The young man rolled the brightly colored ball away from him, the bells inside tinkling, and he laughed an innocent laugh as it stopped about three feet away from him and rolled back. He clapped his hands awkwardly as it came back to him, fumbling slightly in catching it. His round face was lit with simple joy as he rolled the ball away from him again. His brown eyes were clear and guileless, innocent and matching the sweetness of his face.

"Yarvin seems happy today," A tall generously plump woman sitting on a stone bench commented. Her face was covered by a ceramic mask that moved as if it was a living face. Her long nails were painted opalescent and glimmered in the afternoon sun. She wore a revealing dress that left much of her breasts exposed, slit up the sides almost to her waist to reveal she wore no stockings, bustle, or girdle. Even with her sparse clothing she was still perspiring, the flickering white fire surging through her veins making the drops of perspiration glimmer and evaporate. She fanned herself with a white silk fan, edged with a wavering crimson and featuring small hand painted sheafs of red wheat.

The other woman, muscular and well built, her pale gunmetal gray eyes far older than her scarred face would suggest, nodded slowly and gravely, staring at the moon-faced young man, who was clapping as the ball bounced up, twirled, and emitted sparkles before dropping down to roll back to him. She was dressed all in black, from a black metal tiara capped by a polished round onyx to her eclipse-silk dress, to her black moon-silk choker with a skull of obsidian. Her hair was black and spilled down her back, unbraided and loose. Her neck was thick and her bulky and concealing dress could not hide the thickness of her shoulders.

Four tiny garden faeries, diminutive creatures with gossamer wings and perfect little bodies, swooped out of the rose bushes to snatch at the sparkles, making musical trilling noises as they did so. The young man laughed, ignoring the ball, and clapping wildly. The tiny fey chased each other for a moment and then darted back into the rose bushes, leaving behind a faint glittering trail that dissipated within seconds.

The young man pouted for a second, his wide eyes sad, then laughed with joy as the ball emitted the jingle of bells and bounced up and down, shooting sparkles. He clumsily grabbed it and rolled it away from his body.

"I'm glad he likes the ball. It was difficult to make," The masked woman said, sipping at a cut crystal goblet full of wine.

Again, the younger woman nodded, rubbing her bare forearm where a long gash that still wept blood was closed by tight stitches of fine black wire.

"Here," The masked woman said, handing the younger woman a soft cloth. "Don't smear it on your dress."

The younger woman took the cloth and wiped her hand brusquely, going to drop the cloth on the tile of the path before the masked woman cleared the throat pointedly, holding out her own hand. The scarred young woman dropped the cloth in the masked woman's hand and went back to staring at the young man playing with the colorful ball.

"Our Uncle should arrive in the next day or so," The masked woman said.

Again, the scarred woman nodded, still staring at the young man.

"The Red Queen has sent notice that one of her servants will arrive with our uncle bearing commands," The masked woman said, taking another sip of the dry, almost bitter, wine in her glass. The magics in the glass kept the wine crisp and cold. She could feel the magic imbued in the finely cut crystal beneath her fingers, could feel the mage-fire coursing through her veins tingle with the urge to mangle and destroy the finely wrought magic of the goblet.

Again, the younger woman just nodded, this time her scarred and large hands slowly opening and closing into tightly balled fists that made the heavy muscles of her forearm bunch up.

"The Lich Kings sent notice that they will use your cavernous buttocks to store their wealth over the winter," the mask woman said idly, still sipping her wine.

Again, the scarred woman just nodded, clenching and unclenching her fists again. She rolled her right shoulder beneath the ornate dress she wore.

"And the ancient great red wyrm Carthaximus had requested that I be his bride and I have decided to swear off my material wealth and power to run off and live with him naked, dwelling within the red wheat of Alben where we will entwine our bodies together in passionate and sinful pleasures," The masked woman said, still not changing her tone.

The young man had started to chew on the ball.

The scarred woman nodded gravely, still staring at the garden around them. Servants drifted among the plants, caring for them, ensuring the garden faeries had small dishes of water to play in, and searching for any trinkets left behind by the peepers that loved to play and frolic in the garden.

"I farted this morning," The masked woman said.

"Uh-huh," The muscular woman nodded.

"And peepers ran out my butt," The mask woman set down her glass and fan.

"Peepers. Uh-huh," The scarred woman answered, still staring.

"Elshon!" The masked woman snapped. The muscular woman jerked up, turning to face the masked woman. A dull red fire burned in her eyes, making her look almost maddened for a moment. "Pay attention!"

"I'm thinking, Bashette," the muscular woman snarled, her reddish skin darkening on her face. "What are you chattering on about?"

"I was thinking as well, younger sister, last night as I meditated naked beneath the light of the black moon," The masked woman, Bashette, started to say.

"Congratulations, hopefully thinking will become habitual for you," Elshon said, turning away from her sister.

"You may be the Patron of House duRalvden, Elshon, but you are still my little sister," Bashette said, the painted eyebrow over the left eyehole of her mask raising. The woman's eyes were pink, the color bleached away by the power running through her veins. "Warlord or not, Bloody Elshon or not, what I have to say is important."

The muscular woman sighed, slumping slightly. "Fine, Bashette. What thoughts did you have as you meditated?"

Bashette sipped at her wine for a moment, then set the glass down, ensuring her hands were free.

"It is time for you to set aside," She began. She pretended to ignore or be unaware of how her younger sister suddenly tensed. How her hands clenched into fists. "Your mourning garb. It is unseemly."

Elshon came to her feet, red fire erupting under her skin in intricate patterns. The sleeves of her dress burst into flame and wisped away as threads of black ash. The cloth over her right shoulder blew away as ash, exposing a black pauldron set into the flesh of her shoulder.

"Never!" Elshon screamed at her sister.

"He has been in the House of the Dead long enough that the songs of the Peepers of Summer and Song have eased his pain of leaving you behind," Bashette said, picking up her wineglass and fan as if her sister was not standing up, her war-fire sending red sparks dancing across her skin, her black hair lifted up around her in a midnight halo, snarling at her with bared teeth.

"Never! I will never set aside my grief and rage!" Elshon practically screamed.

Bashette sipped at her wine, staring at her sister with cool dispassionate eyes.

"You will," Bashette said simply. "Your Uncle has commanded it, the Red Queen has commanded it, and even the Red City Senate has discussed it."

"I care not! Until House Adimaken lies in burning ruins before me I will wear widow's garb and sleep not in a bed nor in," Elshon began.

The vow started to gather about Elshon again, was about to gather strength and power from Elshon's grief, rage, and war-fire.

Bashette suddenly stood up, the burning arcane fire beneath her skin flashing painfully bright, lashing at Elshon, cracking the tiles beneath their feet, charring the plants around them, shattering the power of the vow before it could fully form. The garden faeries screamed and fled, the young man began crying the high pitched screaming cry of a frightened child.

"YOU WILL OBEY ME, ELSHON duRALVDEN!" Bashette's voice shook the garden, forced Elshon back a step as she brought her arms up in front of her, crossed at the forearms. Arcane fire surged against Elshon's crossed arms, diverting around the younger woman.

"YOU WILL SET ASIDE YOUR WIDOW'S GARB! I SPEAK WITH THE VOICE OF THE MATRON duRALVDEN AND ALL MATRONS OF THE BLOOD BEFORE ME! YOU WILL OBEY ME! BY BLOOD AND RITUAL I COMMAND YOU, ELSHON duRALVDEN!" Bashette's voice and power forced Elshon down on one knee, even though the younger woman gritted her teeth and glared at her older sister.

"SWEAR!" Bashette commanded. Elshon went down on both knees, shielding her face with her crossed forearms and twisting slightly to put the black metal pauldon implanted into the flesh of her shoulder into the torrent of magic.

Behind her, servants pulled the young man away, who was crying in terror.

Elshon shook her head, struggling back up to one knee.

"OBEY!" Bashette's voice was thunder, and drove Elshon back onto her knees, braced with one fist, just holding her right forearm up to shield her face as she shook her head.

Bashette had lifted slightly off the ground, her personal rune of power beneath her in burning arcane fire. She drifted forward as if propelled by a slight breeze and Elshon's war-fire was suppressed in a shower of red sparks. The younger woman groaned, a sound of deep pain, and put both fists on the ground, her head bowing as she knelt before her older sister.

"You are in open defiance of your sworn liege, the Red Queen Maliba duAlben, whom you fought a war to ensure remained enthroned, in open defiance of me as the Matron duRalvden, and your grief is robbing you of your strength, your wisdom to guide the Duchy of Ralvden and your vassals, and worst of all," Bashette's tone changed for unflinching iron to gentle compassion. "It is eroding your dignity, dear sister mine."

The fire of Bashette's arcane-burn dwindled and vanished save what flickered beneath her skin. Her clothing had been reduced to ash, leaving her in only a short skirt and charred halter-top, and her clothing fit loosely on her now slender frame. She reached out and laid one hand on her sister's bowed head.

Elshon's clothing burst into purple flames, leaving Elshon naked between one breath and the next.

"In my meditations I found the crumbled remains of the Tablets of Fate, I knelt within the shattered scattered soulstone of inscribed destiny denied and rebuked. There I pondered the meaning of the runes revealed to my unseeing eyes. In those runes, in the whispers of broken prophecies and the agonized whimpers of ruined destiny, and the patterns of tasks undone I saw that you would set aside your well earned mourning garb, my beloved sister," Beshette's voice carried a slight choral quality to it that made goosebumps erupt on Elshon's exposed skin. "You may carry your grief in your heart, but it is time for you to no longer stand outside the House of Dead, as the songs and dances of the Peepers of the Black Moon have lured Harnell's soul and he has moved on to the Caverns of Summer and Song," Bashette said gently, stroking her sister's raven hair.

For a long moment the only sound in the garden was the angry trilling of garden faeries and Elshon's wracking sobs.

"Will you obey, Elshon?" Bashette asked softly, gently, her voice full of compassion and unshed tears.

"I will," Elshon sobbed.

Bashette turned away from her sister, walking on bare feet across the melted and rehardened tile toward the doors to the garden.

"I will inform Nadrak that you will be undergoing purification rituals, my beloved little sister," Bashette said. "It is unseemly that you remain unswollen and your womb-shield unbreached. Nadrak will cleanse your pain from your body and spirit."

Behind her, Elshon gave a wordless cry of pain.

"I love you, dear sister," Bashette said softly.

The older woman's ceramic mask gave no hint to the pain she felt as she closed the glimmer-glass doors to the garden behind her. She glanced back at her little sister once before she used the arcane burn coursing through her veins to remake her clothing.

Elshon was curled up on the shattered and ruined tile, hugging her knees to her chest as if to shield her broken heart and wounded soul.

And weeping.

"Finally," was all the masked former-arch-mage said.