The second awakening was much like the first. Pain blossomed from Scarlet’s back as soon as she became conscious. She was disoriented by her unfamiliar surroundings until she remembered everything that had happened. The two gods, one who tried to kill her, and one who saved her life. The two bindings, one to Death, and one to her castle. She was in the Crossworld, she was an emissary, she was going to learn magic—

And, her mother was gone.

It should have been the least of her worries. Death had assured her that her mother was fine. And yet, Scarlet couldn’t shake the unsettled feeling that creeped into her bones when she thought of how far away her mother was. I don’t even know where she is.

In a life of chaos, perpetually in danger and on the run across the whole kingdom of Saridian, her mother had been the one constant. Now they were separated, a World apart.

At least they were both alive.

Scarlet sat up in bed, testing the limits of her body. Her back ached, but it was more tolerable then the first time she’d awoke. Her bare feet, one at a time, made contact with the stone floor. Cold seeped into her feet. Though it was unpleasant, Scarlet was grateful for the chill, somehow it steadied her as she rose.

She stumbled to the floor-length mirror, and wiped the thick layer of dust off of it. Curiosity gripped her. She took off her nightgown and unbound the dressings that kept the injury on her back clean. She looked over her shoulder to examine her wound in the mirror. Placed near her left shoulder blade, it was a circle, a couple of inches in diameter with thin tendrils branching out in every direction and splitting off even further, like bolts of lightning.

The scabs covering it were as dark as a moonless night, and where it was beginning to peel, the skin underneath was black as well. She would have to get used to the starburst scar; it seemed inevitable that it would be permanent. A small price for survival, considering a god nearly killed her.

Then, there was the new tattoo on the back of her hand. Another cost of survival. It wasn’t just ink that’d been injected into her skin; she could feel magic running through the marks. She tried not to think too hard about the oath binding tattoo she gave herself, though her mind was also drawn to it. One day, I will burn this castle to the ground, she affirmed.

Her mother had explained that emissary tattoos were what connected an emissary to their patron god. Scarlet could feel that connection when she concentrated. Death’s ominous presence lingered somewhere in the castle. Her stomach churned. The pain that had flared through her tattoo when Death ordered her to go back to her room had only gone away with her surrender.

Recalling the loss of control made her shudder.

I need a distraction. She turned to the window and pulled back the blinds. This time, daylight shone in through it. The castle seemed to be planted in the middle of a swamp. Patches of land interspersed water that looked green—or perhaps teal?—with moss, even from up high. Scattered across the landscape were reeds and trees with winding, twisted branches without leaves. As she had ascertained in the darkness, the sky was purple. The brighter daylight hue made Scarlet feel like she was in an odd dream world.

But no, she’d spent enough time asleep. Her limbs were weak and heavy. How long had she been here for? When had she last eaten? Her stomach was tied in knots of anxiety, but even so, it growled for sustenance. Where could she even find food?

Scarlet turned to her door, considering another excursion out of her room. Immediately, a folded note on the ground, seeming to have been pushed in from under her door, caught her eye. She snatched it from the ground, her eager curiosity overcoming the stiffness of her body.

It read:

Scarlet,

If you wake, please come to find me. We will continue your healing process. Also, I have proper food for you if you are up for it. Directions to my quarters are on the back.

-Bronwen

Who in the World was Bronwen? Apparently, someone who had food. At this point in time, that was good enough for her. Scarlet turned the note over. On the back, as promised, was a map showing the route from her room to another, presumably Bronwen’s.

Whoever Bronwen was, she didn’t want to meet him wearing the nightgown she had been dressed in. Scarlet pulled open the wardrobe, wondering if her hopes for better clothing would manifest as quickly as her hopes for food seemed to. She was disappointed to find that the wardrobe only contained the musty dresses that had been there the first time she checked it. She grabbed the purple one. It was a unique color, purple dye was hard to procure. After putting it on, she looked at herself in the mirror.

She’d never worn a dress. It had never been practical. At any moment, she and her mother could have been in danger and needed to flee. Plus, it’s not like she’d had any formal events to go to. It had been a long time since she’d looked in a mirror, too—and she’d never seen a full length one like this before. Suddenly, staring at her own reflection, she felt self-conscious.

Am I pretty? It wasn’t something she had ever worried about, and it was a strange thought to confront now. She smoothed the dress out where it ruffled out awkwardly. It fit her body well enough, though it was a bit long, and weird to see herself in. It had too many layers of skirts. Dresses would continue to be impractical, especially if she was going to be learning how to control her fire magic soon.

Scarlet took a breath. Okay. Good enough. Referencing the map, she made her way to Bronwen’s room. She was glad for clear directions, even with them she nearly turned the wrong way down the winding hallways that occasionally looped back and forth around each other. What a strange design. Her head was spinning and the pain in her back had doubled by the time she made it to the indicated door, though it hadn’t been that long of a walk. She hesitated at the door for a moment, then knocked.

A man opened the door. He looked older than her, probably in his twenties. His hair curled down to his cheeks and matched the brown of his eyes. There was something soft about his gaze; totally opposite of Death’s piercing stare. It threw her off. She hadn’t known what to expect, but he defied her unconscious presumptions. He broke into a smile when he saw her.

“Scarlet! I’m so glad to see you up. Please, do come in.”

She let the man lead her inside. The room was large, with huge windows letting in natural light. It was the first room she’d seen in the castle that wasn’t dark and sparse. There was color, decorations—rugs, cushions, tapestries—and so many plants. It was alive, and a bit overwhelming. Scarlet couldn’t take it all in. “Could I sit?”

“Yes, of course.”

He took her over to a sitting area in the corner of the room, and they each sat on a couch that faced one another. Scarlet glanced out at the window behind her, and then turned to face the man.

“I’m Bronwen,” he said, “as you’ve probably assumed, given my note and all.”

“Yeah.” Sitting now, her head cleared a little. She caught a glance at his hands. One of them had the dual circles emblazoned on the back. “You’re an emissary?”

“Yes. I’m Deianira’s caretaker. And, occasionally, a caretaker of guests, such as yourself.”

“You’ve been taking care of me?”

“I’m a healer, so I’ve been aiding in your recovery. While Death saved you from the brink of, well, death… you needed some additional help to ensure your stability and make your recovery more rapid than it would have otherwise been.”

“Wait, like a magical healer? That’s rare, isn’t it?”

“That is true. My gift was a large factor in Death selecting me as an emissary, and as caretaker of the castle.”

“She didn’t mention you when I… met her.”

“Death is like that sometimes. Preoccupied.”

“Oh.”

A silence lapsed between them.

“Ah! I offered you food, didn’t I? Would you like some oatmeal?”

Scarlet nodded, and Bronwen disappeared for a few minutes through a curtain that covered the doorway to another room. When he returned, he handed her a bowl of steaming oatmeal with bright red berries in it. She thanked him and took a careful bite of the hot oats.

“So.” Bronwen said, taking his seat across from her again. “I’m sure you must have questions. As you’ve already learned, Death is not always the most forthcoming. I’ll fill in whatever blanks I can.”

“How long has it been since I got here?”

“Weeks. Your body needed quite a while to regain its energy, even with my aid.”

Scarlet dropped her spoon into the bowl, which clanged loudly. “Weeks?”

Mom has been gone for weeks?

“I’m afraid so.”

Scarlet took her spoon back in hand and took a couple more bites of oatmeal. The berries in it were unfamiliar to her. They were sour, but in a way she found pleasant.

“Are there any other emissaries here?”

“Just you and I. There aren’t many of us, so Death tends to keep us busy.”

“Busy fighting Riordan.”

“Not directly at this time, but as an ultimate goal, yes.”

“Why?”

“Why? That’s a good question, though a more difficult one to answer.” Bronwen leaned back, resting himself into the couch, and took a deep breath. “You grew up in Saridian, right? I’m sure you’ve witnessed Riordan’s influence over his lands firsthand. Unless you worship his godliness and thus wish to appease him at any cost, it’s easy to see that his rule is a detriment. Especially as a mage. But even setting his ban of magic aside, he drains the wealth of his people and his land for his own selfish interests. Unlike the other gods, who work for the empowerment and advancement of their people, or at worst, leave their people alone to do what they will.”

“I know all of that.” Scarlet tried to not sound as irritated as she felt. Bronwen’s answer was a dodge if she’d ever heard one. “But why does Death care? She’s not like the other gods either. She’s never played a role in the mortal World. This is the first time she’d even had a physical incarnate, isn’t it? So why does she care to get involved now?”

“There is, of course, more to it. But that is as much as I can say. Death has requested that I not speak of it to you.”

Scarlet growled. “I’m an emissary now. Shouldn’t I know about this fight, if I may be expected to take part in it?”

“I agree that you should know the full reasons for their conflict, but Death must explain it to you herself.”

Scarlet finished the rest of her oatmeal in silence, lost in thought.

Bronwen cleared his throat. “Before I send you back to continue resting, may I do a healing session on you?”

“Yes,” Scarlet said without hesitation. Walking back to her room seemed unimaginably painful right now, plus she was curious what magical healing was like.

Bronwen got her to lay face down on the couch, and he pulled up a chair to sit close to her. Then, he placed his hands just above her injury and began to pour energy into it. The sensation was strange, it caused her skin to tingle and itch. She got lost in the sensation as the healing session wore on and melted away her pain.

But while her body relaxed, her mind refused to. “You said that Death requested that you not tell me some things. Was it… a request, or a demand?”

“She’s my god,” Bronwen said. “To me, a request and a demand are one and the same.”

“When I wandered and Death found me in the library… I didn’t listen to her right away when she wanted me to come back to my room. But, she did something. And I felt forced to obey.”

“Gods can use their power to compel their emissaries,” Bronwen explained. “It takes some energy to do, but it is a technique that Death occasionally employs.”

“And it doesn’t bother you?”

“There are tradeoffs to being an emissary,” Bronwen said. “There are benefits, too. I would barely be able to heal without my magic being augmented by Death’s power. If you trust that your patron knows best, then you won’t feel stunted by their orders.”

Trust. Could she trust Death? Bronwen had been correct, she had seen enough back in Saridian to know that Riordan’s rule was detrimental. The ban on magic, the brutal taxes, the limitations on knowledge… none of it was right. Even if those weren’t the reasons for Death’s battle with him, defeating him would help free Saridian. Plus, her mother obviously believed in Death’s cause.

But still. Being thrust into Death’s service while knowing so little about the god herself left her uneasy.

Bronwen took advantage of her contemplative silence to ask a probing question of his own. “Your mother is Galapi, but you grew up in Saridian, is that right?”

Scarlet grunted a confirmation. She had never been to her mother’s home region, the Galapia Islands off the north coast of Nymandia. Instead, she’d spent her life on the southern end of the continent. She’d never left Saridian—well, until now. “Do you know my mother well? Do you know where Death sent her?”

“I’ve met her, but I don’t know her well. And no, I’m not sure what Death’s mission for her is.”

What was so important? Vital enough that she had to leave even while I was injured?

Though Scarlet was caught up in her thoughts, Bronwen continued on without missing a beat. “And what about your father?”

Scarlet tensed. “What about him?”

Bronwen, evidently picking up on the sharpness in her words, murmured an apology and stopped asking questions in favor of focusing on healing.

After a couple of tense minutes, Bronwen stopped the flow of magic into her wound, and then pressed it lightly with a couple of fingers. “Does that hurt, still?”

Scarlet grimaced. Touching her wound or moving around too vigorously sent strange tingly spikes throughout her body. “Not as much as before.”

“Well, you are making progress, though obviously you still have some way to go.” Bronwen got up and started sorting through an assortment of glass bottles and jars up on a shelf. “I have some ointment somewhere that would be good for your pain in the meantime.”

Feeling guilty for snapping at him, Scarlet reached for another topic. “How’d you end up here?”

“Similar to you. Death saved me, and gave me a choice. I could cross over, or I could help her. I chose to stay.”

“She pulls that move a lot, does she?”

“Not anymore. Her power wanes, and plucking souls from the stream is not easy. But for a while, yes, many were recruited that way. Death cannot leave, so it was one of her only ways of finding emissaries. She also occasionally takes a Raven as an emissary.”

“Emissaries,” Scarlet repeated. “I’ve never gotten a good idea of what they do. I mean, Death’s emissaries fight Riordan, but what about other gods’ emissaries? The war between the other gods has been over for nearly a century, so now what?”

“Depends on the god. Each still has their own goals. Creating more of their ideals in the World allows their powers to grow. These days, a lot of emissaries serve their region by researching new technologies, whether magical or mundane, or by training others in the practices and ideals of their gods. Most regions don’t have their god as a king, as Riordan has placed himself. Oromu, for example, is led by a council of Io’s emissaries.” Bronwen plucked a jar from the back of the shelf. “Aha! Here is it.” He handed it to Scarlet. “It’s a little smelly, but you can rub it on your wound a few times a day and it should curtain the pain, somewhat.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you need a hand navigating back to your room?”

“I think I’ll be alright,” Scarlet said. As she was about to leave, she turned back to Bronwen. “Do you regret it? Staying. Becoming an emissary.”

“I have unfinished business in this World. I wish to repay Riordan the pain he put me through during my first life,” Bronwen said.

What did Riordan do to him? Scarlet wondered, though it didn’t seem the time to question him further.

“So no, I do not regret my decision. I hope you feel the same in the end, Scarlet.”