon, his voice high and cool, eyes drifting over Xenk before boring into Edgin.
“Sure you are,” said Edgin, and dug the orb from her pocket, thrusting the swirling sphere at him. “Here. Take it. Xenk did what you asked of her.”
“And we are most grateful,” said Narvon, plucking the dangerous prize from her grasp. “I shall make sure the orb is disposed of, as soon as we have spirited you all to safety.”
“Great. You go plan that,” urged Edgin, and Xenk could see the tension in her shoulders, the blue silk of her borrowed dress wrinkling. “Until then, I'll patch Xenk up.”
Narvon glanced between them, his mouth perfectly level. “Your escort is scheduled to arrive in an hour. I shall ready your friends,” he said, and swept away.
Edgin hummed, a bitter note rumbling in her throat. She pulled out her handkerchief, already stained with Xenk's blood, and began to wipe the drying crimson from her face.
Xenk swallowed, trying to ignore the tenderness in that touch, the blaze in those blue eyes. “You do not like Narvon,” she said, too tired and too honest to coat the statement with sugar.
“No,” said Edgin, rubbing the fabric under one eye, then the other. “He's not as kind as he pretends to be.”
Xenk studied the woman's face, studied the hard set of her pretty mouth, the frown twitching in her eyebrows. Perhaps Narvon had been among those who sent Edgin to Revel's End, or refused to help when Zia died, or... She ought to ask Edgin, someday, about all of that. But tonight she did not have the strength to do much more than lie here, and allow the bard to gently wipe her clean.
They lapsed into silence, Xenk breathing shakily, Edgin softly tending to her. Gods, she had borne all that pain because it needed doing, because there was no one else, because it was her duty – but if this sweet nursing was her reward, she would gladly bear it all again. Edgin was so careful with her, those clever fingers wiping the blood from her eyes, her ears, her nose.
“You sure you can't heal this?” Edgin asked after a short while, voice low and quiet.
“I am not wounded, Edgin,” Xenk assured her, shifting on the mattress, muscles aching. “The blood was an effect of the magic. There is nothing to heal. I must merely wait for the lingering pain to fade.”
Edgin paused, forehead creasing, then resumed her task of cleaning. In her hands, the fabric was soft as it brushed across Xenk's skin. Xenk almost shivered, veins thrumming as the bard worked.
“I don't know whether to be angry that you didn't tell me what you were sent to do,” Edgin said at last, those blue eyes heavy, “or impressed that you actually lied.”
“I did not lie,” Xenk said quickly, chest tightening. “I only rationed the truth.”
Edgin snorted. “Spoken like a true thief. You're picking up all our bad habits.”
Xenk swallowed and attempted a smile. “Perhaps I have been spending too much time with you,” she said, summoning what she hoped was a playful tone.
Edgin gazed at her, those blue eyes inscrutable, the air between them crackling like lightning.
Heart clenching, Xenk continued. “You do understand why I did not tell you?”
Edgin inhaled slowly, rubbing a stubborn patch of blood from Xenk's chin. “Yeah. You didn't want me to argue about it when there was no other option.” She leaned in, gently brushing the handkerchief across Xenk's lips. “You do understand that I don't like seeing you in pain?”
Xenk shivered at that soft touch, at the intensity of those blue eyes. She waited until Edgin pulled back before saying, “The Harper urge to protect is still alive within you.”
Tensing, Edgin looked down, then slowly met Xenk's gaze again. “Maybe I've been spending too much time with you,” she said, and Xenk thought she was teasing, but –
“I have enjoyed the time with you,” said Xenk, grasping for her hand. Pain flared down her arm but she needed – she needed Edgin to understand –
Edgin smiled, an earnest smile, and gently squeezed Xenk's fingers. “I've enjoyed it too. Even if you are an idiot with no sense of self-preservation. How did you survive without me?”
Xenk chuckled, her ribs protesting. “I am no wilting flower.”
A burst of laughter tumbled from Edgin's lips. “Oh! You really do understand metaphor.”
“Did you think I was lying?” said Xenk, raising her eyebrows.
“Maybe rationing the truth,” said Edgin, her smile turning tender, squeezing Xenk's hand. “I'm beginning to realise you're better at hiding things than I thought.”
Xenk's stomach clenched. “What else do you believe I am concealing?”
“Mmm,” hummed Edgin, reaching out to brush Xenk's lips again, this time with her bare fingers. “Hopefully the same thing I've been hiding.”
Xenk inhaled sharply, staring at Edgin. She wanted to ask if that meant – if maybe – But her tongue was tired, her mind frazzled, and she could not summon the words –
The moment stretched between them, the silence heavy, Edgin's touch like fire. Then Edgin slowly leaned down, and Xenk tilted her head up, and as their lips met Xenk found she no longer needed words. A soft moan rolled in her raw throat and she nudged into the kiss. Oh, Edgin's mouth on hers was sweet as honey – and that was a metaphor the bard would delight in.
When Edgin pulled away, both of them were smiling. Then Edgin faltered, and cast a worried glance over her shoulder.
“I do not think Narvon is watching,” murmured Xenk, squeezing her hand, eager to draw her back down.
“Narvon?” Edgin snorted. “I don't care if he sees. I'm worried about Holga.”
“Holga?” Xenk frowned, aching chest trembling. “I thought Holga liked me.”
“She does,” Edgin said, turning back to Xenk, a smile dancing on those soft lips. “But Holga and Doric have had a bet going for months, and Holga's going to be insufferable.”
“Ah,” said Xenk, tenderness shimmering in her chest as Edgin looked down at her. “Well, we do not have to tell them yet. We can ration the truth.”
Edgin laughed, fond and warm. “Maybe it's not dark magic that's going to corrupt you,” she said, leaning down again.
“Do not worry,” murmured Xenk, staring into those blue eyes. “My paladin vows will protect me.”
“Paladin vows are powerless against a bard's charm,” teased Edgin, and pressed their lips together once more.