“There is no wisdom in self-regard.

Do you believe, really, that the world will care about your principles?

There are no principles except within your own mind, your own soul, and those are worthwhile, yes, but they cannot be compromised by others’ thoughts. I know, Badem, that you hate me. But you know well enough to know that you need me, and that’s all that matters. And Kamila, I know you hunger for vengeance, to feel your enemies’ blood bubble up around her fingernails, but you are not so blinded by hate to believe that you don’t need help in order to reach the one you despise.

I’ve come a long way since my days in the Orrmisti court. I’ve lost many friends to the small evil of external principles – Erik was only the most recent. Angels willing, he shall be the last.

Do you understand what I am saying, children? When you want a future – you take it by the throat.”

-Words of Devani Karie

245 YT, Winter

From the balcony of the watchtower, Devani leaned against the railing and stared out at the field beyond. It was dark in the city, and quiet in the distant Invictan camp. There were a few fires burning, and a few electric lights beside – pillars of shining brightness that glinted and scattered when it struck armor or sharpened steel or shaped lead. The camp whispered to her, but she did not whisper back – kept as she was in the cool, refreshing, and protective dark. The night air, with its westerly breeze stirring through her hair, smelled crisp at the ends of Devani’s nostrils. Calm and welcoming, despite the danger.

The camp whispered to her, yes – but these were not the whispers of a friend or a foe at her ear, a being just behind her. These whispers were rattling cages on the tracks to the east, the memory of a train sweeping through the land going who-knows-where half a millennium ago, and the whispers of flies and crickets at the edge of the pond. Devani held her hands out over the railing, savoring the distant whispers – the power that she held over it. She could hear them, and they could not hear her – such power in that simple thing. She would dive into the waters, catching the flies and crickets in her splash, and the depths would become the surface as she went far down. The breeze above, over that which was once surface but now sky, would change the shape of the flame in her and the flame would be as boundless as the territory it lit.

She changed.

But closer matters called to her. Devani turned and opened a door and re-entered the watchtower, dropping the iron gate over the window with its slats so that one could just barely see outside, but no one below could hope to peer in. the rotating gun atop the watchtower whirred, and Devani sensed something – a whisper was in it, too, not the whisper of the gun’s soul in itself but of a distant misty tendril of Aether, of a Sower, ensconced in his study, denying the earth’s hold on him.

Kamila was the first to break the silence. “I don’t trust this at all,” she said, keeping her voice and her breath steady. “You’re asking too much.” Then she gestured to Badem, who leaned against the wall at the opposite end of the room, the tangled mop of his hair covering up most of his eyes. “And this oaf? What is he supposed to do? He looks like he’s about to snap.”

The oaf in question said nothing, but Devani felt him tighten, the cords of iron will that ran through his resting frame coiling internally. Rejecting anger, not because it was distasteful but because it was inopportune.

“We are a city at war,” Devani said, much louder than Kamila’s muttering, and that at once snapped her audience of two to instant attention. “We are a city at war and yet we are at our own throat, over petty divides. You both know it as well as I. This nonsense about the Adma and Mirshal and the Hunters and what have you… it’s nothing but a rabbit gnawing its own leg off to escape the trap it’s caught itself in, even while the dogs are closing in on all sides.”

“What you are describing,” Badem said, “is a hopeless situation. We’ve repelled the siege this long. We’ve got weapons, we’ve got people. The Invictans know they can’t defeat us all in a frontal assault or they’d have done it already.”

“No, that’s wrong.” Kamila snorted. “They haven’t done it because the losses would be unacceptable for them. They could win, but at a great cost. Easier to just hope that they can starve us out.”

“There’s always a gap in the armor,” countered Badem, crossing his arms. “Our scouts have snuck in and out of the city, haven’t they? Gotten word out to Adma cells in the southern and western villages. Aleks and Avishag have been working on getting a radio signal through the Invictans’ jamming. They’re going to succeed eventually.”

Kamila leaned one leg up against the nearby table and raised an eyebrow, arched as she tilted her head, glancing across the room at Badem. For once, she met his eye. In that brief moment of contact Devani felt a connection between them – not a kind one, she admitted, not a kind one but a connection. Recognition. Mutual understanding. “It’s one thing to get a few people out and in again, or get word out.” She shook her head. “There’s no way any major shipments of food are getting into these walls. The Invictans will kill anyone who tries to bring supplies – they’ll be too obvious to sneak in and out. And we might be preventing them from taking to the air and establishing complete supremacy there – for now – but again, it’s only because of what they aren’t willing to lose in the process. Do you think they wouldn’t have airdropped their entire army into these walls and killed every living thing inside, by now, if they weren’t willing to go all in? They want to kill us all, but on their terms.”

“That is, unfortunately, correct,” Devani said. “And the reason that the Invictans believe that this approach will work for them is that we have not made them hurt enough. They wish to sit outside the walls and wait for us to die on our own? Kamila – surely there is something that your little gang of honorary Mirshalite thugs can do to make this game less fun for our tormentors.”

Kamila grunted. “Of course. We’re making plans. And yeah, we aren’t counting out the Adma. We need them, Antonin’s just too damn stubborn to admit it publicly. All because of some silly argument over words. But where does this kid come in? And why does he know about –“ she shut her mouth, no doubt seeing Badem’s look of confusion, then turned and glared silently at Devani. “Does he know about… that?”

“Not in so many words,” Devani said. “But I believe this young man has something worth fighting for, and I wouldn’t dream of taking that away from him.”

“How very magnanimous of you.” Badem stepped forward. “But hey, don’t worry – there’s no need to stop and ask me what I think in all this. I’m perfectly happy to get dragged around and made into a tool by whoever thinks I’m naïve and dumb enough to be useful.” Badem held his hands up in a gesture of mock-surrender, that same goofy grin on his face as if he had just made a silly joke in earnest.

Devani’s eyes narrowed and her mouth became a thin line. The lack of amusement she felt must have been palpable to the two young ones before her. “Indeed,” she murmured. “If you came seeking answers, Badem, then seek them not from – but your friend Kamila here. I know that Erik was working with you, of course – it’s strange to think. In all the time we worked together, I only ever saw him as a weaponsmith. And then we came to Kivv and he started acting different, and I realized – it all made sense. His temporary disappearances during long trips between Ordian cities. His occasional, yet vehement insistence on visiting specific places. Erik was a thug like you, Kamila. Not that I can fault him for that – he and I were in the business of creating weapons. It’s little wonder that one of us might also be in the business of using them.”

“You handled yourself well enough during that fight,” Kamila muttered. “Don’t try to tell me you aren’t the same as us.”

Devani scowled. “I am not beholden to you, Kamila. It sounds to me as though you have your own shame to grapple with, so do not try to project that shame onto me. Perhaps if you grew enough of a backbone to supplement your overdeveloped muscles, you would be able to speak to the one to whom you feel shame instead of turning your anger on someone else in the hopes that it will assuage all of that awful pain you carry within –“

“Oh, shut the fuck up!” Kamila pounded her hand on the table. “You are not going to stand there and goad me.”

“Seems like she’s doing a pretty good job!” Badem chuckled. Immediately Kamila turned her gaze to him. That stupid, stupid grin. That mop of tangled, sweaty hair. The boy had disgusted her from the moment she’d first seen him.

Devani growled low in her throat. “Focus,” she said. “As I was saying. Erik told me only bits and pieces after we arrived in Kivv. I know the broad strokes of the Hunters. I know that you are a member of them… and that so is that boy Lucian, the one who’s so dear to your sister –“

Kamila slammed her hand on the table again and stood up straight. “Devani,” she said, voice little above a husky whisper. “I will ask you one more time to not talk lightly about my sister.”

Devani chuckled quietly, and flashed a smile. “I am sorry,” she said. “My sensibilities are, perhaps, a little broken.” She folded her hands behind her back. “As I was saying. Erik told me a little bit about the Hunters.” She could feel the rising tension in the air between herself, Kamila, and Badem. It was not only because of the way they verbally toyed with one another, although of course Kamila was not appreciating the game – if a game it was. There was something else to it. Badem felt it, Kamila felt it, and through them – sympathetically, the thoughts leaking not fully-formed but like the leavings from the edge of a field that have rotted and been carried off and tumbled through the gorge into the trickling waters and old stone below – Devani felt it as well. A strange heat without temperature, the feeling of grit and scouring warmth against the skin on the back of her arms, that tore through the thin hairs there. She took a breath, savoring the indescribable breeze of stale, still air, and continued.

“But in the grand scheme of things, I do not know enough. What I do know is that inaction will only lead to the deaths of all of us. Surely you are as much aware of this dilemma as I am – the unfortunate reality is that Zil-Antonin, our dear old mentor… well, yours, Kamila, I certainly am no Mirshalite. The unfortunate reality is that his attempts to fight a war and play games of flattery and power at the same time will only lead to hurting those he loves. Haven’t you felt it, Kamila? A tension between the man, and you? Your – oh, sorry. You and others?” She suppressed a giggle. “I know Antonin’s type. I’ve known thousands of people in my age, and… when you have spent enough time gallivanting in the halls of people more powerful than yourself, you start to recognize the patterns. And there are, of course, patterns – unavoidable patterns. I know Antonin’s type. He is not malicious. He does not wish to hurt you. But he does hold himself above you. He does not wish to use and discard you – but he believes that he can use you, use you up, and have it all turn out for your best interest in the end. He believes that he must keep a distance between himself and you, present a false face, not because he wants anything that can only be gained through deception, but because he believes that a true leader must be false to the people he leads.

“In other words, he’s an extremely intelligent moron.” Devani tittered a little at that.

“Why are you saying all of this?” Kamila asked. “Why don’t you cut to the chase – what do you want?”

“I need to know what the Hunters have planned… and I want to help make sure that you don’t walk yourself into a trap in the process.”

“And him?” Kamila pointed toward Badem. “You brought him here.”

“Yeah, honestly, I was about to ask the same thing myself.” Badem grinned. “Don’t get me wrong, we’ve all got demons to slay and… demons pretending to be humans to slay. And, well.” Badem glanced at the ground, stepped back and returned to where he’d been leaning against the wall. “Avishag has been burying herself in work. She’s not responsive. I don’t like seeing her like this. Her brother was a good friend of mine, and I’m mourning – of course I am – but right now she needs at least some kind of closure.” His expression grew dark, uncharacteristically so, and his eyes half-lidded. “I can’t let this be another Oxdal. When the battle there happened… again… Melik, Avishag and I ran to the north and we kept running. But we were running together. He was the glue between us. And now?”

Kamila scoffed. “Everybody has a sob story, Badem, this is a fucking war. Join the militia if you want to, but don’t come crying to me. I stuck my neck out for you once and that was enough.”

“Oh, but Badem can’t go to the militia,” Devani said. “Not now. He knows too much. Which means, if you don’t want him to join you…”

Immediately Badem straightened. Stared at Devani. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” he exclaimed. “That’s what this is about, is it?” He flashed a grin – a nervous reflex. “You want me to join these… Hunters? Or die. That’s it. That’s…” He chuckled. “That’s insane. Why?”

Kamila was already rising up from the table. Devani felt the familiar warm grit against her arms, sand that wasn’t quite there. And she smiled.

Planar alchemy was a subtle art, one Devani had practiced in for many long years. On her thirtieth birthday – how long ago that was now she could hardly remember – she had first opened the tomes of the Aetheric Angel, had read the words he’d written down in life, recorded from his many encounters in the desert. She had learned that which he had mastered.

When it came down to the low-level basics – the mechanics underlying everything – all things were material. Or rather – all things had their material expression. Devani had seen enough to know that there was something beyond the physical, another level of thought and existence and expression – but all places where the non-physical touch the physical are expressed as physical. The thought of joy is not a physical thing, but it has its physical expression: the hormone. Anger is the same.

A perfect expression of the joining – the tangent – the place where the physical and the beyond touch and, perhaps, are momentarily blended. It’s a glorious thing, to be able to bend that point, to draw it to one side or the other.

Planar alchemy.

The Veil had always been an inconvenience – making it impossible to apply Aetheric energies directly – but with enough training, with enough focus, and for very specific, very minor – yet all-important – things, that Veil could be bypassed entirely. Not broken, not torn, not clumsily pushed apart at the joining of its weave the way that the Reapers did it. Simply… passed through. And the Desert? No real danger.

She took their inhibitions, the sense that held them back from violence, and she felt Badem stiffen and the adrenaline begin to flood him, his hands move to his sides. She watched Kamila rise, one hand on the hilt of Wallshaker.

“This Badem is more dangerous than he lets on,” Devani said. “Perhaps he’ll show us.”

“Fuck you,” Badem spat. “I’m tired of being jerked around.”

Devani chortled – high on her own power in this moment. “Well, then I guess I must have been wrong. You’re useless. Unfortunately, you’re privy to secrets you’re not supposed to know. Kamila…”

Already Kamila had her hand on the blade, though it only rested on the edge of the hilt. She approached Badem, and he raised his fists into the guard. Throughout it all, a single thought echoed so loud in Kamila’s mind that Devani felt it above everything else, above even the whistling of a distant desert wind at the back of her head, the presence of the dessicated influence that she knew she’d finally touched one too many times. This is to protect Hilda. Nothing else. This is to protect Hilda. Nothing else.

Kamila smiled as she approached Badem. The memories of a thousand fighters were flooding her. She fell into a boxing stance to match Badem’s, swept out with one hand to open his guard, and jabbed with the other hand. But Badem had already dropped his boxing stance – a ruse. He slid past her thrown fist like a water-snake gliding away from the foreign heat of oil within its home waters.

Hands raised to cover his face, Badem crashed into Kamila’s shoulder, pushing her off balance before she’d had the chance to adjust her stance matching his movements. She stumbled, and he pushed her leading arm back, one hand against her shoulder and the other clamping tight round her wrist. He lowered his stance and stepped inward, turning his back to her while keeping his grip held tight, continuing to pull himself down, down –

Kamila’s stance broke and she turned, tumbling to the ground along with Badem. As she hit the ground, she tucked her arms in, and Badem moved as though to loom over Kamila, one hand on her throat. “This is insane!” he murmured between labored breaths. “Devani’s gone off the deep –“

A jab to the throat and Badem stumbled back, clutching at his neck. It was a light tap, Devani realized as she watched, and she saw Kamila rising and turning toward her – the strike had only been intended to get Badem off of her. Even so, the way Badem was moving, it looked like it ached pretty badly. Or perhaps he was only reeling from the realization that Kamila could probably have killed him right there if she’d wanted to.

She turned toward Devani, hand on her sword. The rasp of steel as she drew it partway echoed through the room.

And Devani chuckled. She quickly reversed the work of planar alchemy she’d done, returning the two to themselves. Through it all, even when the two were no longer bright-eyed with violence, as their breathing slowed, only a single thought was echoing in Kamila’s head, so loud Devani could hear it easily: to protect Hilda.

“I’m starting to think,” Kamila said, looking Devani in the eye, “that it’s you who know too much.” She drew her blade.

Devani smiled. “I know only enough,” she said. “He will do. You will both do. Now…” She flicked her hand and motioned toward the grate shielding the window. “Look out there. The army in the field – they are encamped, unmoving. I have my eye on a few targets. Perhaps even your Hunters and your Adma would agree.”

In the corner of the room, Badem still clutched at his throat, his breaths deep and heavy, staring with distrust at both Kamila and Devani. Devani turned and arched an eyebrow at him – and in his eyes she saw reflected her own eyes, and the marbled floating mist within, the mark of the Aether – flecked with Desert sand. She gave him a soft smile, and saw something like resignation in him. He lowered his hand and took a single step toward the center of the room.

No more waiting for leaders to agree. No more deferring to the opinions of others. They had a job to do… and in the way Badem finally relaxed his stance, Devani saw that he knew why he’d been brought here. It wasn’t because he was the strongest – true, he was more dangerous than he let on, but he was not a soldier by training nor at heart – it was only because Devani could use him.

Perhaps he thought that he would only play along for a while, before finally turning on Devani in the end. It didn’t matter. Preserving her life, health, or reputation was not the goal she had in mind.

She peered through the slat out at the army, and dreamed of the chaos she might sow out there on that field.