They rested through a harsh storm in a village of Verarszag. The inhabitants wore strange fur hats, and the men wore skirts, but they took coin like anyone else. The party of four—Eris, Corvo, Robur, and Aletheia—ate dinner together in silence. The day had been long, wet, and exhausting.

Eris took a sniff of the goblet she had been brought. The stench immolated her nostrils.

“This is not potable,” she declared.

Aletheia took a sip. She shrugged. “I like it.”

This opposition was perplexing enough that Eris dared a sip. The flavor was sweet and honeyish, but with a tinge of burning fabric that lingered far longer than any sweetness. She regretted it at once.

“You do not.”

“I do!” Aletheia said. “It’s warm.”

“It is ale. It is not supposed to be warm.” Eris had to replace the goblet as Corvo stirred on her lap. He could rarely be found elsewhere.

“Then it isn’t ale,” Aletheia said. She took another sickening sip. “I think it’s tea. Can’t you taste the honey?”

She could, but she said, “No, I cannot taste the honey. Put it down.”

Aletheia rolled her eyes. “Because you don’t like it.”

“When you bring it to the table, that stench—” Eris shuddered and heaved Corvo into her arms. “’Tis sickening. I cannot permit it. Put it down.”

“Really?”

“I will not ask again.”

“Or what?”

“Or—you will regret it.”

Aletheia’s eyes met Eris’. The girl was becoming infuriatingly independent minded. Between fits of melancholy and amity she mostly drifted in the seas of sardonicism, which made commanding her nearly impossible.

She lifted the drink back to her lips and took a sip.

Eris snapped her fingers. It was a spell she knew well. A moment later, the odious stench was removed from all three goblets; water was left instead.

Aletheia sighed. “Do you always have to be a bitch?”

As if a cue, Corvo burst into tears. Eris took this as vindication. “Yes,” she said. “The fumes of your beverage were poisoning my infant.”

“They weren’t.”

“They were.”

Aletheia’s features slanted into frustration. She stared down at her cup, then gestured with her hand. Eris felt the pulsation of mana through the air.

The stench returned.

The girl smiled and took another sip. The audacity, to use a spell Eris taught her in an act of such disobedience, was too much to bear.

Eris disintegrated the goblet. Ash fell through Aletheia’s fingers, followed shortly by the water once contained within. Aletheia yelped and swore and jumped to her feet. She was truly angry now.

“Eris!” she growled. “Why—kings, I hate you!”

“The feeling is mutual,” Eris said.

“I can’t believe you—even after—” But she cut herself short, and stormed off outside, to her hut for the night.

Eris glanced to Robur. He had sat there, in silence, holding a goblet of purified water in his single hand. Still he said nothing. But his look found hers.

“It was time to retire regardless,” she said. He did not reply. “Corvo and I are going to bed. I will see you tomorrow.”

The storm still raged outside, but a small shield kept her dry. They each had rented separate rooms, for their collective sanity’s sake, and Eris retired onto a straw bed with Corvo in her arms. She was irritated at Aletheia, as she often was, but had forgotten their spat almost already. Sleep came easily.

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