The wererat’s guts had spilled all over the dead-end alley, his poisoned blood reddening the stone floor of the city of Pleroma.

Marianne resisted the urge to pinch her nose from the foul smell. Her blood-tracker burned against her skin as if she had finally completed her hunt. And yet, even a cursory glance at the creature at her feet disabused her of the notion.

The hunt had only begun.

Marianne had followed the blood-tracker’s call as it guided her back to Lord Och’s stronghold, and found the city on lockdown. The ancient lich hadn’t taken any chances upon learning that a wererat was after his apprentice and restricted access to the Earthmouths. After reporting her return to the Knights and requesting an escort, Marianne had let the blood-tracker guide them through the narrow alleys of the old town.

Rats were numerous in these poor suburbs, making the swordswoman quite paranoid. When the blood-tracker confirmed Shelley’s presence in the area, Marianne and her reinforcements split up to close off the area and cover more ground.

The creature before her had jumped in without warning the moment she looked into the alley. The ambush had lasted mere seconds, with Marianne’s blade gutting the beast like a fish. For a brief moment, the swordswoman thought she had finally avenged Bertrand.

But while the creature before her took elements from both a rat and a human, it was too gaunt and small to be Shelley. The rodent nose was half-formed, with only one arm having claws and the other unmutated. The beast wore rags smelling of cheap fungi alcohol, and Marianne noticed a cup with a few coins hidden behind the corpse. She examined the face more closely and found it vaguely familiar.

I tossed you a few coins near the market street, Marianne remembered. The homeless man had white hair rather than fur then.

She had never paid this man much attention in the past and didn’t even know his name. Yet the sight of his mutated corpse filled her with anger. If she had caught up to Shelley earlier in the tunnels, she might have saved him. Each day I fail to bring the rat to justice, someone else pays the price, she thought grimly.

The noblewoman sensed a presence above her with her psychic sight and instantly readied her sword. She looked at the roofs surrounding the claustrophobic alley, half-expecting another wererat to fall upon her.

Instead, a pitch-black bat descended upon the alley. The animal was no larger than a fist, but its body radiated an aura that betrayed its true nature.

A crimson shroud of power surrounded the critter as it landed next to the dead wererat. The flesh expanded, the fur receding to reveal the brown skin underneath. The wings turned into black robes, the face shifted into an old woman’s visage with piercing black eyes.

Marianne lowered her sword upon recognizing the witch. “Master Malherbe.”

“Reynard,” the Institute’s animancer replied with a dry voice while she examined the corpse. Amie Malherbe didn’t care for common courtesy. “When did this happen?”

“Minutes ago,” Marianne explained as the Master bent down to examine the corpse. “Did you receive my messenger bat? About the Beast Plague variant?”

Amie confirmed with a sharp nod, before putting her thumb into the wound the rapier left. Once she had soaked her nail with blood, the animancer licked it.

Marianne winced at the sight, but didn’t try to stop the Master. Amie Malherbe was the Institute’s foremost expert on animancy and a talented biomancer. If anyone had developed an immunity to the Beast Plague, it would be her. “I used this device to find him,” Marianne said as she showed Amie her blood-tracker. “I thought it would lead me to Shelley.”

“It did,” the animancer replied as she licked her lips, not even glancing at the tracker. “Your cultist’s blood courses through his veins like an infection. Alongside something else.”

Marianne struggled to suppress a sigh of frustration. Shelley could have bitten dozens of victims by now, turning all of them into decoys. Had this been his true goal all along when he developed his plague? To use the infected as a smokescreen to cover his tracks? “Something else you said?”

“Blood from another source,” Amie replied as she summarily removed the victim’s rags to examine him; pants first. Marianne couldn’t help but blush. “But not from any creature I’ve encountered. I would have said a vampire, but more ancient, primeval.”

Marianne’s heart skipped a beat. “A mutated vampire?”

“Maybe.” Amie rolled over the corpse, revealing a half-formed tail growing between the cheeks and bruises on the left ankle. “Could be your retainer’s blood.”

Marianne hadn’t dared to raise the possibility out loud. Her last letter included a demand that the Institute could look for an antidote if possible.

A request that had gone unanswered.

The swordswoman didn’t know how to take the news. On one hand, finding Shelley meant locating Bertrand as well. But on the other hand, why would the deranged cultist need her retainer’s blood for his plague?

Or he was looking for another substance inside Bertrand’s veins, Marianne guessed, as the memory of the black blood dripping from the ceiling in Verney Castle came to mind.

Master Malherbe had reached the same conclusion. “From what you said in your letter, the original substance has powerful mutagenic properties,” she said. “Too powerful. Your retainer’s blood acts as a diluted substitute. Less potent, but more malleable.”

Amie pointed at the bruises on the victim’s ankles. Some scab remained at their center, the remnant of a wound. “Look.”

Marianne squinted. “Looks like a rat bite to me.”

“A normal rat’s bite,” Amie pointed out.

Somehow, that made it even worse.

Shelley’s rodent thralls could spread the wererat plague on their own. Marianne glanced at the streets beyond the alley, watching rodents hop out of a trash can. How many of them carried the plague inside them?

This complicated things. If Shelley found a way to infect normal rats with his blood plague, he might not even be in the city at all. Pleroma was the only city in the Domain of Paraplex, surrounded by foul bogs and marshes. The wererat could be hiding in the swamps, far away from civilization while letting his swarm do his dirty work. If he had spread his rodents over a large area, it would make it extremely difficult for the blood-tracker to find him.

Her curiosity satisfied, Amie pulled the corpse over her shoulder. Bile and blood spilled on her cloak, but the animancer didn’t even seem to notice. “I need time to study it,” she said. “Knowing Lord Och, he will ask me to suspend my projects until I develop a vaccine.”

“What about those already infected?” Marianne asked with a frown. “What about Bertrand? Master Malherbe, do you think you could cure him?”

“I would need to examine him first, but if this is indeed his blood I tasted…”

Master Malherbe shook her head, and Marianne’s heart shattered in her chest.

“Why?” the noblewoman asked, her voice breaking. She was no biomancer, but she had seen their work. “You can reshape life, transform yourself into an animal.”

“I cannot stay in an animal shape for too long, Reynard,” Amie replied. “If I do, I will stop being a transformed human and truly become a mindless animal. This is the same principle for the Beast Plague and whatever affected your vampire. If allowed to take root, that kind of magical virus bonds with the victim on a primal level. The effects can be suppressed with biomancy treatment and constant medication, but the disease only sleeps. It never goes away.”

“But you could make a suppression treatment?” Marianne refused to accept Bertrand and Shelley’s victims were beyond salvation. “Could they live a normal life again?”

“Maybe, if they follow a lifelong biomancy treatment that few can afford.” Amie shrugged. “It will be kinder to kill them.”

“It would be crueler to kill them when there is hope for an alternative.” Even if Marianne would rather have a cure, she could live with this imperfect solution. She would pay Bertrand’s treatment out of her own pocket and find a way to help Shelley’s other victims.

Her honor demanded it. It was her fault that the cultist had escaped so far.

Is it? Marianne wondered as she glanced at the gutted corpse. She had a responsibility in failing to catch Shelley so far, but the cultist moved unnaturally fast. As far as Marianne knew, he was on foot while she had the benefit of a riding beetle. He shouldn’t have reached Pleroma before her, let alone managed to infect anyone so quickly.

Either Shelley learned teleportation in record time or Marianne had overlooked a critical clue.

“Master Malherbe, how did you locate us?” Marianne asked the animancer as they walked out of the alley to meet with the Knights. “Can you track the wererats by smell?”

“I was looking for a smell, but not that one.” Amie sneered in disgust. “That stench is all over the city.”

“Valdemar’s?” Certainly Lord Och wouldn’t be so foolish to let him out of the fortress while a Verney cultist was on the loose?

“No,” Amie replied. “It’s close, but more intense. Purer. Fouler. It lurked around the Institute, like a mole rat looking for a way in. It couldn’t get past the magical defenses, but it startled the animals.”

Marianne’s thoughts turned to the Vernburg demiplane. Could it have been the Nahemoth acting? She ruled out that possibility. The creature that lurked around the Institute had acted with too much subtlety. Could it be the strange, cloudlike entity that was summoned beneath Verney Castle?

Whatever that creature was, its goal was clear.

“It was after Valdemar,” Marianne pointed out the obvious. And considering how it appeared in Paraplex at the same time as the first wererat infected, Shelley and the entity might be acting in concert. “It will try to get in again.”

“It won’t,” Amie replied with a shrug. “But Lord Och wants us to deal with it anyway, before it makes an attempt.”

A sensible decision. Even if neither Shelley nor any summoned Qlippoth could enter the fortress, they might start attacking its staff whenever they ventured out. The longer Shelley was left free to act, the more trouble he would cause.

As for Valdemar himself…

Marianne looked up at the shadow of the Institute overseeing the city. The fortress now looked like a prison to her, jailing the child of a Stranger with terrible potential. Her duty demanded that she report to Lord Och and let him make the final decision about his apprentice.

But… What if the lich was playing with forces too dangerous even for him? Lord Hagith already suspected Valdemar of being more than he looked, and the more word of Shelley’s activities would spread, the more the Verney heir would gather attention. What would happen when the Church of the Light figured out what Marianne had learned and called for Valdemar’s head? Surely Shelley had to know that his murderous antics would endanger his precious Red Grail...

Marianne suddenly froze in place, causing Amie to raise an eyebrow at her.

“That’s what he wants,” the noblewoman muttered as she examined the wererat. “He knows he can’t get in.”

She had thought that Shelley intended to thin out the Institute’s defenses by starting a plague and stretching them thin. But threatening a Dark Lord was a daunting task, and Och had access to near-limitless resources and manpower. As long as Valdemar enjoyed the lich’s protection, Shelley and his patron would never get within a meter of him.

But as Lord Hagith had shown, the last Verney couldn’t escape his family’s shadow. The more atrocities Shelley committed in the cult’s name, the more news would spread. Inquisitors and imperial citizens would suspect Valdemar’s involvement. The alienated sorcerer would become an even greater object of distrust, isolated and vulnerable. And from what little Marianne had seen of him, Valdemar might even decide to confront his family’s last cultist to get rid of the stain for good.

Shelley wasn’t trying to get inside the Institute.

He was trying to lure Valdemar out of it.

Marianne’s apartment felt colder without Bertrand.

After she made her report to Lord Och and received her newest mission, the lich had offered her a golem servant to replace her retainer. Marianne had politely refused. If anything, using a mindless thrall in Bertrand’s place felt like an insult to his memory.

She still remembered their last discussion before leaving Pleroma. Bertrand had mused that his mistress would ruin herself in tea shops without him, and now that she had to prepare her brew herself, the noblewoman realized he had been correct. Her drink tasted bitter to her lips and burnt her tongue.

Sitting behind her table, the noblewoman gazed at the hedge maze beyond her window with longing. After spending days on the road with little but sorrow to show for it, stopping to rest felt odd to her. Lord Och had given her a day off before her transfer to Sabaoth for her new mission, but Marianne couldn’t focus while her first job remained incomplete.

She had begged the Dark Lord to reconsider his decision, asking him to give her a task force to hunt down Shelley, Bertrand, and whatever creature had escaped the castle; or at least keep Valdemar safely inside the Institute for the moment.

The lich had denied her wishes.

“The forces after my apprentice are relentless,” the Dark Lord had told her. “The wererat is but a thrall to a higher power, easily replaceable. I will not always be here to protect my apprentice, and he cannot spend his existence inside these walls until the day he dies… if he can even perish. He has to grow strong enough to defend himself. Besides, if you stay with him, young Marianne... you might get to conclude your hunt.”

Yes, she would. If Shelley dared to attack Valdemar on her watch, Marianne would greet him with steel and fire.

And there were no better warriors than Verney's chosen combat instructor. Even Bertrand had suggested that she go to Sabaoth to perfect her swordsmanship, and Lord Och implied that his former apprentice would gladly give her some tutelage too. And while Marianne hated to admit it, she did need to become stronger.

If she had been a better fighter, she might have saved Bertrand.

Marianne heard a knock on her apartment’s door. “You may come in,” she said, “I left the door open.”

She had expected his visit.

The noblewoman listened quietly as her guest opened her door, closed it behind him, and explored her lair. His steps were hesitant, and she heard him briefly stop to examine the crests in her training room. It’s his first time entering a woman’s room uninvited, Marianne guessed. He feels out of place.

When the smell of tea lured him to her, Marianne had set a second cup for him. However, his eyes paid more attention to her novel collection.

“The Leaden Moon?” Valdemar Verney asked as he sat on the other side of the table. “It’s not the author’s best.”

“I haven’t finished it,” Marianne admitted. “I read halfway through before I left the Institute. But I do admit The Clockstopper’s Dilemma is my favorite so far.”

“You know the publisher is working on a picture book version?” Marianne nodded slowly, making Valdemar smile. “You're not a casual reader, but a true fan.”

Marianne chuckled in embarrassment. “I like pulp novels, even if others look down on them.”

“Have you read The Pirate King? It’s not the best novel out there, but I think it would suit your tastes.”

“I’ll check.” I didn’t know he liked to read novels, Marianne thought as she stared at her visitor’s face. Valdemar clearly hadn’t slept in days, and though his smile was genuine, she noticed the wariness in his gaze. He had changed since their last encounter; he dressed like a scholar and seemed more confident.

Above all else, Valdemar Verney looked human.

When she outright asked Lord Och about her theory about his apprentice’s origins, the lich had simply chuckled and said, “Stranger things happened in the past.”

But the way he answered, like a teacher congratulating a child for giving the right answer… the noblewoman knew she had guessed correctly.

Valdemar shifted in his seat, and Marianne quickly realized she had been staring at him in silence for several seconds. “My apologies,” she excused herself. “My mind wandered off.”

“I know the feeling,” he replied as he examined his teacup. “You learn so many earth-shattering truths in too short of a time span, and you struggle to process them all.”

Marianne looked at him with compassion. “Lord Och told me about your grandfather,” she admitted. The lich hadn’t given her all the details, but enough to fill the many holes in her investigation. “I’m so sorry for you.”

“For what? You weren’t here when I was born.”

Marianne glanced through the window and back at the hedge maze. “I won’t say our situations are the same, but believe me when I say that I understand what you are going through. I too was born a tool, only valuable for my body.”

Valdemar finally grabbed his cup, letting it warm his fingers. “For what purpose?”

“To make children,” Marianne admitted. “Ever since I was born a girl, my father decided that my only purpose in life would be to strengthen our family’s political ties and give him a grandchild. A male grandchild, worthy of our ancestral blade.”

“Since you’re here, I assume your family’s plans didn’t work any better than my own.”

Except Valdemar’s ‘father’ looked more determined to get back in his child’s life than Marianne’s sire. Should she even tell him? His faith in his maternal grandfather, who he admired, was already shattered. Learning about his paternal parentage might drive him over the edge.

“They didn’t,” Marianne replied, thinking of Jérôme. “Though it cost me greatly.”

“It’s never easy to stand up for yourself,” Valdemar replied. He should know, he had been sent to jail for going against imperial regulations. “For all it’s worth, I don’t believe gender should determine your worth. I can’t believe sexism still exists in a country ruled by an immortal empress.”

“You can get away with many things with immense arcane power.”

“I’ve seen that with Lord Och.” Valdemar sipped his tea. He appeared to enjoy it more than Marianne herself. “He is sending us to Sabaoth. To meet with Lord Bethor.”

“I heard,” Marianne replied before locking eyes with him. “I swear by my rapier, nothing will happen to you so long as I am with you.”

She thought her words would reassure him, but they only made the sorcerer tense. “I don’t want your coddling. I want the truth.”

Of course he did. Marianne knew he would confront her about her investigation the moment she returned to the Institute.

“Where is your butler?” Valdemar asked, making Marianne wince. His eyes immediately widened in surprise. “Is he…”

“No,” Marianne replied with a sigh. “Not yet.”

His expression turned sympathetic. “Is there anything I can do?”

“I don’t know.” Amie didn’t think much could be done for Bertrand, but if Valdemar had inherited even a part of his ‘father’s’ power… perhaps he could do the impossible.

“Lady Reynard—”

“Call me Marianne,” she interrupted him. “I will act as your bodyguard for the Dark Lord knows how long. We might as well work on a first-name basis.”

Valdemar processed her words for a moment as he finished his cup. “Very well,” he said. “Marianne, what happened? What did you find? What happened to your retainer?”

“Do you truly wish to know?” she asked him in return. His answer was a slow, but firm nod. “What has Lord Och told you?”

“Only details about that wererat cultist.” Valdemar’s scowl deepened. “Did he forbid you from sharing your findings with me?”

“No, he did not.” Though he did suggest that Marianne wait until after they reached the Domain of Sabaoth. “But you already suffered mental scars. I’m not certain I should add more to them.”

“Do you remember what you told me on the day of your departure?”

Of course she did. “That I would share what I learned. That you were entitled to learn about your origins. I still believe in my words.”

“And I appreciate you for it,” Valdemar said, making her chuckle. “Marianne, I have been lied to since the moment I was born. I’m done with it. Even if the truth hurts, it will still be better than willful ignorance. And I can’t help you with your problems if I don’t understand them.”

Marianne blinked. “My problems?”

“You said it yourself, I might help with whatever happened to your retainer.” Valdemar smiled at her confused reaction. “What, you thought I would refuse? I will still try to help even if you don’t tell me everything.”

Marianne observed that strange sorcerer for a moment. “Why?”

Valdemar shrugged. “Why not?”

“Because whether I like it or not, I am part of the system that imprisoned you,” Marianne pointed out. “And you would gain nothing from it. Bertrand didn’t even like you.”

“You got me out of that jail, didn’t you?” Valdemar shook his head. “Lord Och believes all interactions are self-interested, but I don’t want to play that game. You have been honest and straightforward with me since day one, and it is reason enough for me to help you. Even if your retainer disliked me.”

Marianne thought back about her investigations, and the people she met. From Lord Hagith to Captain Léopold, every offer of help came with strings attached. Even Inquisitor Penhew only accepted an interview in an attempt to convince her to have Valdemar slain; a position that Marianne had derided at first, but almost started believing in too.

And yet, Marianne couldn’t detect any hint of deceit in the last Verney’s eyes.

He truly meant everything he said.

Lord Och had told her his apprentice hadn’t hesitated to defend Institute personnel from a derro attack in Sabaoth. Even on the first day they met, he had willingly shared information about his research with her in the hope they would improve mankind’s chances to settle in another world.

Valdemar Verney had a good heart.

Others would call him an idealistic fool, but not Marianne. If anything, she saw a little of herself in him. No matter the reasons behind his birth or what disaster he might bring, Valdemar Verney deserved a chance to life. Judging him on his origins rather than his actions simply felt wrong.

Even if Marianne might end up killing him to protect others... she would give the man a chance to prove he could avert his fate.

“Valdemar.” Marianne cleared his throat. “I don’t know what the future holds in store for us, but I can promise you one thing.”

The summoner listened in silence.

“We will uncover the truth,” Marianne swore. “About who you are. Whatever the obstacles thrown at us.”

“You shouldn’t make promises you aren’t certain of delivering,” he said with an amused smirk. “I guess I should make one myself, to make us even. I swear, however impossible it might sound, that we will save your retainer. And more to the point… as long as you have my back, I will have yours.”

Valdemar offered Marianne his hand.

After a moment, the noblewoman shook it. His fingers felt warm against her own, his grip was as solid as steel. A deal had been struck, and woe to those who would try to break it.

“So,” Valdemar asked after breaking the handshake. “Where do we start?”

And so, Marianne recounted her case from the very beginning to her new partner.