Sunset ^beta

Chapter Text

Throné stared at the small key in her hand, and still a sense of emptiness lingered inside her. Night had fallen, and she stood on the bridge outside Montwise, and ahead lay the path to that abandoned church. She closed her fingers around the key and let out a deep sigh. It was strange that something so small could feel so heavy, but alone it did her no good.

Father was dead. The man who raised her and taught her to steal and kill was dead. He had loved Throné’s birth mother and killed her too. Maybe Throné should’ve hated him for that. But she didn’t. Nor could she say she loved him. He was happy in his final moments, a brief peace she’d been able to offer him. Again she sighed; maybe this hollow feeling was grief, a different kind of grief than she had felt for Pirro, Scaracci, and Donnie.

Would she grieve for Mother? But with one key already in hand, she couldn’t stop now. Once she killed Mother and obtained the second key, she would finally be free, and then…

“So this is where you are, Throné,” came Agnea’s voice as she approached Throné.

“Agnea,” she said as she pocketed the key. When she’d returned from the abandoned church and clutching that bloody key tightly, Agnea had greeted her with a smile. “It’s rather late to be roaming about.”

“I could say the same to you.” Agnea smiled gently, that familiar smile Throné often found herself longing for. “May I join you?”

Throné simply nodded, and Agnea came beside her and leaned against the stone railing, and her warmth was appreciated on this chill night. She wore a different dress than usual, having brought it the first day the group arrived in Montwise. It was a deep red and clasped at the back of her neck, and it left her arms and shoulders bare. Naturally it looked beautiful on her, and Throné couldn’t help but notice how tightly it hugged her curves, especially around her breasts and hips. For a moment she wondered when she had begun to notice just how lovely Agnea was.

Yet she tore her gaze away and stared at the river below the bridge. She was grateful Agnea hadn’t asked about her confrontation with Father. It was an odd feeling, having requested Agnea to sing for her and then returning to Agnea after killing Father, still hoping that Agnea would smile for her again. The lyrics of Agnea’s lullaby lingered in her ears, but she couldn’t ask Agnea to sing for her again, not when the stench of Father’s blood stained her hands and settled in her lungs like rot. Agnea was no fool; she knew what Throné had come here to do, and perhaps there would come a day she could no longer be able to endure that darkness.

However, Throné was rather selfish, so until then she would not refuse Agnea’s company. She hadn’t frightened away Agnea just yet. Her eyes fell upon Agnea’s lips, and the lovely smile that graced those lips.

Agnea drew closer to Throné, their hands just barely brushing together, but even that light touch brought a blossom of warmth to Throné’s chest. When Throné followed Father to that church, Agnea had known that only one of them would return alive, and still she smiled for Throné. “Agnea,” she said carefully, letting the sound of Agnea’s name linger on her tongue, “where do you plan to head next?”

“Giselle told me my mother performed in Sai twenty years ago,” Agnea answered. “Maybe someone there will remember her.”

“Oh, yes, the head of that traveling troupe from Tropu’hopu.” Despite herself, a smile tugged at Throné’s lips as she remembered how frantically Agnea had searched for Giselle. “You were beautiful on that floating stage. I’m sure that Sai will welcome you with open arms.”

Much to Throné’s surprise, Agnea laid her hand over Throné’s. “I hope you’ll keep watching me,” she said softly, and her fingers around Throné’s were warm. “I mean, only if you want to.”

“I—” Throné tried to say, but a cloaked figure approaching her and Agnea caught her attention. A chill went down her spine, and she clenched her teeth as the figure showed no fear or hesitation. He stopped without speaking a single word, and Throné guided Agnea behind her and narrowed her eyes at the unknown person. How had she not sensed his presence? “Who are you?” she asked, brushing her fingers over the dagger strapped to her thigh.

“That necklace - you’re a Blacksnake, aren’t you?” came the man’s voice, low and dangerous. “The one who killed Bergomi…”

For a fraction of a second, Throné stood frozen - it’d been Father who killed Bergomi, flashed a thought through her mind - and the man charged forward, dagger in hand. Agnea shoved Throné aside, and the stench of blood filled her nostrils.

“Damn it…” the man muttered, drawing back his bloody dagger. Regaining her balance, Throné dashed forward and jabbed her knee into the man’s crotch, knocking him to the ground. He groaned and tried to stand, but she stomped on his knife hand, digging the heel of her boot into the flesh. He snarled and made to seize her ankle, but instead she kicked him across the face. Anger flared within her, and she drew her own dagger and knelt to stab it into the man’s throat, almost severing his neck as blood flowed freely.

Twice in one day she had killed. Even in the moonlight the blood glistened, as if mocking her, and Agnea had witnessed it all. Likely this man had been a Snowhare, out for revenge, and she’d killed him without a second thought, like the Blacksnake Father had raised her to be.

She seized the dead man’s arms and mustered her strength to drag the body to the edge of the bridge, and with a mighty heave pushed it over the railing and into the water below. A callous action, she knew, and maybe Agnea would fear her for it, but as long as Agnea was safe…

“Throné…”

She turned, and her blood ran cold as that stench grew stronger. Agnea was on the ground, clutching her side, and blood gushed profusely between her fingers. She quickly knelt beside Agnea and put Agnea’s arm around her shoulders, and Agnea out a painful moan. “I need to get you to Castti and Temenos,” she said firmly as she stood with Agnea, fighting back the urge to vomit.

“Are you… hurt…?” Agnea forced out, and her face was dangerously pale.

“Don’t waste your breath. We need to move.”

“The bleeding… won’t stop…”

Fear gripped Throné’s heart, and she couldn’t breathe for a moment. This was just like what happened with Donnie. An ambush, and fear and hesitation, and then the four of them running for their lives while Donnie was bleeding out, and still Throné couldn’t forget the sight and stench of all that blood. But no, things would be different this time, she told herself. She couldn’t fail again. Gritting her teeth, she helped carry Agnea back into town, and tried not to think about how shallow Agnea’s breathing was.

(What if the dagger had pierced an organ? What if it had been coated in poison? What if— What if—)

For once, Throné was glad of the darkness of night, so that no one would see how she and Agnea were covered in blood. Yet the inn still felt so far away. Agnea tried to keep pace with Throné, groaning painfully, but her strength was quickly failing, and she leaned more of her weight against Throné. With a grunt Throné readjusted her grip on Agnea, and took another step forward, and then another. “Hold on a little longer,” she muttered. “We’re almost there…”

Agnea tried to smile, and Throné hoped that those lips appearing unusually red was simply her fearful imagination. “Throné…” she moaned weakly.

Throné was nearly dragging Agnea by now, and soon the inn came into view. The hooting of an owl almost startled her, but then she spotted Mahina circling above them. Ahead, Ochette and Osvald rushed toward them, and Throné found herself more thankful than ever for Ochette’s heightened sense of smell.

“Aggie! Néné!” Ochette cried. “I smell so much blood! Are you two—?”

Throné thrust Agnea against Osvald. “She needs medical help right away.”

Osvald nodded wordlessly as he took Agnea into his arms, and Throné saw that her chest still rose and fell, if only barely. They quickly reached the inn, and Ochette summoned Mahina to catch the innkeeper’s attention so that he would not ask about a large man carrying a young woman covered in blood.

“What the - an owl? Shoo! Shoo!”

With the innkeeper distracted, Osvald and Throné rushed up the stairs, and Throné was glad not to encounter any other guests. The group’s two rooms were at the end of the hallway. Temenos and Hikari were just exiting their room, and both their gazes went wide upon seeing Throné and Agnea in Osvald’s arms.

“Castti, please,” Throné said breathlessly. Fortunately, the door to the women’s room was unlocked, and as she and the others headed inside, Castti immediately stood and strode over to Agnea. Temenos raised his staff and cast a quick healing spell as Osvald gently laid Agnea on the nearest bed, and she had finally lost consciousness.

“I won’t lie, this looks bad,” Castti said, kneeling and pressing her fingers to Agnea’s neck to feel for a pulse. “But I will not allow myself to fail. Partitio, Ochette, fetch some clean water and cloth!”

“On it!” they said in unison, and Throné nearly jumped out of her skin, not having sensed their presence behind her.

“Hikari, Temenos, you two stay with me. Throné, Osvald, wash that blood off yourselves.”

Throné opened her mouth to protest, but stopped herself. She understood Castti’s reasoning; Temenos’ healing magic would keep Agnea stable while Castti treated her wound, and Hikari was the best of them at remaining calm under pressure and thus was best suited to assisting Castti right now. As shaken as she was now, Throné knew she would be of no help. “Thank you,” she said softly, and left the room with Osvald.

“You can use the bath,” Osvald said to Throné as they stepped into the group’s second inn room. “Only a little bit of blood got on my shirt. I’ll ask Ochette you get you a clean set of clothes.”

Throné only nodded, and inn rooms with private baths were a small mercy to travelers such as themselves. Once inside the bath and the door shut, she filled the small tub and peeled off her clothing. She went through the motions without much thought, and as she submerged herself in the warm water, she let out a deep sigh.

She drew her knees to her chest, and her body began to tremble. She had killed again, but not a swift and neat death. It’d been messy and painful, out of anger because that man had dared to hurt Agnea. The water quickly became a faint shade of pink, and the scent of blood clung to her. She’d killed and disposed of the body so callously, and once again she didn’t even know the name of her victim. Worst of all, Agnea had seen her kill so cruelly.

That man had wanted to avenge Bergomi. Had he followed Throné all the way from Winterbloom? How had she not noticed she was being tailed? But no, she knew why. She’d been too frustrated by Father’s taunting to be cautious, and Agnea had nearly paid the price for her carelessness.

Agnea was still in danger, her life barely hanging on by a thread. Every second counted, and what if Throné had condemned her by not killing that man quickly enough? Had she needed to kill him in the first place? Maybe she could’ve simply incapacitated him and gotten Agnea to Castti sooner. She sighed again; she’d seen the hateful determination in that man’s eyes. He wouldn’t have given up his pursuit of revenge so easily. If someone had killed Mother or Father, would she desire to avenge them, whether out of duty or pride? When she finally had both keys in hand, would another Blacksnake hunt her down for revenge?

She splashed water on her face, and still her hands trembled. She’d killed Father for a key. She’d killed that Snowhare man out of fear and anger, and Agnea had seen. Now Agnea hovered between life and death, hurt by protecting Throné. If only she hadn’t been so easily distracted… If only she hadn’t allowed Agnea so close…

At some point Ochette entered to retrieve Throné’s bloody dress and left a nightgown in its place, but although Throné saw the worry on Ochette’s face, neither spoke, and soon enough Throné was alone again.

When she closed her eyes, she saw Father smiling as blood dripped from his lips. When she closed her eyes a second time, she saw that man’s face, twisted in fear and hate, and her dagger plunged halfway through his neck.

She touched her side, but there was no scar. Father’s dagger hadn’t intended to maim, only to frustrate and humiliate her. He had raised her to be a weapon, meant to someday kill him. Had he given any thought to her future afterwards?

(Vaguely she remembered him saying something about her birth father - was he a member of the Blacksnakes too, as her birth mother had been? But that wasn’t important right now.)

Her skin cleaned of blood, she soon got out of the tub and dried herself. Warm baths were a luxury she had rarely allowed herself to enjoy while living among the Blacksnakes, not wanting to leave herself vulnerable. At first, she’d been reluctant to bath with the other women of their group while camping in the wilderness, but now it was nice not have her guard up all the time. The way Agnea sometimes stole glances at her and then shyly turning away made her heart feel warm.

“What am I thinking…?” she muttered to herself, and she touched the collar around her throat. Baring her scars to Agnea had left her vulnerable in a different way, one she didn’t quite understand.

Once dressed in the simple nightgown Ochette had left for her, Throné exited the washroom. Partitio had also returned, pacing nervously while Osvald sat on the edge of one of the beds. His cleaned shirt lay drying on the other bed, and he had his scholar’s coat draped around his bare shoulders. Ochette sat on the floor as she scrubbed Throné’s dress in a bastion of cold water; as a hunter, she knew best how to clean blood from clothing. She smiled as she spotted Throné. “I finished cleaning Pops’ shirt, and I’m almost done with your dress. He really needs to get something better than those prison rags.”

Throné couldn’t help but chuckle, weak as it was. “I’ve been telling him that since we left Conning Creek.” She sat across from Osvald, who only frowned and pulled his coat tighter around himself.

However, the somber air quickly returned over the four of them, silent save for Partitio’s pacing. Mahina perched beside Throné, hooting softly, and absently Throné laid a hand on her feathered head, and how soft those feathers were was a small comfort.

“Mahina says not to worry,” Ochette said. “We’ve been through this kind of thing before.”

But the waiting never got any easier, Throné thought to herself but did not say out loud. She had spilled enough blood and taken enough lives to know how fragile life could be. She wanted to believe in Castti’s skills and Temenos’ healing magic, but death had always hovered like an uninvited guest among the Blacksnakes. She knew that, and still wished to draw closer to Agnea.

Partitio finally stopped pacing and knelt beside Throné. “What happened?” he asked her, worry clear in his voice.

Throné inhaled deeply; she’d feared that question, but had to answer honestly. “We were attacked by a Snowhare. He wanted revenge for what happened in Winterbloom. Agnea… shielded me.”

“Of course she would.” Partitio smiled grimly. “But I ain’t one to talk, am I? Um…” His smile vanished, and he watched Throné carefully. “Did you…? Is that man dead…?”

Throné nodded curtly. “I dumped the body in the river.”

“Then we should be safe for the time being,” Osvald said calmly.

“Mister Osvald, that’s…” Partitio tried to say, but then simply shook his head. “No, you’re right, that was the best choice to make.” He sighed, but that faint smile returned to his lips. “I’m just glad you’re safe, really.”

At times, Partitio and Agnea could be too understanding, Throné thought. Neither she nor Osvald made secret of their intentions to kill another, and still Agnea and Partitio wished to support them. (Of course, Throné could understand Osvald’s desire for revenge against a bastard like Harvey.) Hikari had also killed during his time as a soldier, and was resolved to kill his own brother if the need arose. Their journeys were never going to be free of pain and bloodshed. Throné knew that all too well, but selfishly she was glad of Agnea’s company. In hopes of distracting herself, she asked Osvald, “Professor, will you be investigating the library tomorrow?”

“Perhaps, but I have no intention of pursuing Harvey until I can be assured of Agnea’s recovery,” Osvald replied, and Throné caught how his clenched hands trembled.

Partitio sat beside Osvald on the edge of the bed. “You sure, partner? You’re so close…”

“…Harvey has waited this long already. He can wait a little longer.”

“Master Juvah says hunting while distracted can get you hurt or killed,” Ochette said, her hands still deep in the basin of water as she washed Throné’s dress. “You’re making the right choice, Pops.”

Throné leaned her head back, and Mahina nudged her hand. Again her thoughts drifted to Agnea, and Agnea’s radiant smile. Maybe Agnea could only smile at Throné because she was still naïve, still had faith in the goodness of this world. But the same could be said of Castti, Hikari, Ochette, and Partitio too. Even Osvald and Temenos had begun to let down their guards around the others. In this moment, they all worried for Agnea, just as they had worried in the past when another in their group was injured. She still sometimes forgot she was no longer with the Blacksnakes.

Maybe she was a naïve fool too, believing she would someday be free of this cursed collar. But Agnea would say that was simply hope, she knew.

Ochette soon finished cleaning Throné’s dress and after she laid it out to dry, she sat beside Throné and looped her arm through Throné’s. Her beastling ears tickled Throné’s cheek as she rested her head against Throné’s shoulder, but Throné didn’t mind. Partitio laid a light but comforting hand on Osvald’s arm, and Osvald gave him a brief nod, and the silence lingered.

Throné thought of how she and Agnea first met, when Agnea had confronted those two thugs to save a puppy. She’d charged recklessly into danger, and that same sense of recklessness had led her into the seedy backstreets of New Delsta and befriending Gil. Maybe it was only out of pity that Throné had joined Agnea, figuring she could use her skills to protect this naïve, ignorant girl. Yet when she watched Agnea dance upon that tavern stage, warmth had blossomed in her chest, a warmth she’d never felt before. In Tropu’hopu, when Agnea danced upon the floating stage, that warmth only grew stronger. But snakes were drawn to the warmth of the sun, after all.

She shut her eyes a moment, and again saw that man dead at her feet and Agnea bleeding profusely, her skin dangerously pale, and heard Father’s mocking laughter.

Exhaustion came over Partitio first, and he fell asleep against Osvald’s shoulder, and Osvald remained still, patiently obliging him. Throné’s hands had begun to tremble again, and Ochette laid a hand over hers. Ochette tried to smile, a smile tinged with both reassurance and worry, and Throné inhaled a deep breath to calm herself. The scent of blood didn’t seem as strong now.

The door opened unexpectedly, and Temenos staggered into the room, leaning on his staff. “Temenos!” Ochette exclaimed as she hopped to her feet to help steady him. “How’s Aggie?”

Temenos allowed himself to be guided toward the bed, and he fell face-first onto the sheets, startling Partitio awake. “Stable,” he answered weakly. “Goodness, how stressful that was. If we’d been a moment or two later…”

Throné’s heart nearly stopped at those words, and again she couldn’t help but remember what happened to Donnie. “And what of you, Detective?” she asked, perhaps a touch too flippantly.

“Aelfric’s blessing takes a lot out of me, but I’ll be fine.” Temenos let out a feeble laugh, one less guarded than Throné expected. “You know, without that new spell granted to me by the altar of the Flamebringer, we may not have been able to save Agnea’s life. To think I simply visited the clerics’ guild on a whim…”

Throné remembered that whim; as the group made their way through the Crestlands toward Montwise, Temenos had suddenly exclaimed he wished to visit the clerics’ guild, and though she had thought it odd, given that he wasn’t exactly pious, no one had seen reason to refuse his request. “Thank you,” she said softly.

Perhaps it was only her imagination, but Temenos’ cheeks seemed slightly pinker than usual. “Save your gratitude until after I’ve properly rested,” he muttered.

Ochette took Throné’s hand and pulled her to her feet. “Come on, let’s check on Aggie!” Ochette said, and Mahina hooted in agreement.

Throné could only nod, and she and Ochette left Temenos in the care of Osvald and Partitio as Mahina followed them out of the room. Ochette’s hand in hers trembled just slightly, Throné noticed, or perhaps it was her own hand that trembled. She could no longer tell. Carefully she pushed open the door to the other room, and Castti and Hikari turned to face them as they cleaned blood from their hands. Bloody sheets lay beside Castti, and on the bed was Agnea, still unconscious and the sheets pulled to her chest, but color had returned to her skin and her breathing was even. Throné might’ve slumped to her knees if Ochette had not been standing beside her.

“The bleeding has stopped and her fever finally broke,” Castti said. “I can’t say she is completely out of danger - we’ll need to watch for any signs of infection - but I am confident enough to say she will recover.”

“We could not have done this without Temenos’ healing magic, though I fear he may have overexerted himself,” Hikari added. “Both he and Agnea will need to rest for several days.”

“Well, we weren’t planning on leaving Montwise just yet,” Throné said with a sigh of relief. “Thank you all, truly.”

Castti’s expression grew grim. “Throné, could you tell us what happened?”

Throné explained to Castti and Hikari what she had said to the others earlier, again choosing her words carefully, and neither Castti’s expression nor Hikari’s betrayed their thoughts.

Hikari frowned. “That I did not notice such a presence following us is inexcusable. My deepest apologies.”

“Sorry, I didn’t sense anyone either,” Ochette muttered, her ears drooping, and Mahina cooed sadly as well.

“Don’t blame yourselves - that’s what a thief is trained to do,” Throné said, and immediately winced at how callous she sounded.

“You cannot blame yourself either,” Castti said firmly.

Throné bit her lip, swallowing hurtful words that threatened to burst free. If she’d not been so single-minded in her pursuit of Father, if she’d not been selfish enough to indulge in Agnea’s company, then Agnea wouldn’t have been hurt. Thus guilty thoughts tormented her, over and over.

Castti’s expression relaxed as she patted Throné’s shoulder. “You did well in bringing Agnea to me as quickly as you did. Now, I am in need of a bath myself.” To the other two, she said, “Hikari, could you check on Temenos? And Ochette, can you clean the blood from these sheets and Agnea’s dress?”

“I shall,” Hikari said at the same time Ochette exclaimed, “Of course!”

Numbly Throné took the chair beside Agnea’s bed as Hikari left the room and Castti headed to the bath, and immediately Ochette filled a basin with cold water to wash the bloodstained sheets and dress. Carefully Throné laid her hand on Agnea’s forehead, and it was cool to the touch, and Agnea didn’t stir. Agnea appeared as if she was simply dreaming, and not that she had been fighting for her life only minutes ago.

“You don’t need to worry so much, Néné,” Ochette said unexpectedly, and beside her Mahina peered closely into the basin of water. “Aggie is strong, you know.”

“Yes, I know that,” Throné replied. “To be honest, it frightens me how fearless she can be.”

“Fearless, huh?” Ochette held up Agnea’s dress, eying the gash in the side. It hurt Throné’s heart to see, and she was glad it wasn’t the dress that once belonged to Agnea’s beloved mother. “Well, if Pops hasn’t scared her away, I doubt there’s much that can scare her.”

Despite herself, Throné chuckled; the eight of them did make for a suspicious group at times, and someday she would convince Osvald to wear literally anything else besides those prison rags. “How does it look?” she asked, motioning toward the dress.

Ochette frowned. “I can get the blood out, but I’m not sure even Aggie’s dad could fix a tear like this. Good thing it wasn’t her mother’s dress, at least!”

Throné could scarcely imagine Agnea’s heartbreak if her mother’s dress had been so badly damaged. It was merely on a whim Agnea had decided to buy a new dress in Montwise and wear it today. Perhaps Throné would find a new dress for Agnea to replace this ruined one, she thought to herself. Maybe when Agnea was recovered, the two of them could shop for a new dress before they left Montwise. Maybe she would still smile for Throné. As she often did these days, Throné touched the dark collar around her throat.

“Hey, Néné,” Ochette said carefully, and she now worked on washing the soiled sheets, as leaving them bloodied would not endear the group to the innkeeper. “You really care about Aggie, don’t you?”

“Snakes are always drawn to warmth,” Throné muttered darkly. “That’s all.”

“Aggie isn’t frightened of snakes either,” Ochette replied, more harshly than Throné had expected. “And the way you smile around her, it’s… it’s really beautiful.”

Throné clicked her tongue, but otherwise said nothing more. She touched Agnea’s sleeping face, lightly tracing those lovely lips with her thumb. Her hands were covered in blood, so what right did she have to touch one as kind as Agnea? Yet still she fantasized, of herself holding Agnea close to her and feeling that gentle warmth against her skin, of Agnea whispering sweet words of love in her ear. Before she resolved to kill Father and Mother, she would never have dared to entertain such dreams.

Castti soon returned from the bath, dressed in her own nightgown, and although exhaustion was still clear in her eyes, she did appear a little more refreshed. “It’s late, so we should all sleep now.”

“I’ll stay awake to watch over Agnea,” Throné said. “You said she’s not out of danger yet.”

“Not all night you won’t,” Castti replied with a sigh. “But you’re right, we can’t let down our guard just yet. You watch Agnea for the first half of the night, and then wake Ochette for the second half.”

Both Throné and Ochette nodded.

“If there’s a change in her condition, don’t hesitate to wake me.” Castti sat on the edge of the other bed. “Goodness, what a long day.”

After the candles were put out, Castti and Ochette settled into the other bed while Throné remained at Agnea’s bedside. Moonlight seeped in through the window, casting a faint shadow over Agnea’s sleeping form. Often Agnea said she felt stronger at night when Throné was by her side. Throné’s eyes fell upon Agnea’s lips, and she swallowed dryly. If she could steal Agnea’s heart, would she finally feel satisfied? How would such a treasure glitter in her hands? Or it would simply crumble to dust when touched by hands stained in blood?

She was a thief, stealing both possessions and lives. Creatures of darkness such as herself weren’t meant for love. Father had loved a woman once, and then murdered her. Throné had friends once, and one by one they had killed each other, until only she remained. She could take over the Blacksnakes, as Pirro had dreamed for himself. But that wasn’t her dream.

Her hand lingered over Agnea’s, letting their fingers lace as she brought Agnea’s hand close to her lips. She was a selfish woman; she still desired freedom, no matter the cost. The Blacksnakes could rot for all she cared. Until she was free of this damned collar, she had a reason to travel with Agnea. Maybe someday the stench of blood would become too overwhelming for Agnea. Maybe tomorrow would be that day. Thus Throné could steal just a bit more of Agnea’s presence as she watched over Agnea tonight.

“Sweet dreams, my star,” Throné whispered as she pressed a gentle kiss to the back of Agnea’s hand. “Smile for me just a little bit longer, please.”

Chapter Text

It hurt. Everything hurt. A burning, stabbing pain shot through her side like cracks in a pane of glass, but Agnea hadn’t the strength left to scream. The bleeding wouldn’t stop and that stench settled in her lungs like rot. She finally understood why Throné hated it so much. Not so long ago, she sang a favorite lullaby for Throné, and then Throné left to kill the man she called “Father.”

Agnea drifted in and out of consciousness, but she remembered little else. Voices hovered above her, worried and commanding, but although familiar she couldn’t make out any words. Firm yet gentle hands peeled clothing from her wound and applied pressure, and another pair of hands dried sweat from her clammy skin. Warm, gentle magic engulfed her, holding her steady. There was still so much pain, but that same magic also chided her if she tried to let go and slip away into the darkness.

The scent of blood and herbs filled her nose, as if they were trying to overpower the other. She wanted to ask if Throné was unharmed, but couldn’t even force her eyes open. Her entire body burned, and she tried to reach out for the fraying strands of magic.

“If the gods’ magic is good for anything at all, now is the time to prove it,” muttered one voice.

“Stay focused. She needs us,” said another. “We cannot fail, no matter what.”

“The wound is deep and she’s lost a lot of blood.” A third voice spoke firmly, yet cautiously. “However, I’ve managed to starch the bleeding for now, so we must…”

The voices faded away, and Agnea wondered if she began to dream.

She walked upon a stone bridge, the colors of autumn consumed by an unnatural, poisonous violet shadow, a shadow that threatened to consume the stars as well. Before her stood a white-haired man in a long coat, the man Throné called “Father.” She had seen him waiting for Throné, and the bloodlust and despair in his gaze had made her own blood run cold. Throné had bidden her to stay behind and then followed him to the abandoned church. When Throné returned alone, key in hand, her eyes were bloodshot.

He turned to face Agnea, and countless daggers hung from his waist and the inside of his coat. With a lazy yet careful stride he approached her, his gaze fixated on her, and she could do nothing but remain still like a frightened rabbit. He reached out a hand to caress her cheek with false tenderness, and his other hand drew a dagger and held it to her throat. He smiled, a fake, twisted smile, and bent closer to her ear, and whispered something she could not understand.

Blood dripped from his lips, and Agnea’s fingers were clenched painfully around the hilt of the dagger plunged in his chest. Throné had given her this dagger, she remembered. She jerked back, her hands covered in warm blood, and his body fell at her feet, the gaping wound in his chest still bleeding profusely. In the distance dark lightning clashed, like chains striking together.

Behind him stood Throné, whose hands were also covered in blood, and tears stained her face. The collar around her throat tightened, biting into the tender flesh, and blood ran down her chest and pooled into her cleavage. Agnea took a step closer, pressing her fingers to that cruel collar, and traced the path of blood over Throné’s collarbone and toward her breasts. Throné simply watched Agnea, her dark eyes empty, and Agnea bent to press her lips to that exposed skin, and the taste of blood was sharp on her tongue.

Chains shot out from the darkness and seized Throné’s arms, pulling her from Agnea. She tried to reach for Throné, but chains of darkness now bound her legs as well, and she couldn’t move. Throné didn’t struggle as the chains pulled her arms behind her back and forced her to her knees. A hand seized her hair to yank her head forward, and a heavy blade fell, cutting through her neck with a single blow.

Throné’s severed head fell to the ground, and Agnea knelt to take it into her arms. She cradled Throné’s head gently, blood staining her hands and dress, and carefully she pressed her lips to Throné’s; the taste was strangely bitter. Before her Throné’s body had fallen, blood pooling onto the ground as the dark collar remained tight around the bloody stump of her neck. Tears rolled down Agnea’s cheeks as she clutched Throné’s severed head to her chest, and she didn’t know how long she cried before the dark night consumed them both.

Pain shot through her side, and she floated alone in a never-ending void, beyond the night sky. She wanted to be a dancer like her mother, she remembered, a star. She remembered how brightly Dolcinaea had dazzled on that New Delsta stage. She wanted to shine as brightly, singing and dancing, but she could do nothing more. Blood gushed from her side, and now that man was dead, and she didn’t even know his name. But as long as Throné was safe…

“Agnea.”

Something warm touched her forehead, and her eyelids fluttered for a moment. A woman’s silhouette sat beside her, and the gem at her throat caught strands of moonlight. “T-Throné…?” Agnea mumbled, trying to reach out through a feverish haze.

“Rest now.” Throné’s voice sounded so very far away, and warm, calloused fingers curled around Agnea’s. “You’re safe, I promise.”

Agnea tried to speak again, but her mouth felt too dry. A dull ache lingered in her side, and faintly she caught the scent of medical herbs and for a moment thought of Castti. She was safe now, and Throné alive. Maybe all that had happened earlier was a dream.

Throné bent closer to Agnea, and Agnea’s unfocused gaze fell upon her slender throat. “Agnea, I…” she began to say, her voice quiet as night, but Agnea could no longer keep her eyes open, and once more she found herself alone in a fathomless darkness. She tried to reach out for something, anything at all, but the stars remained beyond her grasp.

The next time Agnea opened her eyes, it was to the sight of Mahina’s feathered face, and she nearly jumped out of her skin.

“Mahina!” Ochette scolded from beside Agnea. “Don’t startle Aggie like that!”

Mahina simply hooted indignantly.

“I did not fall asleep while watching over her!”

As Ochette and Mahina argued, Agnea carefully sat up and looked down at herself. She wore a loose nightgown, and this was the inn room she shared with the other women of their traveling group. She touched her side, feeling a tender ache, and her blood ran cold as everything that happened last night came rushing back to her. An unknown man lunging for Throné with a dagger in his hand and hate in his eyes, and Throné had…!

“Agnea,” came Castti’s gentle voice as she touched Agnea’s shoulder and sat on the edge of the bed. “Do you remember what happened last night?”

“A little bit, yeah,” Agnea replied with a nod. “Um, is Throné…?”

“She’s unharmed, and she left earlier to get some more herbs for me,” Castti said. “Now, what about you? How are you feeling?”

Again Agnea touched her injured side. When that dagger had pierced her skin, she hadn’t imagined that such blinding, horrific pain could exist. Worse yet had been that man’s gargled screams as Throné had plunged her dagger into his throat and that look of absolute terror in Throné’s eyes as she had carried Agnea back to the inn. There had been so much blood, and she would never forget how dark it had appeared in the moonlight. “I… had a very strange dream, I think…” she answered finally.

“Well, you did have a fever, and fever dreams are known to be strange.” Castti pressed a hand to Agnea’s forehead. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t really remember much about it, though…”

Castti didn’t push the subject, and she and Ochette helped clean and redress Agnea’s wound with fresh bandages. Agnea would have to rest the next few days, Castti said, but fortunately nothing appeared out of the ordinary. She also explained how Hikari and Temenos had helped last night, and despite her own calm tone Agnea saw the dark circles beneath her eyes, more telling than she intended, and Ochette was also more subdued than usual. During their travels together, the eight of them had treated countless injuries, but none had come this close to being fatal. In an instant, her dream might’ve ended.

“This injury,” Agnea said carefully, softly, “it was really serious, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Castti replied, her voice firm. “If we’d been a few minutes later in treating you, if not for Temenos’ healing magic, I would not have been able to save you.”

Wordlessly Ochette touched Agnea’s hand and tried to smile. Agnea opened her mouth to speak, to say anything at all, but then her stomach growled loudly, and her cheeks flushed.

Castti chuckled weakly. “A nourished body heals faster, so let me get you breakfast.”

Agnea laid her hand on her stomach. “Thank you, Castti, Ochette.”

Mahina remained with Agnea while Castti and Ochette left to retrieve breakfast (“Don’t worry, we’ll be back real soon!” Ochette said with a wink), and she found herself idly petting Mahina’s head, and was glad no one else could see how her hands trembled.

She’d dreamed of blood and daggers, of severed heads and kissing Throné, of falling through darkness and reaching for the stars. She might’ve been frightened or disgusted, but instead only felt hollow. She sighed, lowering her face to Mahina’s head. When she closed her eyes, she saw that man dead at Throné’s feet, but could no longer make out his face. When he had lunged for Throné, she had thought of nothing but protecting Throné.

She could almost laugh at herself. She was a sheltered, naïve dancer while Throné had been raised to fight and kill. All she could do was offer a song and dance, and still Throné smiled for her. “Hey, Mahina,” she said, “do you think someone like me can really understand Throné…?”

Mahina only hooted in reply and nuzzled more against Agnea’s hand, and she could not help but smile, weak as it was.

Castti and Ochette soon returned, and Hikari and Osvald accompanied them. Agnea was especially surprised to see Osvald - he had planned to search for Harvey after Throné confronted Father, and if he was putting off his search until Agnea was recovered, she felt both happy and guilty. Castti handed Agnea a warm bowl of soup, and Hikari explained that Temenos was still asleep and Partitio had remained with him.

Fortunately, no one asked Agnea about last night, and she listened carefully to the group’s chatter and slowly ate her soup. She was more famished than she had expected, but Castti cautioned her against eating too quickly. Ochette sat on the edge of the bed while Castti sat opposite of her, and Hikari and Osvald had taken the two chairs in the room.

“Zeto tells me he and his brothers will be making their way to Ryu soon,” Hikari went on. Shortly before Throné’s confrontation with Father, Hikari and his friend Kazan had taken control of the fighting arena. “Apparently there is already a new champion in the arena.”

“I understand it is under new, more merciful management, but as an apothecary, I find such sports rather stressful,” Castti said with a sigh.

“Humans like to show off, don’t they?” Ochette said as she took a bite of her jerky. “But then again, some of the hunters back in my village like to brag about the size of their catch, so maybe it’s something similar.”

“I’m glad you didn’t have to kill anyone,” Agnea said softly to Hikari. Her fingers tightened around her spoon; when Hikari had fought Zeto and Bandalem, she’d been frightened by the crowds’ bloodlust. Throné had described the stench of blood as like rot settling in her lungs, so how could anyone be so excited to see blood and death? That Agnea simply couldn’t understand, although she knew that further bloodshed was unavoidable as their journeys continued. Throné still had one more key to obtain while Osvald desired revenge, and likely Hikari would have to wage war against his brother.

Hikari’s eyes went wide for a moment, and he tried to smile. “Yes, I am grateful too,” he said, his voice equally quiet.

When Agnea finished her soup, Castti suggested she try stretching her legs a little bit. Agnea was slightly embarrassed at not having changed out of her nightgown, but none of the others seemed to care. She had yet to bring herself to look at her ruined dress, and she was thankful she hadn’t been wearing her mother’s dress. Carefully she swung her legs off the bed and took Castti’s and Osvald’s offered hands, and as she stood, pain immediately shot through her injured side.

“Don’t push yourself too hard,” Castti said. “Just focus on standing first.”

Agnea nodded, shutting her eyes a moment. She put more of her weight on her right foot, and then gradually eased onto her left, and the pain in her left side began to calm. Even so, she wouldn’t be able to dance like this. Throné’s stab wound in Winterbloom had been less serious, and it had still taken her days to recover. She stole a glance at the door, and Throné had yet to return.

Osvald followed Agnea’s gaze. “What’s wrong?” he asked unexpectedly.

“No, it’s nothing,” she answered quickly. It wasn’t unusual for Throné to keep to herself for a while day, so Agnea simply had to trust her.

Leaning on Osvald for support, Agnea walked a lap around the room, trying to ignore the pain in her side. But what if Throné decided to head to Wellgrove alone to confront the woman she called “Mother”? What if another Snowhare tried to attack her to avenge their fallen leader? Agnea remembered too clearly the heat of her own blood spilling over her hands as Throné carried her toward the inn. She’d lost so much, and the bleeding wouldn’t stop—!

She clutched Osvald’s arm tightly to steady herself, her fingernails digging into his skin, but she barely noticed him flinching as she held her injured side with her other hand. Tears stung at the corners of her eyes; it hurt, it hurt so much. She couldn’t even dance now, she couldn’t make anyone smile like this. Her shaking legs finally gave out, and carefully Osvald guided her to the floor as Castti knelt beside her.

Castti took Agnea’s wrist and checked her pulse. “Agnea,” she said in a gentle tone, “I can make you something to ease the pain and help you relax.”

Agnea could only nod, and she wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her nightgown. Again she glanced toward the door, and again Throné didn’t return.

While Hikari assisted Castti, Osvald carried Agnea to her bed and Ochette knelt at her bedside and held her hand. She inhaled deeply in hopes of calming herself, but that only worsened the pain in her side. She hated this. She hated that someone had tried to attack Throné, hated that he had died for a desperate revenge. The sight of that grief and rage in his eyes still cut to the quick. With her free hand she reached out to grasp the sleeve of Osvald’s worn coat. “Osvald,” she forced out, “when you go after Harvey, don’t go alone.”

Osvald’s eyes went wide for a moment, a rare display of surprise, and he knelt and touched Agnea’s arm. “I won’t, I promise.”

Agnea bit her lip; if Throné told him what happened last night, likely Osvald understood why she asked that promise. Maybe she didn’t really understand the notion of revenge. Osvald wanted to kill Harvey because Harvey had murdered his beloved wife and daughter. That man had wanted to kill Throné because the Blacksnakes had murdered his leader. She didn’t even know the name of the man Throné had killed, the man who had nearly killed her. But she didn’t want to stop Osvald and she was grateful Throné was alive.

Castti soon finished the concoction and gave it to Agnea. “Drink slowly,” she said.

Agnea nodded as she brought the cup to her lips. The taste was awful, but she drank without complaint under Castti’s watchful gaze. She was alive. The acute pain in her side was proof of that. Throné had saved her, as had Castti and Temenos and her other traveling companions. She finished the medicine, and tried not to think of the man Throné killed, or that nightmare. Most of all, she didn’t want to lose Throné.

Castti ushered Hikari and Osvald out of the room, and then she and Ochette double-checked the bandages around Agnea’s midsection. “Everything looks good,” Castti said, examining closely. “It doesn’t appear your wound reopened. How’s the pain?”

“It still hurts a little, but not as bad when I move,” Agnea answered, and then could not help but yawn, much to her embarrassment.

“The medicine I gave you can also make you sleepy,” Castti added with a sympathetic chuckle. “Rest a bit longer, and we’ll wake you when it’s time to eat again.”

Agnea wanted to protest, but she couldn’t deny either how exhausted she had grown simply walking around the room. She lay her head on the pillow and Ochette pulled the bed sheets over her. “Mahina will keep an eye on you, so you just focus on resting!” Ochette said with a smile. Mahina perched at Agnea’s bedside and hooted in agreement.

“Thanks, everyone…” Agnea said quietly. She wanted to get better as soon as possible. She didn’t want to delay Osvald his revenge, or Throné her second key. They were all waiting for her, too worried to smile. When she was better, she thought hazily, she would dance for all them, make them smile again, and…

She pictured Throné’s face, a faint, careful smile on those beautiful lips, and wasn’t sure if she dreamed or not.

It might’ve been only a moment, but a door opened, and slowly Agnea opened her eyes. She lay on her uninjured side, facing away from the others, and saw only Mahina beside her.

“Welcome back, Throné,” came Castti’s voice, and Agnea felt her body stiffen.

“Here are the herbs you wanted.” Throné’s voice was quiet, and Agnea’s cheeks grew warm. She thought of saying something, like greeting Throné, but instead remained silent. Mahina tilted her head, and Agnea pressed a quiet finger to her lips. “How’s Agnea doing?”

“She’s resting now. She was able to walk a lap around the room. I must say, she is recovering remarkably well.”

“Of course!” Ochette exclaimed, her sudden voice almost startling Agnea. “You’re a great apothecary!”

“…It wasn’t only my doing. Temenos’ healing magic is quite powerful. Speaking of which, I should check on him too.”

“Last I heard from Parti, he was still asleep…”

Agnea clenched her fingers, curling up tighter beneath the bed sheets. A cleric’s magic was meant to be used broadly, Temenos once told her, and it was difficult to narrow it onto a single person. The spell he received from the altar of the Flamebringer was an exception to that, barring strengthening from Agnea’s own dancer’s magic, but that spell was still little understood otherwise. If she found the altar of the Lady of Grace, would she receive a new power too? But according to legend, only a chosen dancer would find the altar, and she was just a normal girl with normal dreams. Maybe her mother could’ve found it, or Dolcinaea.

She wanted to shine brightly like the both of them. Maybe then she’d be able to make Throné truly smile.

The door opened again and then closed, and a new weight came upon Agnea’s bed, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. “Agnea, are you asleep?” came Throné’s voice, and Agnea felt a gentle hand on her shoulder but said nothing in reply. “You’re watching over her, aren’t you, Mahina? Good girl.”

While Mahina hooted in appreciation, Agnea shut her eyes tightly. She didn’t want Throné to see her like this, vulnerable and injured. That fear in Throné’s eyes as she helped Agnea, injured and bleeding profusely, to the inn still terrified her, even more than the man who had attacked them. She didn’t want Throné to worry about her, but danger still lay ahead of them, and again she remembered that violent nightmare.

“This will be our little secret,” Throné whispered to Mahina, and she touched Agnea’s hair, softly yet carefully. “But this is all I can do for her right now.” She paused a moment, inhaling deeply, and, much to Agnea’s surprise, began to sing. “‘Rest, little one, for the day is done. Queens and kings too were once like you. Now it’s time to close your eyes, and rest until the sun does rise.’”

Agnea’s breath caught in her throat, and tears stung at the corners of her eyes. That was the lullaby she had sung for Throné before the confrontation with Father. Throné’s voice was uneven and nervous, but still the lyrics rang clearly. A part of Agnea wanted to turn and take Throné into her arms, but the frightened part of her held her in place. They needed to talk about what happened last night. Agnea needed to thank Throné for saving her life. But a man had died in exchange for her life, and still she could see all that blood. To be free, Throné had killed a man who held one of two keys. To live, she had killed another man and denied him revenge.

Throné’s voice faded into a whisper, and her hand on Agnea’s hair trembled. Mahina hooted quietly, and Agnea couldn’t bring herself to move. “I’m sorry, Agnea,” Throné murmured so softly that Agnea almost didn’t hear her. The weight beside Agnea was suddenly gone, and again she heard the door open and close.

Cautiously she sat up, trying to ignore the pain in her side, and she realized she was alone with only Mahina for company. She’d missed her chance to speak with Throné. But what would she even say to Throné? Would she tell Throné of her nightmare, of Throné being decapitated and then her kissing Throné’s severed head? She stared down at her hands, and never would she forget the heat of her own blood spilling over her fingers. If she’d died, who would’ve told her father or sister, or Gus? But Throné had saved her.

She knew her knees to her chest, and hot tears rolled down her cheeks. She didn’t want to be frightened of Throné. She wanted to stay with Throné, no matter how bloody the path they walked together. Her shoulders quaked, and Mahina pressed closer to her, and she was thankful no one else could hear her sobs.

Agnea didn’t feel particularly refreshed after her nap, but she hadn’t dreamed either. She was hungry, however, and Castti and Ochette shared with her a simple stew. She no longer knew what time it was - not unusual when sleeping so much after a serious injury, Castti had told her - and again acutely felt the absence of Throné. At some point Hikari and Temenos came to visit her, and Castti and Ochette left to purchase more supplies, and Castti said Throné had joined Osvald and Partitio to gather information about Harvey’s whereabouts. Temenos didn’t seem as exhausted as Agnea had feared, although heavy dark circles lay beneath his eyes.

“How fares your injury?” Hikari asked Agnea. He sat on the side of her bed while Temenos had taken a nearby chair.

“It doesn’t hurt so much right now,” Agnea replied. “To be honest, I’m feeling more restless than anything.”

Hikari’s expression grew grave. “Do not hesitate to speak up if anything feels amiss. Stab wounds can be unpredictable and fester quickly.”

“Do you speak from experience?” Temenos asked, casually giving voice to the question Agnea had hesitated to say out loud.

“I have fought in countless battles,” Hikari answered with a brief nod. “And yes, I have witnessed many otherwise strong and healthy soldiers succumb to a single stab wound. I myself carry such scars.”

Agnea touched her injured side, feeling the bandages through the thin fabric of her nightgown. Would this wound leave a scar? She hadn’t the courage yet to ask Castti or Temenos. “Does it ever stop hurting?” she asked instead.

Hikari inhaled deeply. “Physically, yes. However, the pain itself is not so easily forgotten.”

“Castti says I probably wouldn’t have survived if not for your magic, Temenos,” Agnea said quietly, and folded her hands to hide how they trembled.

“I will not lie, none of us could be certain that night,” Temenos said, and Agnea saw how his shoulders tensed. “The spell I used seems to allow one to temporarily expand past mortal limits.” He paused a moment, noting Agnea’s and Hikari’s expressions. “To put it simply, it helped me keep you stable while Castti and Hikari treated your injury. You had lost a great deal of blood, and… we were frightened.”

To see even Temenos so worn and worried was like a punch to Agnea’s chest. “I’m sorry for worrying everyone,” she could not help but say.

“Oh, there’s no need to apologize.” Again Temenos spoke in his bantering tone as he waved his hand. “It was certainly exhausting, but I’d do it all again in a heartbeat.”

“You are being unusually forthright,” Hikari said to Temenos, and Temenos smirked in reply. To Agnea, he smiled and said, “In any case, you are safe now, and that is what is most important.”

Agnea’s fingers tightened around the bed sheets. “Um, Hikari, you said you’ve fought in a lot of battles, right…?”

“That I did.” Hikari’s smile grew bitter. “As a soldier of Ku, I went wherever my father commanded me. Whatever questions you wish to ask, I will try to answer to the best of my ability.”

Temenos said nothing as he watched Hikari closely, and his expression had also grown serious.

Agnea chewed her lip; most likely Hikari already knew what she wanted to ask. Of the eight of them, Hikari and Throné had seen the most death, albeit under different circumstances. Agnea herself knew little of war, and she hoped Hikari and Temenos would not think her questions naïve. “You’ve had to kill to save yourself or your friends, right? And your friends have done the same for you…?”

Hikari nodded carefully. “You are correct that I live thanks to the deaths of others. My friends have killed enemy soldiers to save my life, and I have done the same for them. And Throné killed to save your life.” He paused a moment, letting out a deep breath. His expression was impassive, but Agnea caught the faint tremble of his jaw. “We may feel relief or guilt afterwards, and both can be dangerous. We risk dehumanizing the enemy in exchange for our lives, or we may think our lives less deserving than the ones that were lost.” He reached out a hand to touch Agnea’s shoulder. “Even so, for the sake of my friends, I do not wish to feel regret.”

“Perhaps it is a kind of selfishness,” Temenos mused, tapping his chin thoughtfully, “but we can forgive much for those we consider friends.”

“I would not quite phrase it like that,” Hikari said, giving Temenos a pointed look, “but I cannot deny his words. As your friend, I am grateful Throné saved your life.”

Despite herself, Agnea smiled weakly. “Thank you, Hikari, Temenos.”

“It can be a hard burden, knowing you live while another died,” Temenos said softly. “But I agree with Hikari - even if some may consider it selfish, I too am glad you’re alive.”

“Because we’re friends,” Agnea whispered, folding her hands over her heart.

Sometime later, Castti and Ochette returned, as did Throné, Partitio, and Osvald, and the eight of them shared a warm meal. Osvald spoke nothing of Harvey, while Partitio inquired about how Agnea was feeling. The group seemed more at ease now, chattering more readily, and Agnea was glad they weren’t fussing over her as much. She still felt restless and she’d gone over a day without dancing, but if she turned the wrong way, the pain was all too eager to remind her of its unwelcomed presence. She cast a glance at Throné, who was in deep conversation with Temenos and Castti, and Throné caught her stare and gave her a faint smile. With the eight of them together like this, if not for the pain in her side, she could almost forget how close she had come to death.

The men left the room eventually to retire to their own beds (“I talked the innkeeper into allowin’ us to stay a few more days,” Partitio told the others), and Ochette said she and Mahina needed some fresh air and Castti accompanied her. Thus Agnea and Throné were alone together, and the earlier levity replaced by a somber atmosphere.

Agnea clenched her hands; she had to say something, anything at all, she told herself. She and Throné hadn’t had a proper conversation since she got stabbed, but what could she say? She didn’t want Throné to think her frightened, but the truth was, even if she wasn’t frightened of Throné specifically, she was still frightened. When first she had set out on this journey, she never imagined she would come so close to death, or so violently.

Yet, much to Agnea’s surprise, Throné bent closer and touched her hair. “You’ve got quite the bedhead,” Throné chuckled gently. “You haven’t brushed your hair all day, have you?”

Agnea shook her head as her face grew warm. “It still hurts if I raise my arms too high…”

Throné was silent a moment longer. “Would you like me to brush your hair for you?”

“Oh, yes, please!” The words were out of Agnea’s mouth before she could think about them.

Surprise briefly flashed across Throné’s face, and she carefully guided Agnea to the chair in front of the vanity. Agnea stared at her reflection in the mirror as Throné retrieved Agnea’s brush from their belongings. Her skin was still pale and heavy bags lay beneath her eyes, and her unbound hair really was a mess, she could not help but note sheepishly. Throné stood behind her and gathered strands of brown into her hand, and gently ran the brush through Agnea’s hair.

Almost immediately Agnea felt the tension loosen in her body. Throné brushed Agnea’s hair in silence, and Agnea watched Throné’s expression in the reflection of the mirror, but she wore that familiar stoic mask. Her hands were gentle as she brushed Agnea’s hair, and Agnea tried not to shiver when those cool, elegant fingers brushed against her neck, but she couldn’t ignore the faint tremble in those fingers either.

“What did you think of Father?” Throné asked suddenly.

Agnea jolted, and hesitated before answering. She’d briefly seen Father on that bridge outside of Montwise, and he had barely spared a glance for Throné’s companions before daring her to follow him alone. She remembered the unkempt hair and the countless daggers hanging from his waist and the inside of his coat. “I thought he seemed cold,” she answered at last. “And… sad, somehow.”

“He loved a woman once, and when she fell in love with another, he killed her.”

“What? But that’s so cruel!”

“She’d also killed the child they had together.”

Throné made no expression as she spoke those words, but Agnea could clearly see her own expression of shock in the mirror’s reflection. She tried to speak, but realized she had no idea of what to say.

“The other man she loved, she become involved with him, and then…” Throné’s hands stilled for just a moment. “Gave birth to me.”

“That was your mother?” Agnea blurted out, and winced as pain shot through her side.

Throné laid a steadying hand on Agnea’s shoulder. “Father didn’t care about the Blacksnakes - he raised me to kill him. He said I should’ve been his daughter.” She let out a deep sigh, her breath warm against Agnea’s hair. “Before he died, I called him ‘Dad,’ and he smiled, like he really was happy.” A bitter smile came upon her lips. “And just like that, I had the first key.”

“Oh, Throné…” was all Agnea could say, and tears stung at the corners of her eyes.

Throné continued to brush Agnea’s hair, and the bristles were soft against her scalp. “I was always told my mother died giving birth to me,” she went on. “Did Father love me because I was the daughter of the woman he loved? Or did he hate me because I was the daughter of the woman who betrayed him?”

“You said… you said he was happy when you called him ‘Dad’…”

“I’d never seen him smile like that. Is that really what love is supposed to be…?”

“Love is supposed to be beautiful, but it can be destructive too, I think.” Agnea touched her injured side, and lowered her gaze from the mirror. “I’ve heard stories of how easily love can turn into hate or obsession. But that doesn’t mean it’s wrong to love.”

“Even for a snake like me?” Throné said with a dark chuckle. “I might turn out like Father.”

“No, I don’t think you would.” Agnea laid her hand over her chest, feeling how her heart raced. “Don’t you remember what I told you in Tropu’hopu? You shouldn’t think so lowly of yourself - you’re strong and kind, after all!”

Only for a moment did Throné’s eyes grow wide, and a quiet laugh fell from her lips as she wrapped her arms around Agnea’s shoulders from behind. “Thank you, Agnea,” she muttered, pressing her face to Agnea’s shoulder, and faintly Agnea felt tears.

“Throné…” Agnea whispered, and she raised a hand to Throné’s, curling her fingers around Throné’s, and Throné squeezed tightly. Throné was warm, Agnea noticed, and as Throné held her silently, tears began to fall from her eyes as well.

Chapter Text

Throné was unsurprised when the nightmares finally came for her.

In that abandoned church, Father lay dying at her feet. Blood dripped from his lips, and her dagger had torn open his chest, enough that even viscera and muscle were visible. She could even see his heart still beating, and with each feeble pump more blood gushed from the wound. She knelt beside him, and he grasped her arm with a bloody hand.

“Throné… my dear girl…”

Her bloodstained fingers tightened around the hilt of her dagger, and she drove the blade into his throat, over and over, splattering blood onto herself, until she saw that his heart no longer beat. Father was dead, and she was one step closer to freedom. The stench of blood settled in her lungs like rot.

She stood, and a scream behind her caught her attention. Agnea lay upon the altar, blood flowing freely from the wound on her side. “Agnea!” Throné cried, rushing to her. She was unmoving, much to Throné’s horror, and her skin was deathly pale. Throné touched Agnea’s neck, smearing blood all over her slender throat, but felt no pulse. The truth was clear; Throné was too late. She took a step back and slumped to her knees, and tears rolled down her cheeks as the stench of blood grew stronger.

She reached out a bloody hand toward Agnea’s cold body. The collar around her throat suddenly tightened, and she couldn’t breathe. She fell to the hard ground, choking and thrashing. Her hands flew to her throat, but the collar remained tight, biting into the flesh. Her lips gaped uselessly for air and her chest burned, her lungs begging for any kind of relief. The collar felt stiff as iron now, crushing her throat.

If she managed to tear the collar, the poison inside would burst free and kill her. If she did nothing, however, the collar would soon strangle her to death. Either way, she was dead. She knew that, but could not stop herself from repeatedly clawing at the collar choking her, and it only tightened further. As her vision blurred, she tried one last time to reach for Agnea.

When a bloody darkness overtook her, she finally awoke. She inhaled deeply, that sweet air filling her aching lungs. With a shaking hand she touched her throat, and again felt that damned collar. The Blacksnakes collar killing her was a common enough nightmare, and she’d grown used to it. The sight of Agnea’s bloody corpse, however, unsettled her, but it wasn’t so surprising a fear, she knew. Traveling with the likes of her was dangerous, after all. She shut her eyes tightly, and was glad it was not yet dawn, so that Agnea would not see her tears.

Since telling Agnea of her confrontation with Father, Throné wondered if she had begun unconsciously avoiding Agnea. Days passed and Agnea slowly recovered, and was able to stand and walk with less assistance, and was even able to walk up and down the stairs in the inn once. Or so Castti and Hikari told Throné, as she usually only saw Agnea in the mornings and late at night these days. Most of the time she spent exploring Montwise, searching for clues to Harvey’s whereabouts or ensuring no other Snowhares were stalking her, but those were just excuses, she knew.

“What a huge library,” Partitio said, sweeping his gaze around the Montwise library. “I ain’t ever seen so many books in one place.”

“Montwise does boast the largest collection of books in Solistia,” Osvald replied. He wore a dark scarf to hide the prisoner’s chain around his neck, but Throné thought he still looked suspicious.

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Professor, wouldn’t it be safer for you to wait outside? What if one of your former colleagues recognizes you?”

“As I am now, that is highly unlikely,” Osvald muttered tersely.

“Well, just try not to scare anyone, all right?” Partitio patted Osvald’s shoulder. “We wouldn’t want this Harvey fella to catch wind you’re after him and run away.”

Montwise was an odd town, Throné thought as the three of them explored the library. Here was the pursuit of knowledge, but not far away was the pursuit of violence within the blood-soaked arena, where countless fighters had lost their lives for the entertainment of others. But such was human nature’s two extremes; perhaps Montwise wasn’t much different from the lights and shadows of New Delsta.

The three of them headed toward the academic section, and Partitio greeted everyone they passed with a bright smile while Osvald followed him and Throné, an imposing figure as he observed patrons closely. Osvald had cautioned Partitio against being too obvious about his line of questioning, so Partitio asked about professors of magic in general rather than about Harvey specifically, and Throné occasionally loosened a few lips with a wink and coy smile. However, the library was rather large, and already they had spent a few days just gathering information.

To calm her nerves as she listened to Partitio speak with a woman in scholarly robes, Throné palmed a gold pocket watch from an arrogant patron harrying a librarian. At least gathering information provided a welcomed distraction from worrying about Agnea.

“Thankee kindly,” Partitio said with a tip of his hat. “I never knew the field of magic research was so vast.”

“My pleasure,” the woman replied. “In addition to Professor Harvey, there used to be another scholar who researched the One True Magic, but I can’t remember his name. Vandham, perhaps? Or was it Vanstein…?”

Osvald cleared his throat, and Partitio quickly added, “Well, I won’t keep you any longer now.”

Throné slipped her hand into her pocket and touched the watch she had stolen, and idly wondered what Agnea would think. As they parted ways with the scholar, they headed toward a private corner away from the eyes of others, and one book on the shelves in particular - The Western Dance Compendium - caught Throné’s attention. She smiled; she’d have to remember this section for Agnea.

Partitio let out a deep sigh. “Whew, I think I bluffed my way through that conversation pretty well! The One True Magic is real complicated stuff, ain’t it?”

Osvald merely grunted in reply, and his eyes seemed more hollow than usual. He touched the scarf around his neck, and Throné noted how his hand trembled. He too stared at the titles of the nearby books, and a wistful look filled a little of the emptiness in his gaze.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “For such a respected professor, no one seems to know much about Harvey beyond his research. Does he really have no life outside studying this ‘One True Magic’?”

“He has always been the obsessive type, I will admit,” Osvald said quietly. “But…”

Partitio laid a comforting hand on Osvald’s shoulder, and Throné bit her lip. Once, Osvald and Harvey had been friends. She could scarcely imagine the pain of such a betrayal, never having allowed herself to grow that close to another. Even when Father had told her Scaracci betrayed the Blacksnakes, damned lie that it had been, she had simply felt resignation. “Perhaps we should call it a day,” she said. “If Harvey is lurking about, it’ll be trouble if he recognizes you.”

“She’s right, partner,” Partitio added with a weak smile. “There’s no need to rush.”

Osvald again glanced at the book titles lining the shelves, and then let out a deep sigh of his own. “…It is getting late, I suppose,” he muttered. “Harvey, where are you…?”

The three of them left the library, and on the way out Throné stole a silver quill from yet another pompous scholar arguing with a librarian. How easily she could picture Agnea shaking her head in disapproval and yet smiling in spite of herself. “I could’ve just asked for it, you know,” she would say, and Throné would gift her the item anyway. Once, in Clockbank, Agnea had asked for a magical hairpin and was refused, and hours later Osvald gifted her a hairpin identical to the one she had requested earlier. Of course, the group knew exactly how he had obtained it, but there was no need to say it out loud. Few could deny Agnea, after all, and she herself could be oddly forgiving.

Throné touched the collar at her throat. Agnea truly was a strange one, happily traveling with the likes of Throné and Osvald, but Throné couldn’t refuse her either. Perhaps she didn’t need to worry so much.

However, the memory of blood suddenly struck her, squeezing her lungs, and for a moment she couldn’t breathe. She’d killed someone in front of Agnea, and she could still feel that warm blood on her hands, mingling with Father’s blood. Agnea had nearly died too, her blood burning Throné’s hands. The shadows both mocked and invited her; she could flee into that darkness, and continue her bloody quest alone and not soil Agnea with her bloodstained hands—

“Throné?”

She realized she had stopped, and Partitio watched her worriedly. No, this wasn’t like her. As Pirro’s blood washed over hands, she had made a promise to herself. She couldn’t let his death, or Scaracci’s or Donnie’s, be in vain. “I apologize, I was lost in thought,” she admitted.

“Are you worried about Agnea?” Osvald asked carefully.

Throné let out a dark laugh. “Is it that obvious?”

“Well, we’re all worried about her, ain’t we?” Partitio managed a smile. “And if we don’t hurry back to the inn, she’ll be worryin’ ‘bout us!”

Guilt gnawed at Throné’s chest. A part of her wanted nothing more than to rush back to the inn to see Agnea again, but another part of her hesitated, and she hated that feeling of hesitation. There had to be something that only she could do so that they wouldn’t return empty-handed. Agnea was always the overly helpful type, after all, and Throné wished to honor that. “Actually, I have an idea, Professor,” she said with a smirk.

Osvald eyed Throné closely. “Oh? What is it?”

“I could steal a student’s robes and sneak into Harvey’s lecture. We may not have learned much about him today, but we did hear he’ll be holding a lecture later tonight.”

Partitio frowned, clearly worried. “You sure? I could come with—” He stopped, and shook his head. “No, I ain’t got the right city accent. I’d blow our cover in no time.”

“An academy should be open to all,” Osvald growled.

“That is a very important issue, yes, but Partitio is right, it’s best if I go alone,” Throné said.

“If that is what you wish, I will not stop you.” Osvald sighed. “But Agnea will only worry further about you.”

“I will return as soon as possible.” Throné flashed another smirk. “I’m a thief, after all - I can steal possessions and information and no one will be the wiser.”

“That’s Throné for you.” Partitio chuckled warmly. “Just… be safe, okay?”

“I will, I promise.”

Osvald’s expression softened, almost like a smile. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

Stealing a student’s robes was simple enough, and Throné stole a few textbooks for good measure as well. She listened closely to conversations, learning more about Harvey’s lectures, but little about the man himself. She still didn’t know where he lived, what his family and friends were like, or whether or not he was married and had children. (For Osvald’s sake, she certainly hoped not.) She could almost admire the clear separation between his professional life and his personal life, but it would be easier to confront him in a private residence than a classroom or library.

She wondered if it was right for her to so casually consider another murder so soon after killing Father and that Snowhare man. But knowing what Osvald had endured because of Harvey, she’d no right to stop him either. To love another so strongly to seek revenge - for a moment she thought of Agnea, and her heart began to race. But better her to help Osvald with his revenge than Agnea.

As she entered the lecture hall with a group of other students, she pushed such thoughts from her mind. She sat at the back near the entrance, and greeted other students with a smile as they passed; pretending to be a student was much preferred to a prostitute or beggar. A mousy girl, probably around Agnea’s age, sat beside her and smiled shyly, but otherwise didn’t try to draw her into conversation, and for that she was grateful. She touched the clasp of her robes, and they covered the Blacksnakes collar around her throat.

Once all the students were seated, a red-haired man approached the podium. He was tall, although not as tall as Osvald, and his clothes were fancy and ornate, clearly expensive. He smiled at the class, and his beard was neatly trimmed. Throné sat straighter in her chair; so this was the infamous Harvey. He appeared ordinary, and some may even say handsome, but she knew better than anyone what darkness could hide behind beautiful masks.

“Welcome, my students,” he greeted the class. His voice was clean, almost inviting, but Throné caught a faint patronizing tone, much like Mother or Father, a note she might’ve missed if Osvald hadn’t told her of his true colors.

Her fingers balled into fists. At first, she’d only believed Osvald’s claims of being framed because Agnea did and resolved to keep close to him, lest he try to hurt Agnea or the others. In time, however, she had come to see he lacked the darkness that marked criminals such as herself and her fellow Blacksnakes. But this Harvey - all her instincts screamed he was bad news, and she knew better than to doubt them.

“Today we will continue our lecture on the link between magic and the blood of monsters,” Harvey continued to say as he lay a row of differently-colored soulstones on the podium. “I have also brought various soulstones as a demonstration…”

As Harvey continued to lecture, Throné took careful notes, partly in hopes of learning something useful to aid Osvald and partly to avoid looking suspicious. He spoke at length of monster blood, and that feeling of unease in the pit of her stomach grew stronger. She knew some occupations could not avoid exposure to blood, such as apothecary and hunter, but this man spoke so animatedly about cutting open monsters and collecting their blood. How could someone willingly surround themselves with that stench, even in the name of research and knowledge? Throné had killed her fair share of monsters, but to defend herself and companions, and Ochette helped to ensure the carcasses did not go to waste.

Her quill stilled, leaving an inky blot on her page of notes, and the mousy girl beside her glanced at her worriedly. Again she saw her hands stained with blood, and blood gushing freely from Agnea’s injured side. But Agnea lived, and Throné’s bloody quest continued. She took in a deep breath, and gave the other girl a brief reassuring smile. It was almost nice to be seen as a normal student of magic. Agnea, however, knew the truth about her and still smiled for her, still thought her capable of love.

“Let’s end the lecture here for today,” Harvey said eventually. “I should let you all know that in a few days’ time, if all goes well, I may have to leave the city unexpectedly for an extended sabbatical, so be sure to continue your studies in my absence.”

Now that was valuable information, Throné thought. She quickly gathered her notes and left the classroom with a group of students, being sure to keep an eye on Harvey. If she could tail him, maybe she could get an idea of where he lived. He headed toward the library, and she followed carefully, using other students as camouflage. He smiled and nodded at passing students, but didn’t stop to speak with anyone. The crowds began to thin as he headed down a flight of stairs, giving Throné less cover, but she had stalked prey in riskier situations than this. She spotted him turn a corner into a stack of bookshelves - the geology section, she remembered Osvald telling her earlier, and as she peered around the corner, she no longer saw her target.

“What the…?” she muttered to herself. She glanced around, but only saw books about rocks and minerals. She frowned; it wasn’t like her to lose track of her target so easily. Father would be ashamed.

No, she didn’t care what Father would think now. She hadn’t come here to confront Harvey, only to gather information, and she had gotten some useful information indeed. Time was running out; if Osvald wanted to confront Harvey, he would have to do so soon.

She climbed the stairs to return to the main level, but as she passed another row of bookshelves, movement caught her eye. She peered between the bookshelves, and at the other end were two women in student’s robes. The shorter woman cupped her companion’s face, smiling sweetly, and they drew closer for a tender kiss. Throné tore her gaze away, wanting to give them privacy.

Easily, far more easily than she had any right to, she could imagine kissing Agnea like that, and the softness and warmth of Agnea’s lips. It surprised her that even a snake like her could hope for romance. Father had loved a woman once, and then, hurt by her betrayal, killed her. But Agnea believed she wouldn’t turn out like him.

Before leaving the library, she handed the textbooks she’d stolen to the librarian at the front desk, saying they had been left behind in the classroom. The librarian thanked her with a smile, having no reason to doubt her words. Agnea would think it kind of her to return the textbooks. She left the stolen robe near the entrance as she stepped outside, and touched the collar at her throat. Still she remembered the look of despair and fear on Agnea’s face as she had shared the story of Father and the woman he loved and murdered.

Night had fallen by the time she left the library, and for once it was a clear sky, and the sight of the stars came as a slight relief to her. Sometimes it felt as if night approached too quickly, but the stars made it a bit more bearable. Perhaps one day Agnea would shine brighter than any of them. The thought Throné’s heart feel a little warmer.

However, she began to feel uneasy the closer she came to the inn, and the lamplight cast unusually deep shadows. She almost broke into a run, and as the inn came into sight, she spotted both Castti and Hikari leaving in a hurry.

“Throné!” Castti exclaimed as she and Hikari rushed to Throné. “Have you seen Agnea?”

She felt her heart sink. “Is she not in her room?” she asked, her mouth suddenly dry.

Hikari shook his head. “She wasn’t when Castti and I checked, and the innkeeper said he saw a young woman with long brown hair leave.”

“Damn it,” Throné swore under her breath; what was Agnea thinking? But Agnea was a spirited young lady, dancing as easily and readily as breathing, so it was no surprise she’d grown restless. “I will find her, I promise,” she said, and without waiting for a reply, she bolted in search of Agnea.

Injured as she was, Agnea couldn’t have gotten far, and it was unlikely she had left town. Throné hadn’t seen her on the way back from library, which narrowed things down a little. Throné moved quickly, scanning the faces of all those she passed, and at this time of night, there weren’t many people out and about. Her heart pounded painfully against her ribs, and cold fear prickled at the back of her neck. She could not lose Agnea, not after coming so far.

But what could one as twisted as her do for Agnea? She’d only been able to parrot a lullaby Agnea had sang for her, and only when Agnea had been asleep. She’d been raised without love or comfort, so what right did she have to offer comfort to others? How could Agnea still stand to look at her, still reach out for her?

She soon spotted Agnea past the general store, standing near the small cliff that overlooked the lower level of the town. “Agnea!” she cried out, and immediately regretted how Agnea jolted and touched her injured side.

“Throné?” Agnea said weakly as she turned. She wore a simple dress and shoes, and even in this faint lamplight Throné saw how bloodshot her eyes were. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing!” The words were out of Throné’s mouth before she could think about them. “Don’t you realize how worried everyone is?”

Agnea flinched, and kept her gaze downcast. “I just needed some fresh air, that’s all.”

Throné took a hesitant step closer; it hurt to Agnea so colorless. “I understand you’re feeling restless. You could’ve asked one of us to accompany you.”

“I haven’t danced in days, you know.” Agnea clutched her hands over her chest. “I want to make people smile, but I’ve just been a burden, haven’t I?”

“…Recovery takes time, Agnea. You know that.” Throné touched her own side, where Father had stabbed her in Winterbloom, and she would never forget that pain and humiliation. She hadn’t been able to save that weakened woman either.

“But I…” Agnea bit her lip, and her shoulders trembled. “I want to make you smile too, but you’ve been avoiding me, I think…”

Throné felt as if she’d been struck. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words would form. She couldn’t deny it - she hadn’t been helping Osvald for any selfless reasons. She knew that. Osvald’s hatred for Harvey and his pursuit of revenge were convenient outlets for her own frustration.

“Throné.” Agnea reached out her hand for a moment, and then let it fall to her side. “That night, why did you tell me about that man and your birth mother?”

“Because…” Throné hesitated, and she could no longer meet Agnea’s honest gaze. There was still warmth in those bloodshot eyes, and it was both a relief to see and too much to bear. “Because I wanted to. That’s all.”

“I was relieved when you returned from that abandoned church,” Agnea said, her voice barely more than a whisper. “I was so, so scared you’d be killed, and all I could do was wait.”

“You sang for me. And then I killed Father, the man who raised me.”

“And then you saved me. It hurt, it hurt so much, but thanks to you and everyone else, I’m still alive.”

“That man was only targeting me. If I hadn’t let down my guard…” Throné shook her head, unable to forget that stench of blood. “And I killed him too, right in front of you.”

Agnea was silent a moment longer, and her eyes watered, tears glistening in the starlight. “When I close my eyes, I still see all that blood. I was so worried you wouldn’t come back…” She choked back a sob, tears rolling down her cheeks. “I… I don’t want to lose you…”

“Agnea…?” was all Throné could say. When was the last time someone shed tears for her? She couldn’t remember. Agnea, cheerful and radiant, naïve and clumsy, cried now for her, and her chest tightened.

“Stay with me, please!” Agnea exclaimed as she threw her arms around Throné and buried her face in Throné’s shoulder. “I’ll make you smile, I promise…! Throné, please… please just stay with me…”

Carefully Throné laid her hand on Agnea’s hair, and felt how Agnea’s body trembled against hers. She’d seen how Agnea looked her, with both awe and desire, and smiled at her as if she truly were worthy of hope. Sometimes she was selfish enough to want to claim the treasure that was Agnea’s heart. She was a thief, a snake always trying to steal warmth and hiding away in the shadows, but even she had begun to dare to hope.

Again she tried to speak, but no words would come. She brushed her lips against Agnea’s hair, and let Agnea cry for a little bit longer.

Chapter Text

Agnea was exhausted beyond imagination when she and Throné returned to the inn. Unsurprisingly, Castti and Temenos lectured her about leaving alone without telling anyone, until Hikari intervened and said she needed to rest. Fortunately, her wound hadn’t reopened, and Castti did admit she was recovering well enough that likely they would be able to leave Montwise within the next day or two.

Just as dawn was approaching, Agnea awoke from restless dreams, and Throné still slept beside her. When they stayed at inns, Agnea and Throné usually shared a bed while Castti and Ochette shared the other. At first, Throné had kept to the edge of the bed as much as possible while Agnea had worried about disturbing Throné by moving too much in her sleep, but gradually they had grown used to each other’s presence, and no longer did Throné sleep facing away from Agnea.

Her eyes fell upon the dark collar around Throné’s neck, and heat crept to her cheeks. She’d been too careless and reckless last night, and the hurt and worry on Throné’s face was still too clear in her mind. As a thief raised among the cruel Blacksnakes, Throné had suffered countless injuries and Agnea had seen some of those scars with her own eyes, but she was stabbed once and acted like a needy child. That wasn’t fair to Throné, she knew. She touched her injured side, and it didn’t hurt as much.

Beside her Throné stirred but did not yet wake. Agnea’s eyes trailed downward, and she could not help but notice how tightly the fabric of Throné’s nightgown clung to her large breasts. Throné was beautiful and elegant, strong and brave, the kind of sophisticated city woman Agnea wanted to be. But more than that, she wanted to see how Throné’s neck would look without that horrid collar. Knowing how complicated Throné’s feelings toward the ones she called “Father” and “Mother” were, Agnea would never say this out loud, but she hated them for binding Throné so cruelly to them.

Almost without thinking she drew closer to Throné, feeling Throné’s gentle warmth wash over her. At the end of that journey for freedom, no matter how stained in blood Throné’s hands were, Agnea wanted to greet her with a smile. Maybe she was still just a foolish, ignorant girl from a backwater village with a fake city accent, but she could at least do that much for Throné. To bring hope and smiles to those around her was why she was a dancer like her mother, after all. She raised her gaze, and imagined a smile on Throné’s beautiful lips.

The following morning, the eight of them shared breakfast in the same room. Throné sat beside Agnea on the edge of the bed, and although Agnea longed to close the gap between them, she tried to content herself with just being near Throné like this. She’d pushed her luck too far last night, clinging to Throné so desperately. She glanced at Throné out of the corner of her eye, and Throné smiled gently at her, and her cheeks grew warm.

As they ate, Throné shared what she had learned from Harvey’s lecture. “He said he may be leaving unexpectedly in the next few days,” she finished.

“So we don’t have much time left,” Temenos rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “But isn’t it unusual for a professor to take time off so suddenly, barring a medical or family emergency? Especially as he did not provide an exact date.”

“Osvald, when you confronted that corrupt captain in Conning Creek and he told you of Harvey’s whereabouts, you worried it may be a trap, right?” Castti asked.

“That’s correct,” Osvald replied with a nod. “I cannot imagine Harvey would’ve allowed Stenvar to live otherwise. However, that raises further questions - it is as if he expected me to escape Frigit Isle in pursuit of him.”

Hikari frowned. “Do you believe he knows you are here in Montwise?”

“I… cannot say. I am presumed deceased following my escape from Frigit Isle, after all.”

Agnea felt her chest tighten at those words. What did Osvald intend after he obtained his revenge? She realized she had never asked, too afraid of the answer.

Beside him Partitio laid a hand on Osvald’s arm. “What do you wanna do now?”

Osvald inhaled deeply. “Trap or not, I still intend to pursue Harvey.” He glanced at Agnea, his stone face betraying a hint of worry. “How are you feeling…?”

“I’m feeling a lot better.” Agnea tried to smile. “As Throné and Temenos said, you might not have any time left to wait.”

“I’ll come with you, Pops!” Ochette exclaimed and Mahina hooted in agreement. “Someone needs to keep you safe.”

“Same here, partner!” Partitio added as he flung his arm around Osvald’s shoulders.

Much to Agnea’s surprise, a faint blush came upon Osvald’s face. “Are you certain? Harvey’s magic is as powerful as mine. It will be dangerous.”

“I will accompany you as well, to treat any injuries,” Castti said. “What about the rest of you?”

“I shall remain here to keep an eye on our restless lamb,” Temenos said, casting a pointed smirk in Agnea’s direction while Throné and Hikari nodded in agreement, much to her chagrin.

“I suppose I did promise I would not go alone,” Osvald muttered with the slightest of smiles. “Thank you all, truly.”

“Please be safe, all of you,” Agnea said, and she hoped she managed to keep the fear and worry out of her voice.

The group soon finished breakfast, and Partitio and Ochette both gave Agnea a hug before leaving with Osvald and Castti. It was a strange feeling, she thought, seeing them off with a smile as they left to pursue revenge, a pursuit more likely than not to leave Harvey dead. But Osvald wasn’t alone, and when the four of them returned, Agnea planned to welcome them back with a smile too.

Throné touched Agnea’s shoulder. “Would you like me to help you change out of your nightgown?” she asked carefully.

Agnea nodded, hoping her blush wasn’t too obvious. “I’d like to wear my mother’s dress today.”

Hikari and Temenos left the room to give them privacy, and once alone together, Throné helped remove Agnea’s nightgown. Truth be told, Agnea was recovered enough to dress herself without pain or assistance, but she saw no reason to refuse Throné’s offer of help. Bandages still circled her midsection, and when they were changed, she still couldn’t bring herself to look at the wound itself, of the scar it would likely leave behind.

As Agnea stood nearly nude before her, Throné pressed a gentle hand to the bandages. “Does it still hurt?” she asked, her voice a low whisper.

“No, not really,” Agnea replied, equally quiet, and heat began to gather in the pit of her belly.

“That’s good to hear.” A faint smile graced Throné’s lips. “I’d like to see you dance again soon.”

The gentleness of Throné’s hands was matched only by the heat deep within Agnea. As Throné helped her put on a slip, her fingers brushed against Agnea’s bare skin with the lightest of touches, and yet where she touched felt as if on fire. Throné was close, too close, and the scent of her floral perfume - a rare indulgence, she once told Agnea - washed over Agnea, and Agnea had never noticed how long and thick her eyelashes were before.

Swallowing dryly, she guided Throné’s hands on how to fasten her layered orange skirt around her waist, and she had missed this weight like a gentle embrace around her thighs and hips. Almost on instinct, she crossed her arms over her breasts barely covered by her slip as Throné finished the final clasp of her skirt. They had bathed nude together during their travels, with Ochette and Castti too, but half-dressed like this, she’d never felt so vulnerable in front of Throné, and she found she didn’t dislike it.

She knew how people sometimes looked at her when she danced, gazes full of lust and longing. With Throné, she hoped to see such longing in that stormy gaze.

The two of them remained silent as Throné now helped Agnea’s arms through the thin white straps of her corset-styled bodice, and pressed the front of it to her chest. It was tight, of course, and every curve of the firm material felt familiar against her body. Throné fastened the back of it and began to carefully lace it tightly, and the brush of her fingertips against exposed skin sent shivers down Agnea’s spine. Throné was methodical in ensuring the laces were tied properly, almost teasingly and agonizingly so, and that heat coiling within Agnea threated to burst free. She could spend an eternity like this, with Throné’s attention focused solely on her.

“Now, for the final touch,” Throné said as she took a step back. She retrieved the teal shawl from Agnea’s belongings and bent to tie it around Agnea’s hips, and her knuckles brushed against the curve of Agnea’s thigh. Agnea took in a deep breath in hopes of calming herself, and still she could hear the beating of her heart.

When Throné finished, Agnea did a brief, slow twirl, and delighted in the familiar feeling of how her skirt ruffled. Nothing quite fit her the way her mother’s beloved dress did. She had worn this dress while dancing upon the stage of Gil’s tavern, and upon Tropu’hopu’s floating stage as Giselle’s Traveling Troupe watched. With this dress, someday she would even dance at the Grand Gala to her “Song of Hope,” and perhaps Throné would be in the audience watching her as well.

“You look beautiful, Agnea,” Throné said, and again a small smile crossed her lovely lips.

“Why, thank you!” Agnea exclaimed, her face warm. When Throné smiled at her like that, faint as it was, she could almost forget all that had happened these past few days.

The smile vanished from Throné’s lips, and gently she touched Agnea’s face. Neither spoke, and Agnea remained still as Throné caressed her cheek with a hand both warm and calloused. Throné watched her closely, dark eyes revealing nothing, and Agnea’s throat went dry. Throné was a thief, an assassin, and she could steal Agnea’s life in the blink of an eye. She had said so as much when first they met. Maybe Agnea should’ve been frightened of Throné. She touched Throné’s hand and guided it to her throat, and those elegant, deadly fingers curled around her neck, but not squeezing. Perhaps Throné could even feel how her pulse raced.

A knock at the door caught their attention, and Throné went to the door, allowing Hikari and Temenos back into the room. For a while, the four of them spoke of small, insignificant things to keep from worrying about Osvald and the others. When they finally left this town, they would return to the western continent and head to Wellgrove, Crackridge, Sai, and beyond. Before her mother had passed away, although they had traveled all around the Leaflands, Harborlands, and Wildlands, they had rarely ventured south into Hinoeuma because of all the political strife. Before meeting Giselle, Agnea hadn’t even known her mother had ever traveled to those desert lands, and thus she hoped to learn more of her mother in Sai.

Agnea’s mind began to wander as the others continued to converse, and stole glances at the closed door. It hadn’t been that long since Osvald and the others left to pursue Harvey, she told herself, so it was foolish to expect them back so soon. Yet that did nothing to ease her worries.

“What’s wrong, Agnea?” Hikari asked gently.

She nearly jumped out of her skin. “O-Oh, um…” she stammered, and then sighed. “Waiting can be difficult, huh…?”

“Feeling restless, are we?” Temenos said in a teasing tone. “But I will admit I feel much the same.”

“If you’re feeling up to it, perhaps some fresh air might do you good?” Throné said, laying a hand on Agnea’s shoulder.

Agnea touched her side, but felt only the faintest of aches. “Yes, I’d love to!”

“Well, if Throné goes with you, then I have no objections,” Hikari said.

Temenos smirked. “Yes, I suppose we can trust Throné to watch over our restless lamb.”

Agnea could not help but groan; she was never going to live that down, was she? But the eight of them were reckless in their own ways, so she couldn’t blame them for worrying so much.

They left the inn together, with Hikari heading for the fighting arena to check on Zeto and the others while Temenos planned to replenish their traveling provisions, and thus soon enough Agnea was alone with Throné. She fidgeted; there was still much they had to discuss, but she had no idea where to begin, and thus remained silent. Much to surprise, however, Throné took her hand into hers.

“It’s a pleasant day, isn’t it?” Throné said, a faint tremble to her voice. “Walking around gently will help you rebuild strength.”

“R-Right, of course!” Agnea replied with an awkward smile. It was rare for Throné to be so affectionate, but there was hesitation in that affection, Agnea could not help but notice. Was Throné still bothered by Agnea’s tearful plea from last night? If so, Agnea felt guilty about it, but she’d meant what she said. No matter what blood was shed or nightmares suffered, she wanted to stay with Throné.

They shared few words as they walked the town streets together, and Agnea let her fingers lace with Throné’s, squeezing gently. Unexpectedly, her heart felt lighter than it had these past few days. When her mother had passed away, she thought she’d never be happy again. Yet the sun kept rising, and little by little she learned to smile again. Sometimes it hurt to dance, especially when seeing the grief on her father’s face, and other times she remembered her mother more easily when dancing. A new dawn always came, whether one was ready or not. Her father had told her and Pala that, not so long after their mother’s passing.

She glanced at Throné out of the corner of her eye, just as Throné glanced down at her, and her cheeks grew warm. A shadow still lingered, but the scent of blood didn’t seem so strong now.

Eventually they came to the other end of Montwise, where the river marked the boundary of town. A stone bridge lay ahead of them, and farther beyond was that abandoned church where Throné had confronted Father, and on this bridge Throné had taken a life to save Agnea’s. Throné took her hand from Agnea’s and stepped closer to the bridge, and she touched the collar at her throat. “We haven’t really discussed that night, have we?” she said after a moment’s pause.

“No, we haven’t,” Agnea whispered, and she was relieved there were no other townspeople around. “But we should.”

Throné turned to face Agnea, her gaze hard as steel. “Were you frightened when I killed that man?”

“Yes,” Agnea answered honestly, and willed herself to meet Throné’s gaze. She laid her hand over her chest, feeling the beat of her heart.

“I don’t regret it, you know. I don’t regret killing him or Father. But….”

“But what, Throné?”

Throné was quiet another moment longer, and then sighed deeply. “But I regret you were hurt. That man was only after me. In shielding me, you could’ve been killed.”

Agnea felt a phantom pain in her side briefly, and saw all that blood again. “But you saved me. All of you did.”

“But it shouldn’t have happened in the first place.” Throné stared down at her hands, and the resolve in her gaze wavered. “You saw how I murdered that man. You saw all that blood. That’s the kind of woman I am. Can you truly say you still want to be with me?”

“Yes,” Agnea answered without hesitation.

Throné’s eyes went wide, and both hope and fear warred across her face. Again she touched that poisoned collar, and anyone but Agnea might’ve missed the faint quiver of her fingers. “I’m rather selfish too. I’m a thief - I take what I want.”

Agnea took a step closer. “I don’t think it’s selfish to hope for freedom.”

“You know that isn’t the only thing I mean,” Throné scoffed, but not maliciously. “Tell me, what is it that you want?”

“It’s as I said earlier - I want to be with you and help you smile.”

Another heartbeat passed between them, and Throné laughed, a low, dark laugh, but not unkind. A familiar smirk came upon her lips, and she fixed Agnea with a challenging gaze. “You’re an overly idealistic girl, aren’t you? Even after being stabbed and almost dying.”

“I won’t lie, I’m still a little scared. The way that man attacked us, and… and you killing him…” Agnea hesitated, and remembered what Hikari and Temenos had told her a few nights ago. “But I was relieved too that you weren’t hurt. If you’re selfish, then so am I. I want to trust you, Throné, and if you think you need forgiveness, I’ll give that to you too.”

Again Throné chuckled, and she pressed her hand to Agnea’s cheek. “I’ll have to kill again to obtain the second key. Someone else might come after us, like another Snowhare or a fellow Blacksnake. If they get in my way, I won’t hesitate. It’ll be dangerous.”

Agnea cradled Throné’s hand against her cheek. “If I was afraid of danger, I never would’ve met you.”

“I’ve never met anyone more stubborn.” Throné sighed again, but her smile remained true. “Have I truly stolen your heart?”

“Well, you are a thief, aren’t you?”

“Then I suppose you won’t mind if I steal a little more, will you…?”

Before Agnea could reply, Throné’s lips were on hers. She’d dreamed of this moment, fantasized in the darkest hours of the night. She wrapped her arms around Throné’s back to deepen the kiss, delighting in the warmth of Throné’s soft lips on hers. Against her chest she felt Throné’s racing heart; she couldn’t forget those who had died, those whose blood had been shed, but still she and Throné lived, and that had to count for something.

Throné drew Agnea into her arms, and threaded her fingers through Agnea’s hair. “The stench of blood corrupts, settling in your lungs like rot,” she said quietly. “And I’m afraid of dragging you down into that filthy darkness with me. But Father and Mother raised me to be a thief, so if there’s something I want, I’ll take it.”

“Like freedom?”

“Yes.” Throné released Agnea and gripped her shoulders. “And hope, even for one like me.”

Agnea carefully touched the collar around Throné’s neck, drawing her fingers along the dark material. For as lowly as Throné thought of herself, Agnea had never met anyone who strived more strongly for hope. “I love you, Throné,” she said, lifting her gaze to meet Throné’s. “All of you, both your light and your darkness.”

Throné’s eyes began to water, and again she bent to kiss Agnea. Wanting to savor the taste of Throné’s lips, Agnea wrapped her arms tightly around Throné, and Throné’s body felt so very right against hers. She’d always liked that Throné was a little bit taller than her.

When they broke the kiss, Agnea rested her forehead against Throné’s shoulder. “I’m still a little sad too about losing that new dress, though,” she said softly.

Throné chuckled quietly as she laid her hand on Agnea’s hair. “When we reach Wellgrove, I’ll get you a new dress. I hear the dancer’s guild has only the best.”

Agnea grinned. “I can’t wait!”

A somber air lingered over the eight of them the first night they slept outside Montwise. Alone, Osvald might’ve headed to the New Delsta anchorage without rest, and he spoke little to the others. A fire crackled, and the rest of them said little as well. Agnea rested her head against Throné’s shoulder, and she shut her eyes tightly, feeling the sting of tears. When Osvald and the others had returned to the inn, she’d been frightened by the grief and anguish in his expression and the sight of his bloody and split knuckles; his daughter was alive, but had looked upon him as a stranger, believing that cruel Harvey to be her real father. Agnea could scarcely imagine such trauma.

The mood remained heavy as the group made their way to the anchorage where the Grand Terry was docked, and upon boarding, Agnea noted that Partitio often kept close to Osvald, and Osvald seemed to find comfort in his company. Castti still regularly checked her wounded side, concerned about the burden of traveling so quickly, but there was no pain, and the group was making better time than expected. The group set sail for the Crackridge anchorage, hoping to reach Gravell soon and save Elena from Harvey’s twisted experiments.

When night fell after their first day at sea, Agnea and Throné stood together at the railing of the Grand Terry as Agnea held Throné’s arm tightly. The seas were calm, gently reflecting the stars dotting the night sky. Agnea shivered, and Throné laid her free hand on her hair. “How are you feeling?” Throné asked, breaking the silence.

Agnea let out a heavy sigh. “I… just don’t understand. How can Harvey hurt Osvald so much…?”

“Such cruelty isn’t so uncommon, unfortunately.” Yet Throné smiled weakly. “Though, I meant your injury. Is there pain? Did we push you too hard?”

“Oh, no, not at all!” Agnea replied quickly. “Castti’s medicine and Temenos’ healing helped a lot. And besides, it’s nowhere as bad as what the rest of you have been through.”

Throné frowned. “Don’t belittle your own pain like that. You almost died.”

“But we need to save Elena quickly, so I can’t be a burden!”

“And you’ll never be a burden. You’re kind, Agnea, always thinking of others, but you should think about yourself too sometimes.”

“You’re kind too,” Agnea said firmly.

“Am I?” Throné rested her head against Agnea’s. “Growing up in the Blacksnakes, I’ve dealt with men like Harvey, even killing them when I was ordered to. I’ve seen how rotten this world can be. Living in the shadows, stealing and cleaning, that was my world. I couldn’t imagine anything else.”

“Then what made you want to be free of all that?”

Throné smiled grimly. “Do you truly wish to know?”

Agnea was quiet a moment. Throné had shared with her the truth of Father and her birth mother, trusting her with such a tragic tale. Painful as it was, she wanted to better understand Throné. “Yes,” she answered at last.

“In the Blacksnakes, I had three people I could consider friends - Pirro, Scaracci, and Donnie. During a mission, things went wrong and Donnie was killed.” Throné paused a moment, and Agnea saw how her jaw trembled. “Later, Father told me Scaracci had betrayed us to our target and that my next mission was to eliminate them both. So I infiltrated the target’s manor, and found both him and Scaracci already dead. Pirro had killed them.”

Agnea remained silent, waiting patiently for Throné to continue.

Throné touched the collar at her throat. “Pirro figured out the truth - there was no traitor. Father had told him I was traitor, and for Scaracci, it was Pirro. Father and Mother wanted us to kill each other and appoint the survivor heir to the Blacksnakes. Pirro wanted to take over the Blacksnakes and reform them, and… we fought, and I killed him.”

“Oh, Throné…”

“It’s strange, isn’t it? When you’ve nothing left to lose, you either learn to grasp whatever hope you can, or let yourself fall into darkness. I lived because someone else died.” Throné let out a low, mirthless laugh. “You know how bloody my hands are, but I can’t stop now. I don’t care how rotten this world is - I just want to be free.”

Agnea pressed her hand to Throné’s cheek and felt strands of dark hair against her fingertips. “I’ll do whatever I can to help you, I promise.”

“I was always jealous whenever you spoke of Cropdale and your family,” Throné said, slipping her hand beneath Agnea’s chin. “You had the peaceful, beautiful life I could hardly dream of.” With her other hand she touched Agnea’s side, and barely a scar remained beneath the dress. “And you almost lost it all. It’s true I’ve had a harder life than you, but that doesn’t mean your suffering matters less. I… don’t want to lose you either.”

“I’m still a little scared,” Agnea whispered, hoping to hide the tremble in her voice. “I’m scared of being hurt again, of Harvey, of losing you, but if I run away, I won’t be able to make anyone smile.”

“That’s what you told Giselle in Tropu’hopu, isn’t it? And what a magnificent performance that was.”

“Eheh, you remember that, huh? I know I’m not strong like you or smart like Osvald, but if my dancing can make someone smile…!”

“You’re certainly brave enough, traveling with the likes of us.” Throné pressed her arm to Agnea’s back, pulling her close. “But sometimes let us help you smile too, all right?”

Agnea took Throné’s free hand into hers and let their fingers lace as her other arm came around Throné’s waist. Being so close to Throné under the starlight like this, she was afraid her heart would burst out of her chest. Maybe Throné could even hear how her heart raced, but she didn’t mind. “We’ll save Elena, and we’ll get the second key for your collar,” she said softly, her eyes falling upon Throné’s bright lips. “We’ll keep traveling, as far as we can, and make our dreams come true.”

“You’ll be the brightest star, I just know it.” Throné’s voice was equally quiet. “I’ll protect you and your dreams, I promise.”

Agnea could only smile, and pressed her lips to Throné’s for a kiss. For those she loved, she would shine brightly and ward away the darkness.