I freeze for a moment. “What?”

  Mirzayael has already stepped out of the hall and is out of sight. Bringing up the Map Interface, I can see a dot labeled Arachnoid racing down the hall.

  “Something the matter?” Captain Marlowe asks.

  “The Jorrians,” Mirzayael repeats in my head. “I set up a trigger so if their cell door opened unscheduled, I would be notified.”

  “I should probably go check,” I say to the captain, hoping my face isn’t betraying my concern. “Sorry to step out. Dizzi?”

  “No problem,” she says, happily waving to me. “We can talk about the airship spells!”

  “WHAT’S GOING ON?” Ollie wonders. Mirzayael’s messages had only been privately shared with me, but he must have picked up on our worry from one or both of us.

  Our meal circle is at the end of the room, situated near an open wall and platform where Ollie is currently lounging. He curves his head around, watching me. “WHERE DID MIRZAYAEL GO?”

  “A problem with our prisoners,” I tell him as I attempt to casually leave the room. The Jorrian cell is deep within the palace, nowhere Ollie would be able to reach. “Can you keep an eye on things while I’m gone?” I ask him. “I don’t think it will be an issue, but let me know if our guests cause any trouble.”

  “OH, UM, OKAY!” He sounds a little nervous, and my heart squeezes. I shouldn’t be asking so much of a kid. Sometimes it’s easy to forget he’s so young. “YOU’LL BE CAREFUL?”

  “Promise.” As soon as I’m out the door, I also activate my Jets, firing down the hall after Mirzayael.

  “The outsiders must be behind this,” Mirzayael growls. “The timing is too convenient.”

  “We don’t know that yet,” I say, watching her dot on my map. Even with my Jets activated, she’s almost able to outrun me. I have to slow around corners and keep an eye out for any people dots on my map so I don’t scorch anyone. Mirzayael, meanwhile, can run up walls, which helps significantly with maintaining her speed around tight passages.

  I shift my view of the Map over to the cells where we’re keeping the Jorrians.

  “Three people,” I tell her. “Human, felis, arachnoid.”

  “The two Jorrians and the guard,” Mirzayael says. “No one else? How did they get out? Even if they got the door open, we had them manacled in place.”

  I pause, consulting the Map again. The arachnoid is out of the cell, but the felis and human are still inside it. “I don’t know if they did,” I say, perplexed. “Are you sure they got out?”

  Mirzayael is tinged with uncertainty, too. “The door is open, at least.”

  I nudge the Dungeon Core, asking to borrow its senses. It’s more than happy to let me dive into the rocks. It does this all the time!

  I extend my consciousness toward the cell, first feeling for the manacles—the ground where they’re attached seems undisturbed. But Mirzayael is right—the door is open.

  My shoulder clips something hard, and pain and surprise jolt through me.

  “Fyre!”

  I’m spun around from the contact, then go crashing into a wall.

  [15 points of Bludgeoning damage self-inflicted,] Echo says.

  I wrench my consciousness out of Dungeon Core, as I slump to the floor, head spinning. It takes me a moment to realize what happened.

  I clipped a corner while my mind was elsewhere. I put a steadying hand to my head. I don’t think I have a concussion, at least.

  “Fyre!” Mirzayael reappears at the end of the hall, rushing back to me.

  “No, I’m okay!” I call, waving for her to go back. “I was just a bit stupid. I should know better than to be on my phone while driving.” I wince at my very poor joke.

  Mirzayael rushes up to me anyway, grabbing the hand I was using to wave at her, and yanks me to my feet. A surprised squawk slips out of me.

  “You’re hurt!” Her face is pinched with concern. Her hand hovers over my arm.

  My shoulder is throbbing and skinned from where I struck the wall; a few feathers are gone and some dots of blood are starting to bead.

  “It will heal itself,” I assure her. “Worry about me later. We have the Jorrians to worry about now.”

  She hesitates for a moment longer, clearly still concerned, then her face hardens. “Of course. Let’s go.”

  “Right behind you.”

  I jump into the air after her, this time leaving the Dungeon Core’s interface be. That was a lesson well learned. I’ve always known I sort of lose track of my body when I plunge too deep into the Core’s consciousness, but I didn’t think a quick look would do any harm. At least it was here, and the damage was minimal, rather than somewhere I could have gotten seriously injured.

  “I think they’re still in the cell,” I tell Mirzayael. We’re not far, now. “But you’re right that the door is open. I don’t understand what’s happening.”

  “We’ll find out soon,” she says, raising her spear. “Guard up!”

  Yelling echoes down the hall before we round the last corner. There’s at least two people shouting, voices raised and dripping with anger. I have no idea what to think. We’re missing something—

  I round the corner, and the cell comes into view. The arachnoid guard is unconscious on the floor nearby. Besides him, no one is outside the cell. But from the raised voices, people are definitely still inside it.

  Mirzayael and I exchange a puzzled look. I shut off my Jets, skidding to a stop before the door.

  Ice covers the floor and doorframe.

  “Traitor!” someone screams. “You’re a traitor to our home! You’re a traitor to Lorata! You—”

  “I’ll kill you!” a second voice cries. “Murderer! Let me go! I’ll kill you!”

  Stolen story; please report.

  Bewildered, I step into the room—and then it all makes sense.

  Ragna is on her feet, fist raised, but her torso and a leg are encased in ice. It looks as though dozens of icicles sprung from the ground, pinning the human in place. She has one free hand, which she uses to beat and claw at the ice that’s trapped her. “Traitor!” she screams again.

  Across from her is Salvia. The young harpy has a spear in hand, and is also frozen. Their eyes are locked on Ragna, face contorted with rage, tears spilling down their cheeks. “Let me go!” they demand. “Murderers!”

  Gardi is seated on the ground between them, staring at their hands, not reacting to any of the words flung their way. I wouldn’t even be sure if they were conscious if their ears hadn’t flicked my way when Mirzayael and I entered.

  “Oh, Salvia,” I say, sadness welling up in me. “You didn’t.”

  As the harpy catches sight of Mirzayael and I, all the fight goes out of them. They hang limply in their ice prison and begin to sob.

  Mirzayael goes to their side. Ragna is still slinging insults, alternating between Salvia and Gardi. I try to ignore it, and crouch down in front of the felis.

  “Gardi,” I say.

  They look up at me, expressionless.

  “Can you release Salvia from the ice, please? We’ll make sure she doesn’t hurt you or Ragna.”

  They look back down at their hands. Without even moving, the ice around Salvia shatters and spills to the ground.

  Salvia attempts to lunge forward, but Mirzayael grabs them. “They killed him!” they choke out. “My dad is dead because of them!”

  Hetlanir. Of course.

  “These two weren’t the one who killed your father,” I say, standing back up.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Salvia says, their face still contorted with hate, tears still streaming down their face. “He deserves justice!”

  “And he’s had it,” Mirzayael says firmly. “I slew your father’s killer with my own hands. Vengeance was served.”

  “No,” Salvia chokes. Mirzayael firmly begins to guide them out of the cell. “No! But I have to… I need to… Dad. I miss my dad. I miss him.”

  Their sobs become more muted as they leave the room, and then all that is left is Ragna’s hateful screams. I can’t stand it for much longer. I tap the Dungeon Core for help, and outline the section of space I’d like filled with stone. It happily obliges, slamming a wall of rock up from the floor in front of Ragna. This does get a reaction out of Gardi, and they flinch back, staring at the wall in shock, as Ragna’s voice is cut off. I sigh at the blissful quiet that ensues. Distantly, I can hear Mirzayael and Salvia speaking outside.

  “Is she…” It’s the first thing Gardi’s said since we arrived.

  “I didn’t hurt her,” I assure them. “She’s just on the other side of that wall. But I wanted to speak privately.” I take their manacled wrists in my hands, and direct the Dungeon Core to remove them. It happily eats the cuff in three or four invisible bites, chewing on the pieces of metal that vanish back into its Inventory. Gardi stares at their wrists. The fur is pressed flat where the manacles had been.

  “Come on.” I stand, pausing before the door. “You can walk?”

  Gardi looks blankly looks up at me. They look tired. Defeated. I half expect them to go back to staring at their hands, but after a moment they shakily push themself to their feet. Instead of leading them out into the other room with Salvia and Mirzayael, I have the Dungeon Core carve a hole in the back wall. Gardi wordlessly follows me inside.

  Following my direction, the Dungeon Core eats a tunnel to a nearby chamber. I light a Spark in my hands as I guide Gardi through. This room, like all the rooms down here save for the impromptu jail, is empty. It’s medium sized, and there’s dark doorways leading to other rooms and halls in what was likely a house, once upon a time. I close the hole behind us, and seal the other entrances to this house that might lead back into the chamber with Mirzayael and Salvia.

  “I believe I understand what transpired,” I say to them. “But I’d like to hear the full story from you.”

  They gently rub their wrist where the cuff had been, massaging a thumb over their chafed skin.

  “Why did you remove it?” they ask, voice hoarse.

  “Because you’re smart,” I say. “You wouldn’t attempt to attack me—you understand there would be no point to it.”

  They don’t reply.

  “With that kind of magic at your disposal, if you’d wanted to, you could have broken out of that cell before now.” I watch them carefully. “Why didn’t you?”

  “Because I’m smart.” Their mouth almost twitches into a rueful smile. “Where would I go?”

  “You could kill someone,” I say. “Probably do a lot of damage before we captured you. Given the opportunity, that’s what Ragna would have done.”

  They slowly shake their head. “I’m not a killer.”

  “I believe you,” I say gently.

  Gardi turns away, looking around the room. There’s not much to see; if there was ever any furniture, it’s long since gone, though the occasional gemstone or crystal vein built into the walls reflects my firelight.

  “We heard a scuffle outside.” They trace one such crystal vein down the wall with a claw. “They tried to convince the guard to leave, but when that didn’t work, there was some kind of struggle. A minute later, the harpy came in.” Gardi pauses. “How old are they?”

  “Nineteen, I believe.”

  Gardi nods. “I thought it was something like that. The same age as my little sister.”

  My throat tightens. Somehow, before this point, I never actually paused to think about our prisoners’ family. Who they might miss. Who might be grieving them, assumed dead.

  They’re still absently tapping at precious stones in the wall. I think the distraction is the only way they can bring themself to speak to me. They wouldn’t be able to say all this to my face.

  “I knew what they were there for the moment they stepped into the cell,” Gardi finally continues. “I could see it in their eyes. Ragna didn’t realize until the harpy lifted their spear. I froze them. Ragna saw the opportunity that presented. She would have killed them.”

  Gardi is silent again. I wait.

  Their shoulders slump. “I could have let her do it. Some might say I should have. But I couldn’t. I kept thinking of my sister…” They knock their forehead against the stone and leave it resting there. “She’s right. I am a traitor.”

  How can I even reply to all this? A reassurance from the enemy would only reinforce their self-flagellation. But they saved a life—possibly two. They did the right thing.

  At least, from our perspective. But Ragna will hate them after this.

  I sigh. “I’ll relocate you to a different cell.”

  Gardi nods against the wall.

  “Fyre?” Mirzayael reaches out. “I’ve calmed Salvia down. Everything in order on your end?”

  “As much as can be,” I reply. “Ragna’s behind the wall in there. I’ll take it down when we leave. I stepped away with Gardi to speak with them privately.”

  “Salvia admitted they were going to use the dinner with the airship crew as a distraction,” Mirzayael says. “They wanted to dispatch of the prisoners, but Salvia says the felis froze them when they tried to attack. Then they froze their own cellmate when she was going to retaliate.”

  I sigh. “That matches the account I’ve received here.”

  “What should we do with them?” Mirzayael wonders. “The Jorrians can be separated. But Salvia…”

  I don’t know either. Should we punish them? They knocked out one of the other guards and went behind our backs in an attempt to execute the prisoners. They need to be reprimanded.

  But I understand their rage and pain. Their father was killed by the Jorrians. Isn’t that punishment enough? And they’re still just a kid. They acted impulsively. Do they need discipline, or support? Or both?

  I massage a temple. I’m not cut out for this. I’m not qualified to be handling these types of scenarios. Perhaps I was wrong to have made choices that led to this scenario in the first place.

  Should I have agreed to dispatch of the two Jorrians when they were first discovered? It would have made all our lives easier. It would have reduced tensions within the guard and prevented altercations such as this. And what if Ragna had killed Salvia? How could I justify keeping two enemies alive at the cost of one of our own? For as long as they remain here, that will always be a possible risk.

  I know something being easy doesn’t make it right, but in this case, I’m not even sure what right is.

  “I don’t know,” I wearily reply to Mirzayael. “Let’s discuss it later, after we’ve had time to process.”

  “Thank you,” I say to Gardi. “I know that’s not what you want to hear—not from me. But thank you for saving them. You did the right thing, even if it doesn’t feel like it.”

  When they don’t reply, I gently take their arm and lead them away. Using the Dungeon Core, I adapt another room into a cell a few doors down from the original. Gardi lets me lead them into this one. The room is so bare. We’ve effectively relegated the Jorrians to solitary confinement, now.

  “I’ll have more blankets delivered shortly,” I tell them.

  They take a seat in the middle of the room and don’t reply.

  How much longer can we keep them like this? I promised we would release them back with people who trade with Jorria, who could possibly take them home, but now I don’t think we can wait that long.

  “We’ll be over a city in the next week,” I tell them. “I’m told it has airships. We could see if any could arrange passage to somewhere that could take you home.”

  “I don’t have a home,” they say, their voice leadened. “Not when they learn what I did.”

  I open my mouth to respond with something comforting, but I can find nothing to say. When I leave, I don’t put their shackles back on.

  Discord

  Patreon