Stathis was glad she’d stopped drinking early, waking up just as the sun was starting to light up her room, feeling only slightly groggy. After dressing, she opened the door, a waft of delicious steam greeting her, finding Misutira waiting outside with a bowl of broth and a pot of tea.

‘Good morning, Miss Stathis. I anticipated you might need something restorative.’ She pushed past her, putting the food down on the bedside table, looking at a pile of discarded clothing with a look of disapproval. Faced with Misutira’s unwavering stare, Stathis felt she had no choice but to sit down and help herself to the food.

The broth was excellent, light enough to be palatable after a long night, but with enough substance to be filling. The tea complimented it well, helping to wake her up, although it would have been somewhat nicer if Misutira hadn’t been standing over her, watching her eat.

‘Is Janaxia up?’

‘No, Lady Janaxia is still asleep.’

Good. That should make things easier. ‘So, is she treating you OK?’

‘Lady Janaxia is a worthy mistress, and one that it is an honour to work for.’ Misutira’s faint smile remained, polite and restrained, without showing any actual emotion. Well, at least she seemed to be content working here, although Stathis would prefer it if she was a little more emotive. Once she had eaten and drunk (being sure to finish it all, out of some vague fear of Misutira’s disapproval), then the empties were collected. Misutira making an efficient exit, one hand still bandaged.

After waiting for a few minutes, to be sure that Misutira wasn’t lurking outside, she crept along the hallway, carefully opening Janaxia’s door a crack, peeking inside. Janaxia was curled up, asleep. And, fortunately, alone. She tiptoed in, acutely aware of every creak and groan the old flooring made beneath her. Janaxia’s book was easy to find, dumped onto the floor, in the corner of the room.

She picked it up, carefully making her way back out of the room, leaving Janaxia to her slumber and closing the door behind herself.

‘Hey, what’cha doing?’

Stathis jumped as Semari appeared behind her, trying to calm herself down. ‘I think I have an idea of how to help Janaxia.’

‘Neat. Can you take me flying afterwards? You promised!’

‘Let’s see how this goes first.’

Semari tagged along, following her down to the main hall. Misutira was already there, cleaning up the detritus from the previous night’s revelry, a night pile of empty beer bottles formed in a corner, as she mopped the floor, hand seemingly healed now, unbandaged. The demon skull leered at them from atop the dining table. Misutira looked up at them, somehow managing to make Stathis feel guilty about the mess. Another servant, a man, was working on the other side of the room, his hair the same crimson tint as Misutira’s.

‘Hi. Uh, sorry about last night, that was sort of unplanned. We’ll try to be less of a problem in the future. You mind if we do something in the corner? We won’t get in your way.’

‘Of course, Miss Stathis.’ She curtseyed, still holding the mop.

It was perhaps not the best circumstances for a vaguely occult ritual, with the steady splash and wet slapping noises of a mop as background noise, as Stathis carefully opened the book, putting in on the floor. She then took the wooden case, carefully positioning it above the book before opening it, allowing the blade to fall onto the pages. Black lines of energy started to be drawn out of the sword, the text within the book shifting, writhing, becoming more solid. A low moan came from the sword, the blade vibrating as its power was drawn away. As the darkness was drawn into it, Stathis reached out, summoning her own power, sunlight spilling forth as she touched the book herself, careful to avoid the sword.

The book’s growth increased, swirling traceries of solar energy mingling with the darkness, even as a numbing chill spread up her arm, flesh going pale as her energy was drained. Some of the text appearing now had tiny flecks of gold mingled in with the black, even as the cover of the book regenerated. Her vision wavered for a second, darkness flickering in front of her eyes. She pulled her hand away, feeling it trying to draw more than she could give, a feeling of resistance before she managed to break the contact.

As she regained her sense of self, she watched the dark energy trailing out of the sword flicker and fade, the blade itself going dull as its energy was drained away. She gave it a tentative prod, without feeling any wrath flow into her. Well, that had probably destroyed its resale value for anything other than a display piece, but the book was looking more intact than before, even if still not completely healed.

Misutira was hovering nearby, holding the mop and bucket meaningfully, waiting for them to vacate the only corner she hadn’t yet cleaned. Semari leapt over the wet area, landing neatly outside the room, as Stathis put the book and blade onto the side, wincing as she stepped onto the moist floor, dirtying it. Hopefully Misutira wouldn’t bear a grudge!

Eventually, Janaxia emerged from her chambers, her face stony as she looked at Stathis, but at least she’d put the usual effort into her appearance, ready for any social encounter. Her expression was barely softened by a placatory offer of a plate of breakfast, although at least that kept her in the same room. The next part of the ‘plan’, such as it was, would be the most dangerous.

Semari jumped in from behind, arms wrapping around Janaxia, dropping to the bare skin above her hips, tickling her. Stathis braced herself to separate them, just in case this provoked some kind of eldritch abomination being summoned, or even just something that might blow up the house. Pained, forced laughter spilled out from Janaxia’s lips, accompanied by the unnerving telepathic transmission of half-formed curses. Her tattoo spiralled into sight, black lines seeming darker, although with a few stray specks of light seemingly caught inside, as it peeked out onto her belly, before hiding itself under her clothing again.

‘Stop that, damn you!’ The words, actual, real words burst forth from Janaxia’s lips, startling her. Semari let her go, smart enough to jump out of sight, out of range of immediate retaliation, cautiously peeking around the corner, skittish and ready to bolt.

‘Can you talk now?’ Stathis was glad that it had worked, otherwise it would have been hard to explain why Semari had been tickling her.

It seems to be improved. Although I cannot speak entirely properly yet. I assume this is your doing in some way?’

‘Yeah. Sorry, should’ve warned you in advance, but I wasn’t sure if it would work. I guess it’s still going to take some time?’

Janaxia started working through some kind of vocal exercise; a tongue twister, sounds flicking between spoken and silent without warning. There didn’t seem to be any pattern or logic behind it, the sound just cutting out mid-sentence and then starting again. It seemed it would take more magic to fully cure her, but it was a start. As Semari stepped back into sight, Janaxia gestured and spoke one of her strange un-words, a bolt of energy flashing out, shooting past Semari’s head and knocking out a chunk of brickwork.

‘Janaxia! She was only helping. Anyway, are you feeling up to meeting other people? Terinth was saying that we’re going to get a lot of invitations. Also, that there’s some rumours we’re, um, together, so that might be a bit awkward.’

Janaxia looked her up and down, scrutinising her appearance, taking in her current clothing, comfortable and loose, appropriate for the warmth, even if it wasn’t the most fashionable, or well made, especially compared with Janaxia’s silks, seemingly equal parts filmy material and enticing panels of nothing. ‘I suppose there are worse rumours one could hear, but you could try and dress according to your station. If I am to be partnered with you, then you could put some effort into your appearance!’

The half-words were starting to give Stathis a headache. ‘Look, if there’s any talking with nobles, do you mind if I leave that to you? Just don’t get us involved with anything, and try to tell people we’ve not going to engage in anything political.’ Janaxia apparently hadn’t heard her, as she continued.

The alternatives are somewhat worse. Semari’s a dear, but is scarcely suitable companionship for those of our positions. And Parth is rather odd, in her own unique way

She must be happy, to be giving any praise, even if it was decidedly skewed. ‘Thanks. I think. Please don’t start any weird rumours. Or get us invited to any crazy parties. Or murder-cults. Or anything weird. Just normal parties, and don’t get us dragged into the politics.’

You really making this very dull, you know. Only the most boring of parties? I’m sure Terinth will have some more useful suggestions to make about such matters. He was most entertaining last night, at least until that unpleasantness with the sword. I trust you will be dealing with that as well?

‘I think your voice has gone again. Maybe it needs time to recharge?’ At least if Janaxia was experimenting with her voice, she wouldn’t be getting them into trouble. Even better, if she could only manage to talk for short periods of time, that would keep her from getting them into too much craziness. Janaxia stroked her throat, trying to coax out more words, frowning as it became clear she’d run out of words. Stathis would have to try and steal the book again, and pump some more magic into it.

As Janaxia left, still trying to make sounds, her tattoo spiralled its way onto her back, taking a position between Janaxia’s shoulder blades, slowly spinning, somehow seeming to glare. She glared back, without effect, as Janaxia made her exit. Given the heat, lighter clothing was to be expected, but it would probably cause awkward questions at some point, as soon as someone realised her tattoo was moving all the damn time. Even ‘aristocracy’ probably couldn’t explain that one, at least other than the sort of aristocracy that normally needed purging out with fire, generally after packs of demons had ‘mysteriously’ appeared at about the same time some of the locals had started to vanish. Janaxia was far too languorous for anything quite that active, but this whole place was still creeping her out, a perpetual sense of creeping chill that was settling into her bones.