“Nerys…” Fayne murmured into the cosy half-darkness of her chamber, “Come back to bed, darling.”

Staring out through a chink in the heavy drapes, Nerys rubbed her hands down her arms.

“It’s broad daylight out there,” she said.

“Yes,” Fayne crooned, “But it’s still dark in here…”

“They’ll be halfway through your army by now.”

Fayne slipped out from the sheets, padded across the room. She slipped her arms around Nerys’ waist, tucked her head onto the crook of her shoulder.

“Exactly. They’ll be tired when they get here. You, on the other hand, will be well-rested.”

Nerys pulled away. “Your faith in me is unwarranted, and stupid.”

“That’s the second time you’ve called me stupid in as many days,” Fayne snapped. She strode away, pulled a gown over her shoulders, and unstoppered a steaming flask. “You’ve never failed me before, why would you start now?”

“There is a second Lat’Nemele out there, and a Worldkin, remember?”

“Oh, darling… you’re not afraid, are you?”

She poured tea into two fine cups, stirred a scoop of sugar into each. She offered Nerys one, and when she made no move to take it, shrugged and set it on the ornamental table.

“Besides,” she sipped her tea, “I have collateral. And Plan B.”

Nerys whirled. “If you invite Tabitha to this party, you can entertain your guests on your own.”

Fayne smiled, languorous. Nerys snapped daggers in her glare.

“Jealousy does not become you,” Fayne purred.

“Death won’t become you, either, dear.”

Fayne rolled her eyes and set her cup aside.

“Malevelyn’s Grace, you’re impossible this morning. Fine – the mood is ruined anyway.”

She flung her hand up, a glitter of temper burning in her eyes, and a crimson dress cascaded down her form.

“Are you going to join me of your own volition?” She reached up to straighten her coronet, glaring, “Or do I need to command you as your Queen?”

Nerys erupted in a font of shadow. When the haze cleared, she stood tall in silver-studded leather armour, black as sin, her hair tied back out of the way. Her gaze snapped amber, bright as new coals, and her mouth settled to a grim line.

“Well? Lead the way, dear.”

Fayne harrumphed and marched down to the Vaults. Nerys followed behind at a more leisurely pace. As they stepped beneath the heavy stone archway marking the entrance to the prison, lumostones opened sleepy, glowing eyes. They vivified in a rush as Fayne swept past, and soon the long stone corridor glittered, stark. The Firekin spared no time for pause as a pair of startled guards leapt to their feet, snapping fists over their hearts. She kept her gaze focused on the intent of her destination, ignoring each cellmate as she passed. Nerys took her time, noting the other occupants. Many of them were Witchkin of high-standing, whose most likely crimes would be disagreeing with the Queen. Several of them spat at her as she passed, and she tilted her head, forcing their retreat with a hard look. As she neared the end of her trek, she paused. One man did not spit at her. Neither did he back down from her glare. She turned to study him.

“You look surprisingly well, Nalvadian,” she said.

His arms rested on the crossbars of the grate; his hands loosely interlinked on the outside. His dark, intense eyes regarded her calmly.

“I find I have new purpose,” he replied.

“Oh?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

“Someone I thought I had lost has returned, and with her, hope for my lonely future. My heart is light, even if my shackles are heavy.”

“I’m flattered, dear.”

He smiled at her sarcasm. “You’d know what I mean, if you ever fell in love.”

The comment caught her by surprise. She dropped her gaze as a strange, halting skip sequestered her heart. A golden silhouette danced at the edges of her mind.

“Ah,” he breathed, “You do know what I mean.”

“Lat’Nemele do not fall in love,” she snapped.

He smiled and withdrew into the dark shadows at the back of his cell, but offered a parting gift. “Tell them what they are, before it’s too late. I did, and, despite our cages, we are happy.”

Nerys straightened her shoulders and turned her back on him, ignoring his gentle chuckle as she strode to the next cage over, where Fayne was goading her prisoner. She caught Esadora’s eye as she neared, and the Worldkin’s face darkened like a storm.

“Nerys.”

The world was an oath, slipping from Esadora’s bitter tongue. Fayne cocked her head, flashed a glittering smile.

“You’re acquainted?” she gloated, “How wonderful!”

Esadora ignored her, steel gaze fixated on the Lat’Nemele. “Alive, are you? How unfortunate.”

“Spare me the niceties, dear.”

The Worldkin flung herself against the bars with a loud clang, making both jump. “Where is my granddaughter?” she hissed, rattling her shackles, “What have you done with her?”

Nerys recovered before Fayne. “I have done nothing.”

“Of course you have done nothing!” Esadora growled. She let her hands slip down from the enchanted steel. “What a poor excuse for a Guardian. You do not know your own truth, Lat’Nemele.”

Nerys fell silent.

“Don’t worry, Esadora,” Fayne stepped in, “She’s on her way here. You will have your happy little reunion in no time – short-lived though it may be. Well… if she makes it past my army, anyway.”

“An army is no match for Calyx,” Nerys commented before she could stop herself.

Esadora’s falcon eyes changed target. “And neither are you, dearie.”

“We’ll see,” Fayne smiled, intervening smoothly, “You’re invited, by the way. Front-row seats. Silly me, didn’t I tell you...? That’s why we’re here.”

She snapped her fingers, and the guards came running. One fumbled with keys, unlocked Esadora’s cell. The other dropped to his knee, gingerly holding up a round, spiny object with both hands. It looked like nothing short of a crown of thorns, though it wasn’t a crown at all.

Esadora knew exactly what it was, and her face paled.

“Put it on,” Fayne commanded, her voice soft, electrified.

Esadora lifted her chin, a small, desperate flash lighting her eyes. “No.”

“If you want to see your granddaughter…”

Fayne’s voice trailed off, gloating, and Esadora hesitated a moment more, fidgeting against the manacles that bound her power. She took a deep breath, blew it out, and then stepped forward. She snatched it from the guard, who scurried away as soon as it left his fingers. With a silent prayer to Malevelyn, she settled it around her throat., and the Mor’Torquem tightened to a perfect fit, clicking closed with a soft hiss. Slow spines lengthened by degrees, pricking against her skin in silent warning.

Fayne smiled, triumphant. She turned to stride away, but, on afterthought, flashed out a finger at the next cage – Nalvadian’s cage.

“Bring him, too. He’s not going to want to miss this. He has a vested interest, after all.”

She sauntered off, leaving Nerys to keep watch as Nalvadian held out his fists for restraints. The Lat’Nemele spared a moment of derisive thought for the charmed anerradite crystals set into his bonds to dampen his magic. Such puny shackles would never hold her – her gaze flashed to the collared queen – or Esadora, for that matter. No, Witchkin of their power were tamed only by the Shackles of Soul.

The guards accompanied the prisoners, prodding long spears into their backs from a safe distance to keep them moving in Nerys’ wake. Fayne had long since disappeared from sight, and at the end of the corridor, Nerys waved the soldiers away.

“I will escort them from here,” she said, “Resume your posts.”

The soldiers exchanged glances, but neither dared argue with the Lat’Nemele. She swept her prisoners away from the Vaults, heading up and out of the bowels of the palace. Shortly before they made the surface, she paused.

“You may walk in front,” she said, stepping back, “Together. We’re heading for the walls – I trust you know the way?”

Esadora narrowed her eyes. “My patience for tricks has expired, dearie.”

“I’ve no tricks left,” Nerys said, her face expressionless, “Lead on.”

Nalvadian caught her eye, and, infinitesimally, she inclined her head. He smiled and reached for Esadora’s hand. She made to snatch it away, but he held fast.

“She understands,” he murmured.

Esadora glanced back, careful not to prick herself on her collar. Nerys stood impassive, waiting for them to proceed. The Worldkin sighed, twined her fingers through Nalvadian’s.

“Then, she is as condemned as us.”

Under Nerys’ emotionless vigil, they ventured forth, stealing a few timorous moments before the end of the world.