“Do you deny the murder of every man, woman, and child spoken to you today?” Daithi’s harsh tone reverberated throughout the great hall. Ayube stood before him, laden with far more chains than was necessary; flanked by a man in armour at each side.

  “I do not, but if you would—”

  “Do you deny your attempted escape in which you assaulted three members of my guard as well as myself?”

  “Your people’s deaths will be in vain if I—”

  “Silence!” Daithi yelled, erupting from his chair, eyes large and full of contempt. “I will not allow you of all people to speak on death and vanity! We will be the judges of their value, not you!”

  Cian and Bridan, Daithi’s Captain of the Guard and Steward, sat next to the fuming lord; both silent and shifting uncomfortably.

  Daithi fell to his chair and rubbed his throat. The sun had yet to peak and already his voice was coarsening, screams of pure rage nearly a foreign concept to him after so many years of peace.

  He chewed at his lips. “You’re lucky that today we celebrate the harvest, otherwise I’d hang ye by your neck myself. I’ve still half a mind to—”

  Bridan’s jaw dropped in dismay as his lord’s hateful words rang in his ears.

  Commotion sounded outside the chamber. Already Daithi knew what chaos stormed through his castle, thundering toward his great hall. Though he prayed that he may be wrong, he was not. The room’s heavy door crashed open. The bull, Worne, ducked under the high frame; a small woman leading from behind.

  The omeness.

  “No! Both of ye, out!” the lord leapt in a fury once again.

  The mature woman stepped from behind Worne as he moved aside, blocking the entrance, not one of the castle guards brazen nor fooling enough to challenge him.

  “Lord Daithi, please excuse my intrusion but we must speak,” said the omeness.

  He frowned, “I’d wondered when The Mad Madwen would finally make her appearance. You’re lucky I don’t string you up like this murderer here.”

  The voices chattered in Ayube’s ear.

  Breathebreathebreathebreathebreathebreathebreathe—

  STOP!

  The young man shook in place, his hands clenching and releasing at random. He should have been calm. This woman—this mad Madwen—was the woman from this vision. The woman who had beckoned him to save the High King. The woman who had calmed his nerves in a way he hadn’t felt since he was a child. The woman who helped free him, holding back an entire city to do so. But she was just a woman—an old one at that. He’d always imagined the omenesses of lore to be more youthful; more ladylike. Now that he’d finally laid eyes on one, however, he didn’t know what to think.

  “You,” she said, commanding his attention. “I’m here to take you to the High Kingdom.”

  Still, Ayube stood frozen. Perhaps this was just another dream; a ruse; some twisted farse his unstable mind had conjured to torment him further. But his hallucinations were always his own, and all those around him reacted as if she were truly there.

  “You’ll do no such thing!" Daithi hissed. “Return him to the dungeon. We’ll deal with him tomorrow. I’ll be glad to rid him of this world after a beautiful night of song and dance. I may even see to it before bed, should the ale fail to sleep me.”

  Cian recoiled. To hear such venom from his lord’s lips?

  “My lord,” he said, lilted voice fluttering, “the boy hasn’t yet been allowed to speak.”

  “The matter’s been decided. I am your lord. You will do as I say and I say seize that man!” Daithi circled around his chair, pulling at his roots, then slammed the chair against the head table.

  Cian. Daithi hadn’t even looked his way. During all his years, not once had his lord spoken to him in such a tone—not once had he spoken so highly about the death of another. A tepid sort of fear lingered on the captain’s face as he rose from his station. He stepped toward the prisoner. Worne stepped forward in response, eyes sharp and ready to charge.

  “Don’t you dare!” bellowed Daithi, finger pointed at the bull. “You may have lent your hand once before but that does not make us allies. We’d be readying ourselves for the night of the year if ye hadn’t darkened our door. You can consider our little deal broken, that I can say for certain.”

  Madwen eyed Worne. Deal?

  Worne moved to take another step, but Madwen touched his hand. A bite of frost nipped them both upon the simple touch—neither acknowledged it.

  The two guards at the prisoner’s side looked to their captain for approval, and with a nod of solemn respect, grabbed Ayube’s shackles and pulled him gently toward the back of the room. The man was so laden with chains that he could hardly move.

  Madwen straightened her posture, beckoning the prisoner’s downward gaze, though he refused to give it.

  “You’re an omener!” she shouted. “The High Crown will see you treated as such! I’ll take you to the High Capital, I promise!” Madwen watched as the young man disappeared down a dark corridor behind the fief lord.

  “And how do ye plan on doing that?” mused Daithi. “Perhaps you intend to pin us to the ground once more?”

  Madwen quickly moved forward, dropped her head, and held a deep, high-lady’s bow: half bow, half curtsy.

  “Lord Daithi, truly, I apologize with all my heart.”

  There was a sincerity to her voice, a softness. Daithi watched cautiously but allowed the woman to speak.

  “I cannot express the regret I hold. If what had been done to you had been done to me instead, I have no doubt in my mind that I would feel equally as furious. Through my time in the tavern, I’ve heard nothing but praise for you from your people. That I stand here before you at all is proof enough that those praises spoke the truth. Were—”

  “Enough flattery,” said Daithi. “Speak your mind, Omeness. I’ll not be placated like a child.”

  Madwen stood from her bow, her thinly veiled cordiality fallen to the wayside. She closed her eyes and breathed deep, then released slowly.

  “I owe you an explanation,” she said.

  “You owe me a great many things.”

  “Let’s start simple then move from there.”

  Daithi nearly smirked. The omeness was quick. He slowly rounded the table and gestured, inviting her to speak.

  “Last night was a mistake,” said Madwen.

  “My people say there’s was plenty of purpose behind your actions.”

  “Your people are naive. Your lieutenant asked me ‘please,’ when she tried to stop me. That’s not to say they’re fools—their craftsmanship alone can speak for itself—but what they faced last night was well out of their comprehension.”

  “Perhaps then you can help me comprehend,” Daithi said pleasantly, fighting his tongue’s yearning to strike.

  “Details would do little to sway your opinion of me and the events of last night, but be assured that is was an accident, and I do truly regret what happened.”

  “Then pardon me. All is forgiven.” Sarcasm dripped from his lips. Madwen glanced at Worne as he refused to glance back.

  “I’m not looking for forgiveness. I can’t even begin to forgive myself. I can hardly expect you to do so, and nor should you. I’m simply explaining the events as they occurred, and what occurred last night was the result of an omen’s persistent attacks on my mind. If I could be allowed a single night more I—”

  “You ask for more time?” Daithi smiled in disbelief, shaking his head toward the ground. “You were right, the fact that ye stand here at all is a testament to my lenience. I told Worne ye had until tonight, but I fear I may have been too generous if you’re truly thinking I’d allow you another night’s stay. You’re to cease your investigation immediately.”

  “But, my lord—”

  “I won’t hear any more of it,” Daithi said, stern and resolute. “When first I heard of your descent into Lady Carlina’s tavern, I thought perhaps ye would stay no more than one or two days. ‘Maybe she’s only passing through.’ I thought. ‘Maybe some spine-latcher crawled its way from the sea into some nearby lake. But she’ll be gone soon enough. Why else would she ignore me?’ Now, not a week has passed and already we’ve lost fifty of our own and had the city bombarded by hellish magic from above by some hysterical woman slowly losing her mind!”

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  “I haven’t lost my mind,” said Madwen, her thin brows slowly furrowing.

  Daithi feigned a look of confusion. “Have ye not? You call my people naive, but they know danger when they see it. Do ye care to explain the blissful laughter ye cackled as ye flattened my guards atop that hill? Don’t pretend that bloody bull of yours isn’t the only reason we all stand here today. It’s a shame he couldn’t put you down where ye stood.”

  “Don’t let your spite cloud your judgment,” Madwen said, stern. “This… thing that resides here is more than some mindless monster. It thinks. It has will. It can tinker with the mind like the gods of old!”

  “The gods of old?” Daithi sighed. “Have my eyes deceived me, Lady Madwen? Ye think me blind? I look around and see not but happy, healthy people. Well, all but two. Lady Carlina tells me ye went days without sleep. Said ye refused a room until just yesterday and even then, slept only an hour.” Daithi looked to Worne. “Tell me, Worne. Do ye believe the Lady Madwen? Have ye seen anything yourself?”

  Worne looked down at the omeness as she looked up at him. It was true, he hadn’t seen anything. There had been sounds, yes, there had been eerie feelings of being watched from the forest, there had even been bizarre experiments and tests which he could not understand, but the pure darkness that Madwen insisted plagued the land seemed to allude him and everyone else. He’d seen the carnage in the village and the agony later caused by the omeness; two instances of magic out of control. And what was strange in that? Two more humans slowly destroying the world with a power that should have never become them. But if there was something present—something twisted of magic—then it needed to be killed, and where omens were concerned, Madwen had never been wrong.

  Worne moved to speak, but his hesitation was word enough.

  “So I thought,’ said Daithi, his voice softening. He was tired. Tired of arguing, tired of screaming and yelling, tired of worrying.

  “I believe her,” said Worne, his back erect and chest forward.

  Madwen closed her eyes and breathed deep.

  “You’re a dull brute, Ser Worne. Not even your omeness believes you.”

  Worne sneered, a something flashed before his eyes. Violence. A memory of pure brutality. He could kill the lord there and then. The few guards that lined the chamber would do little to slow him. But Madwen? She would sooner see Worne dead than permit him to murder in cold blood.

  Daithi’s words lingered in Madwen’s mind. Let me down? she thought. What would make Daithi believe such a thing? Suddenly it occurred to her: her closed eyes and long breaths—Daithi had been misreading them. The man was clearly sharp, but either due to his own levels of stress or his sheer overconfidence, he had accidentally revealed a blind spot. But how was she to use it?

  Madwen continued her mental ritual, keeping her eyes closed and breathing deep.

  “Worne,” she said, feigning disappointment. “You sodden fool.” She lingered on her words a moment longer. “Why don’t you… oh hells, what does it matter?” Her shoulders dropped.

  Daithi turned his attention from the bull. “Ye can’t blame the poor man. Not much in the way of thoughts behind that ugly glower.”

  The intricate golden weaves in the green carpet below their feet glistened in Madwen’s downward gaze. She had to ensure not to overplay her solemnity.

  “You all think me mad,” she said, voice soft. “Even you, Worne. I was starting to think I could trust you. I don’t even know why I bothered.” She turned, hesitation on her lips. “Just show him mercy, please. I swear to you he could not control his actions.”

  Arms rested at her side, Madwen moved with slow, gentle strides toward the entrance, two guards at their posts moving aside.

  “Madwen,” called Worne. Daithi watched the pair without a sound, careful not to make himself their common enemy.

  The silver at Madwen’s wrists clinked when she stopped partly out chamber. She half turned.

  “I’ll leave your things with Lady Carlina before my leave tonight.”

  “When—”

  “Enough!” she snapped.

  And with that, she left.

  The great hall sat quiet, the bustle of the city so distant. Daithi’s fury had simmered, though he couldn’t make sense of it. Where once there was hate, now bloomed a kind of sympathy. Why? Because you’re weak, a voice spoke inside him. There was a time he’d have listened to that voice, but after so long, he’d come to know that he’d never be where he was if he heeded its words.

  Worne lumbered staring after Madwen, his presence in the room like that of a horse inside a home, too large and out of place.

  “S’pose ye did what I asked in the end. Not sure if I can credit ye for it.”

  Worne sneered and clenched his fist. Daithi thought Worne stupid, many did, but he knew he wasn’t, and he knew Madwen thought the same. He was imperceptive, failing to notice the details that others found easily, but even that, he rationalized as simple impatience. When Madwen changed her tone, however, she had Worne’s attention entirely. Often when an obstacle opposed Madwen, she grew quickly annoyed, but she’d never snapped—mastery of emotional control was the key to using magic after all, as Madwen had explained. If she had shown her emotions so blatantly, then it had to be on purpose.

  Worne started after the omeness. He didn’t need to pretend to hate Daithi to play along with Madwen’s ruse.

  “Twat.”

  The people of Gildaun made no attempt to shy away their blatant stares as Madwen collected her horse and a small satchel from the tavern. She took her time, though tried to appear hastened. To her, this meant exaggerated movements and frequent pauses, anything that would add to her false apprehension and self-doubt. Thankfully, Worne appeared sooner than she thought he would, sparring her from any more half-convincing theatrics.

  He approached slowly. Though she knew he wasn’t, Madwen nonetheless told herself that Worne was trying his best to play along.

  “So? How we breaking the dark-skinned man out?” he asked.

  “We’re not.”

  “Really giving up then?”

  “Not at all,” said Madwen, removing one random item from her horse’s saddle, then placing it in another random compartment. “Daithi’s going to give us the stranger himself.” Though she looked furious, her tone sang proud.

  “Fill me in or not. Don’t like games.”

  Madwen hid a smile. “We’re going to make Daithi believe his prisoner is too dangerous to remain in his dungeon or anywhere near his city.”

  “How you planning that then?”

  “That’s where the gamble begins.” Madwen finished her last random buckle strapping and mounted her chestnut mare. “He thinks me defeated, and you and I, enemies. We’re no threat to him, and I’m hoping he sees that enough to invite me to his feast.”

  Madwen moved toward the city’s main gate. Worne walked by her side, needing to barely raise his eyeline to meet hers.

  “Awful big gamble.”

  “From all I’ve heard, Daithi is supposed to be a kind man. We haven’t been seeing that side of him, but one thing you learn as an omeness is to read emotions, both your own and by extension, everyone else’s. He seems to be under tremendous stress. You saw the way his own men looked at him. I think seeing my miserable defeat disarmed and calmed him, and I think inviting me tonight may calm him further. Like a parent comforting a child after they’ve disciplined them.”

  “And if you’re right?”

  “Then I’ll attend. And when none are watching, I’m going to flood the dungeon with magic.”

  Worne grunted. “Going to crush the prisoner and have Daithi give us the bones?”

  “Remember how I said magic and emotions are mixed? Daithi said the stranger lost control in that village because he was ‘scared of his own thoughts.’ That sounds like anxiety to me.”

  “Expect me to know what that is?”

  “The stranger’s emotions, he can’t control them—at all. And we’re going to use that with Burden: the crushing spell. It’s the most oppressive spell in human existence; unleashing all your emotional burden onto the shoulders of anyone around. Light requires pure empathy, burden requires pure apathy, and with that burden comes all the negative emotions associated.”

  “Going to make the boy snap again. Sounds risky. Just do it yourself. Blame the boy.”

  “Daithi’s cunning. Already I worry he suspects me. Plus, I imagine he’ll have a number of guards in the dungeon with the stranger. If none of them see him losing control, Daithi might suspect that I was behind the crushing and not the stranger. He may even question him separately and I doubt the young man will know to play along.”

  “Putting a lot o’ people in danger.”

  “I can keep everyone safe. I can cancel the boy’s burden with my own. He can’t match my power, even without my rings. I’ll make sure to hold him back if he threatens to kill anyone.”

  “And the omen?”

  The city gate lay just ahead, and beyond it, the endless forest.

  “I’m not sure,” said Madwen. “As for now, I’ll obey Daithi’s command; I’ll cease our investigation.”

  “Came here to kill a monster, not for some bloody damsel that needs saving.”

  “You don’t understand. I can hear it, Worne. The dissonance whines in my ear day and night. Just when I’m about to forget of its presence, it whines louder. There’s no doubt in my mind that a being of vast magical strength resides here, but only I seem to suffer it. I’d almost wager I could return in a hundred years and find the same prosperous city and the same happy people, but that young man will die tomorrow if we don’t intervene. I can always return later, and with the High Legion if need be. But that young man? He takes priority.”

  The pair approached the gate, the sound of cawing crows and windy treetops in the distance. Madwen leaned to her side, hushing her voice, face still scowling.

  “I’m afraid to say I’ll be attending the feast on my own.”

  Worne huffed. “I’ll live.”

  Madwen’s horse walked forward. Worne held back, pretending to allow the omeness on her own.

  Madwen opened her mouth to speak when—

  “Lady Madwen!” a voice cried from behind. “Lady Madwen, I have urgent word!”

  Madwen flashed a look at Worne as he stood in wait, perhaps seeming grumpier. Even still, she could hardly tell with him.

  “What is it?” she hissed.

  The guard approached and rested his arms on his knees, catching his breath. “My Lord Daithi… he… he wishes to extend his apologies for his behaviour.”

  “Oh?” Madwen feigned surprise. “And what if I don’t accept?”

  “He wishes to… extend an offer to be… his honoured guests.” The winded soldier at last stood straight, then stopped. Flapping slow in the gentle breeze, an envelope stamped with a Gildaunian Elk remained clutched in the man’s hand. Madwen would need to lean to grab it. She examined the man’s face. He was scared, almost stunned, his head forward but eyes fixed to his side like a rabbit before a wolf. It was Worne. Of course it was. Either he’d never seen a man of such size, or perhaps expected not to see him at all. Both were likely true.

  “Pay no mind to him,” said Madwen, swiping the paper from the man’s hand. “He’s not as bad as he looks.”

  “R-really, my lady?”

  Madwen continued to open the envelope. “No.”

  Within the envelope was an invitation. It was beautiful, the paper dyed a rich green and the elegant script inked in shining gold. Daithi must have had a stockpile of invitations for special occasions as the wording within was vague enough to address any person for any event.

  “Hmm, and you, what do you think? Is this an honour worth receiving?”

  The man’s utter confoundment overwhelmed his fear. “Why, my lady, it is of the most highest honour one can receive in our humble city!”

  “Well then, it sounds like quite the time.”

  “’Tis indeed, my lady! Shall I inform my lord of your decision to attend?”

  Madwen tugged at the reigns of her horse, meeting eyes with her sullen sellsword.

  “Tell him I shall consider his offer,” she smirked.

  “And that of Ser Worne?” the man asked. Madwen’s smirk quickly faded. “I’ve been instructed to deliver such invitation to him as well. But if you wish that he not attend…”

  Why had Worne been invited? Surely the lord wanted nothing more to do with him. Unless, Madwen thought. Daithi had mentioned that Worne had broken some kind of deal. Was this the deal? To have her leave?

  Madwen looked, any hint of pleasure gone from her face. “Who am I to deny the Lord Daithi’s wish?”