The War Chronicles of a Little Demon (Youjo Senki alt)

[Sunshine Temple]

The War Chronicles of a Little Demon

Set in the Diyu Demons verse
A Saga of Tanya the Evil fic.
By Sunshine Temple

Naturally, I do not own Youjo Senki. So here's the disclaimer:

Saga of Tanya the Evil its characters and settings belong Carlo Zen, Shinobu Shinotsuki, and NUT Co., Ltd.

Previous chapters and other works can be found at my fanfiction website.
http://www.fukufics.com/fic/

C&C as always is wanted.

Chapter 29: Recall; Recuperate

I was no countess. I had not been born on the moon of Lantia or even on Diyu proper. Not one of Prefect DiamondDust's "Vs", I was the odd Flight Leader out in Third Squadron.

Immigrants were hardly uncommon to the Great Houses; all had varying mechanisms of naturalization and assimilation. Technicality myself, my sister, and our friends were refugees. We had fled one war-torn world as teens... only to end up in one that was merely a simmering powder keg. Via deliberate machinations and desperate betrayal, we had washed up on the shores of Diyu, and like the eagerly piping shorebirds, the natives had squabbled over us until the most aggressive had claimed us as her prize. The end result of further bargains and compacts was an oath of fealty sworn to the Imperatrix.

It could have been far worse.

I pulled some of my black hair behind my horns as I walked Volantes Centurion Lady Adriana Melisande out of the Tarantula Hawk's medical wing. Her boots made dull thuds on the deck that contrasted with the ringing of my hooves against the brushed steel.

Normally, I had little difficulty accepting my new appendages. Hooves were not the biggest change I had undergone as I grew into a young woman, not by far, but in moments like this, it was just another reminder of how far we had gone from what we had once been.

Melisande's arm was wrapped up and put in a sling, which did little to hide the stump. The ash-blonde woman gave me a wan smile, her fangs protruding just slightly between her lips. "We knew it was a risk, Lu... Lucia. You've brought us through worse."

Despite her brave words, her tone was distant, and her tail hung limp.

With Flight Three at seventy-five percent casualties, I did not feel like some great leader returning home to glory. Nearly everyone from our Demi-Wing was back aboard the Tarantula Hawk, but the casualty list was still mounting.

"You're being too hard on yourself, Lulu."

"I am not," I stated, trying to keep my voice down in the ringing hallway of the ship.

Melisande eyed me, entirely unimpressed. "I know you too well to believe that tone of voice. I know when you're about to go full drama queen. At least Charity's is going to get better." Melisande tried, she truly did, but her compassionate words still sounded hollow. She cared for Charity, but IronTalon Cardino had been her mate.

We had already met with Charity as she and the other pilots wounded in the first phase had been transferred over to the Tarantula Hawk. Our Assault Carrier had the best medical facilities in the flotilla, not counting the DarkStar.

Speaking of that ship and its appearance, I could appreciate the theatrics of an appropriately dramatic entrance.

Especially one as well timed as the DarkStar's had been.

Already, extra medicos and surgical staff had been sent over from the DarkStar, while the battlecruiser and her heavy escort relieved our RP by lending their own Combat Air Patrol.

"Charity has dealt with a lot of our nonsense." I said, trying to smile, even though I knew the futility of the gesture. Faking reassurance was difficult to do with someone who'd known you for years. Even before becoming an empath, she could have likely read me like a book.

"That's why an experienced pilot is assigned to a younger Flight," Melisande pointed out wryly as she idly rubbed her bandaged stump. I avoided staring; she was doing her best to steer the conversation away from her own injury.

"It is standard practice," I agreed. "Even Prefect DiamondDust had been assigned Signifier GreyDawn to give the young Countess a quiet word before she had the pleasure of our company, or so I hear."

"IronTalon always did like Charity's cooking," Melisande's laugh was bittersweet.

"She made everyone feel welcome," Charity did not have our... shared past, but she did care for us.

Melisande gave a wan smile.

"I know." I was quiet for a moment, grappling with what to say. Words alone felt too hollow, yet I felt I had to say something, so I gave Melisande an emotional pulse. "We'll all miss her."

"Yeah…" Melisande drawled, then pulled herself up enough to nod to me, pushing a smile onto her face. It looked somewhat wistful, hanging there, like a lonely condemned on a gibbet, her tail languidly squished behind her. "She really was trying too hard when she picked that name, you know. It must have been all that unsuppressable jealousy that you had the largest tail."

I coughed and replied, "Well.. she wanted to fit in."

A smile did creep up onto my lips, though. Melisande always was good at that sort of thing.

"She doesn't need to prove she's a badass – she literally pilots a suit of combat armor. Well…" the blonde sighed, "she did. It's like it was her motorcycle all over again..."

"She always liked those," I agreed, trying to be supportive. Due to my upbringing, empathy did not come easily to me. No... expressing empathy was the difficult part. When looking too soft could be a fatal mistake, when revealing your weaknesses could lead to lethal consequences, it was only natural to wear a mask at all times. Unlearning that reflex took far more effort than something as paltry as getting used to hooves.

"It was something she kept from... before," Melisande sighed. "She knew the risks, but... I wish... If only I could just speak to her again." Almost frustrated, the blonde woman looked at me as if she irrationally expected me to somehow prove capable of facilitating the impossible one last time.

I tried giving another emotional pulse. I knew what Melisande was talking about, really talking about, not just the wish that all bereaved held in common. Like all of us, IronTalon Cardino had written a Last Letter. It was in my possession, and I would hand it over. Not now, but soon.

My horns tingled as we approached the hatch and stepped into the Tarantula Hawk's aft hangar.

Not all of us could be pilots. It may be selfish, but I thanked DarkStar that my little sister, despite her protests, did not have the necessary affinity with air spirits. Still, our bargain came at a price, and she served Imperatrix too, in her own way. At least she was doing quiet, safe archival research far from any battlefield. And she had Milly's awkward friend to keep her company, a bright young girl who, I admit, had taken to BlackSkyvian culture as if she were a native.

That just left our other friend; she was a physical therapist now and mostly spent her days helping wounded Legion, Fleet, and Auxilia recover. The latter group got the bulk of her attention, but Charity, or even Milly could have used SilverFlechette's help in recovering from their wounds and retraining the use of their limbs.

"I know, I know… I think that's part of why she kept that hobby," Melisande rubbed her shoulders with her remaining hand. "And now… here we are."

"The mission wasn't a total disaster," I admitted, trying to find meaning in the meaningless. Even the fleetingly transient meaning of victory is never enough to wholly justify the cost. "Even if it took a last minute save… A miracle, if you will."

"The DarkStar showing up like that… can you imagine the odds?" Melisande asked, her tail flicking. "The Countess must be blessed," she said in a far too sincere tone, "since the Man of Miracles certainly isn't here."

"Milly...." I hissed. The Squadron we had been assigned to did have a reputation. To her credit, the Countess largely rejected such hagiography, not that the rejection seemed to particularly help.

Her vivacious expression slipped. "I'm... I'm not jealous." Her eyes went across the hangar where my fellow Flight Leaders waited. Even at this distance, I could feel the prickly anxiety flowing off the baroness in waves while Primus Victorious Shadow stood with contented certainty.

"It's okay to be angry. If the DarkStar had arrived earlier..." Spotting a certain haughty green-haired Fleet Pilot, I narrowed my eyes as my tail stiffened.

Melisande tilted her head. "How much earlier?"

Pulling my eyes away from the demoness, who I would have time for later, I rubbed my chin as we proceeded inboards toward a spot in the centerline forward area of the hangar, mostly used for storing cargo and waiting crew. A medical team was already there with a couple gurneys, idling about in the clear certainty that more work would soon present itself. Talking with a pair of weary Ritualista, the trio of medicos were all limp tails and wings drooping over their shoulders as they passed a canteen about and sat by their freshly restocked medical bags.

"They couldn't have been with us from the start," I conceded, not without a hint of frustration escaping to color my voice. I could see that there were many reasons to keep the DarkStar in reserve. Perhaps I was a bit too wedded to the idea of keeping secrets for better dramatics.

The blonde laughed. "The DarkStar's a battlecruiser; it isn't exactly subtle."

"And trying to Veil it like the Tarantula Hawk would have likely been an exercise in wasting as much funding as possible. It would have been impossible to get as close to the Institute as we did with her. Besides, if we had steamed in with a battlecruiser from the start, then Elena could have just as easily called in a much larger fleet to respond."

All very good reasons for the greater ship not to be there when it could have counted the most.

Would such reasons be enough to appease the dead?

"Fair, not at the start." Melisande nodded. "But what about later? We could really have used the, y'know, near-bottomless fire support. Plus her escorts, with a few more RP Squadrons, really could have helped out with the heavy lifting."

"True. I would have brought the DarkStar into action right after Elena launched that second air strike, or maybe earlier, had the decision been left up to me" I said as we walked up to our Squadron mates.

As Melisande waved, I bowed my horns to them.

"Talking about the DarkStar?" Primus Centurion Baroness VioletBlood said, her green eyes appraising us. It was not a guess. Shockingly, the aristoi had somehow found the time to get her hair styled back into her customary curls. Maybe her Zephyr helped – that sounded like the kind of thing she'd train her air spirits to do. The aggressive redheaded pilot eyed me, as if she could hear my speculation and was unimpressed by my prying. "Summoning her was quite the trick for CSR."

"You do not think it was the Hallowed Lady's intervention?" Prefect Crystal Candida asked, her carefully neutral tone not quite careful enough to mask the mocking lilt lurking just below the skin-thin mask.

I narrowed my eyes at the green-haired Fleet Pilot. She, too, had found the time to clean up, this time changing into her Fleet Whites. The brace and bandages around her neck only highlighted how her somehow excessively poised level of spit-polished perfection. DarkStar's blood! We had just gotten recalled back to the Tarantula Hawk. Even the baroness was still wearing her flight suit.

How the hell did the witch manage that little trick?

"Fleet deployment is the domain of the Brass-Horns," Primus Shadow shrugged, Candida's little joke seemingly lost on her. "But instead of landing right on the HFV Tamora's beacon, the DarkStar appeared... about a hundred miles to the north-west, right over the Countess's VTOL."

"My, my, how… fortuitous," VioletBlood smirked as if she could claim her betrothed's reputation by proxy.

I kept my smile firmly nailed in place, my thoughts held close to my… ugh, to my breasts. In a way besides the obvious, the entire situation was quite impressive: The Countess had set foot on the airship, and already the rumors were circulating frantically as if sped along by helpful Zephyr. We all had heard her final transmission before ejecting, broadcast as it had been over an open channel. Now, the battlecruiser bearing the name of the Martyred Lady appears, seemingly to save her. It would take only the most trivial effort for the Countess to weave all of those larger than life elements into her rapidly growing legend.

It's what I would have done.

Melisande's tail flicked as she looked between the other two Flight Leaders, both of whom practically radiated joy, each in their own way. They had reason to be happy, of course, and that reason would soon arrive aboard the incoming Spatha VTOL. Victorious nodded to me, took my subordinate's hand, and went over to the side for a quiet word.

Seemingly affronted at the familiarity implied by such casual contact, Crystal Candida sniffed and turned her back to us. Despite her stiff-necked dismissal, justifiable as it was right now, I could feel her brittle pain: For all of her masks and the walls she had built to keep people away, a living heart still beat within the witch. Besides, both our Flights had suffered similar losses. One KIA and one pilot gravely injured, hers being on the Spatha. The only difference being that I was not in bandages while I knew her second was still too injured to be ambulatory.

Four VTOLs tied down to the deck left the hangar comfortably full. And with the DarkStar and her escorts sheltering us behind her Combat Air Patrol, almost all of our Ritual Plate were onboard. Soon, we would make our exit from Harp's World under the protective watch of the battlecruiser.

Home beckoned from the far-distant end of the Dimensional Spine.

My eyes went to the hangar's aft gates. Soon, all of our pilots would be back. All those intact enough to be recovered, at least.

"I am sorry," VioletBlood stated, customary bombast absent, her eyes darting over to Victorious who was still having a comforting word with Melisande.

I bowed my horns to her. "It happens."

GreyDawn nodded from the far side of the baroness. "And a tragedy that it does," the tall Signifier added, her eyes thick with memory.

Octavia from Flight One and one of the Baroness's green-horns appeared behind the senior Legion Flier. For the rookie's part, she seemed subdued; a far cry from the haughty pink-haired senator's daughter who had launched from the ship last night.

Now, the Baroness's eyes gleamed, grief for the fallen giving way to anticipation for the quick. "It was close tonight, but our Countess made it back to us."

"You did well for your first mission as Flight Leader," I offered out of the spirit that someone should say something to mark the occasion, and with Melisande too occupied to handle the social chitchat, the task fell to me.

There would be, I considered, many such reshuffled tasks, great and small…

For a moment, as Melisande and Victorious made their way back over to us, I could almost hear laughter, so familiar from illicit runs to and from underground gambling halls and so often shared during the halcyon days of another world's life.

"My condolences on your loss," Octavia said as the pair joined us, the gold band around her finger idly spinning as she channeled nervous energy, the meaningless words on her tongue.

Tail curled, Melisande nodded as she tapped a gold locket hanging from a silver necklace. "It's... part of the life."

Carrying on and keeping on, as best as one could.

GreyDawn gave her a sympathetic look.

VioletBlood looked to the senator's daughter, seeming to notice her presence only now. "Centurion Lavish, why are you here?"

"Ma'am! I wanted to see the Countess," Lavish RoseTalon replied, her face a frown of focused concentration as her regal little nose scrunched into a maze of wrinkles.

"I respect your eagerness to support your Squadron commander," the Baroness said, then bapped her on the crown of the skull. "But you should be comforting your wingwoman. Pulivia could use cheering up. You'll all see the Countess soon enough."

More shocked by the contact than chastised, Lavish blinked, her emotions spiking before she exhaled and nodded to her Flight Leader. I wondered if VioletBlood would take her own advice; after all, her own wingwoman, SkySpear, had endured her first bout of combat tonight as well, though she had been fortunate enough to emerge from the scrim completely unscathed. Did she not need comforting?

"You'll learn with experience," VioletBlood said with a massive confidence I was sure mostly served to cover for her own newness to command. "Go on, that's a good girl. Take a bag of chocolates from the Flight's stash to give to Pulavia when you go."

Lavish saluted before making her exit, more bemused than off-put by the Baroness's force of personality.

Not long after her she left, our tails stiffened as the air was displaced around us, and we looked to the large door that made up the aft landing portal withdrawing up. The night sky was visible, and chilled air blew out a bit as the wards stabilized.

For a moment, we all stood looking out into the darkness beyond the hangar. On a moonless night with heavy cloud cover above us and sea-water below us, the view outside the airship was a velveteen void.

Tribune Quirinus strode up. The commander of Epsilon Demi-Wing was a tall woman with hard amber eyes, ruby coloration, and star tattoos on her cheeks. As senior commanders went, I had had worse, but I had a finely calibrated sense for ambition, and I could see it drawn around our Tribune. Her second-in-command, Prefect Caenis, followed at her heels.

We all saluted, exposing our necks and tapping our fingers to our throats as one. Compared to other salutes I had seen, it was not the most unpalatable, incorporating only a bare minimum of groveling. Compared to a fist over the heart, the BlackSkyvian salute was more... aggressive, but there was an honesty to it, I supposed. It held a certain appeal in its unsubtle directness.

Crystal Candida started her salute a heartbeat after ours but executed it with a degree of parade-perfection I knew had to be sarcastic. The Fleet Pilot, I noticed, was eying Prefect Caenis, the head of First Flight and her notional superior. I wondered if the Fleet Pilot blamed the officer, her nominal superior, for her Flight's losses.

"As you were," Quirinus returned the salute, not deigning to notice Candida's deniable slight. Tail swishing, she folded her hands behind her back and turned to stare at the night sky out through the open aft door.

Eager for a distraction, I watched the officer instead of the currently empty sea of night.

The Tribune wore her aspirations for higher rank with effortless, complimentary grace. They were shaped into a stylish cloak perfectly fitted to match her ensemble; similar to how her reputation as an Imperial Heroine gave her strength and lifted her up like a second pair of wings. She did not come off as undeserving, unctuous, or perfidious. Instead, she gave off patient competency with a list of accomplishments that made a Legate's scepter seem inevitable.

Moreover, her ambition was not entirely self-serving. That is to say, while Quirinus looked towards that scepter with an all-too-familiar hunger in her eyes, she did so by cultivating protégées who would reflect well on her, as opposed to merely stepping on their backs on her way to her "destiny". While Prefect Countess DiamondDust was the most notable example, the rest of her Squadron Leaders also counted, albeit with fewer political connections.

I gave a thin smile as I thought of the now absent Lavish RoseTalon. Clearly, the patronage and favoritism tumbled down. It was a game I was familiar with, but at least the BlackSkyvians were more pragmatic about it than other polities I had the misfortune to include in my experience. They still dallied with the coupling of war and glory, privilege and honor, but as garnish to combat as industrialized brutality. This was the Fourth Epoch, after all. Diyu had made war into a profession saddled only with the merest echoes of the legends and majesty of ages past.

No, when a Holy Countess summoned a battlecruiser bearing her patron's name it was for entirely rational reasons emerging out of sober tactics.

Just nature's course, selecting the most fit to survive and prosper. Clearly!

Alright, that comparison was unfair. We were demons. Magic and the ineffable were undeniable. Hadn't our ladies and mistresses just gambled our lives in pursuit of some unknowably arcane artifact? Magic required no belief, no more than the color blue did. To deny the spiritual and the devout was to damn yourself with the evidence of your own eyes.

It could still be worse. The Imperatrix was less of a monster than other wielders of absolute power and was more of an active presence than many other kings of kings. Even her Imperial Legions were shocking in their self-service and corruption, namely by how little of either was in evidence, and most of such sins were rather venal as such things went. That House BlackSky was not the most prideful and imperialistic society I had ever had the displeasure of experiencing would have required willful blindness not to see.

The irony of calling a literal demon empress less of a monster than a mere man struck me anew for a moment, and I couldn't help the soft chuckle that escaped my lips.

"What are you snickering about?" Melisande muttered quietly from beside me.

"Oh, just thankful that we didn't end up in... House Elena," I added, catching myself.

Quirinus gave me a respectful nod and then a more sympathetic one to Melisande that felt sincere. I suspected the Tribune's ambition got her hitched to CSR. It was blatant; this operation happened to be the inaugural mission for her new Demi-Wing. The question was how many missions it would take to balance the scales and at what cost to her pilots.

There was a blur of movement out in the dark as a slightly brighter patch of shadow detached itself from the rest of the empty sky. Dim lights, hooded against undesired eyes, turned the approaching silhouette into a slim VTOL that slipped through the Tarantula Hawk's wards without noise or ripple.

Gaining definition as it approached, the little Spatha almost perfectly matched the carrier's speed and heading as it darted between the airship's ventral fins, almost seeming to drift its way into the hangar and down onto the landing track.

With a gust of wind, the landing crew's Zephyr and those on the Spatha meshed to bring the VTOL to a stop, the landing cables pulling taut. A harsh mechanical hiss came on the heels of an equally unpleasant sound like the wheezing of vast, tubercular lungs as the Spatha settled onto its landing struts with a final spluttering flare of its propulsion pods.

As the Spatha powered down, the hanger's aft door slid back into place and cut off the noise of the wind, restoring the usual relative silence. The crew wasted no time and began to scurry around the Spatha, hitching a compact little tractor up to the front landing gear and towing the VTOL clear of the landing pad and out of the way. A chock and chain team secured it to the deck as other maintenance personnel began to swarm over the craft's surface in a flurry of hasty mechanical diagnosis and triage. Similar tasks would soon be executed upon the living complement aboard the craft, I knew, as I could see the medico team and their Ritualista associates were already on their way across the hangar. They made it to the VTOL just as the side doors slid open and the back ramp lowered.

"It's good that that's over," a deep voice rumbled at my shoulder. "Lares does fret about his Landlady."

My tail flicked as I turned and looked up, and up, and up. A pair of Auxilia Scouts were standing behind our little waiting squad. The two Forest People looked respectful and non-threatening, but their sheer size was a bit off-putting, especially paired with their tendency to simply… appear. Someone that large shouldn't be so stealthy.

And this was in the industrial halls of a warship! In their natural habitat, the shaggy humanoids seemed to be found only when and where they wanted to be found.
The medicos were first to the Spatha and helped Centurion Nihilus wheel a wounded First Squadron Pilot off the VTOL in her gurney. As they began their examination of this first patient, the two Ritualista made sure the wounded pilot's mauled suit was secured and safe. The SAR team should have disconnected any parts that had lingering power, but given how energetic Ritual Plate fuel and weapon systems were, caution was more than warranted.

As they worked, the Spatha's pilot came out of one of the side doors and started conversing with the maintainers and personally checking that the VTOL was secured and chained down to the deck.

The thudding of heavy steps heralded the exit of the remainder of the SAR team down the back ramp, and Melisande squeezed my hand.

The grenadiers came first, including another pair of hulking Forest People, the pallbearers for a thin, unevenly-filled bodybag. Behind this procession, almost superfluous given how light their burden had to be, was the Countess.

With a click of her heels, she set foot onto the brushed steel deck of the hanger, the final cargo off the VTOL, the tardy pilot returning to the Tarantula Hawk at last. Her tail was limp, but her white feathers were just as luminous as always under the steady glare of the hangar's lights. As the procession solemnly neared, the Countess began to speak in a steady, mournful cadence.

"Rough wind, that moanest loud. Grief too sad for song. Wild wind, when sullen cloud. Knells all the night long," she recited, her clarion voice carrying easily through the now-silent hangar, tools still and the unoccupied hands of all in attendance folded respectfully.

New voices joined in until all the pallbearers took part in the dirge, basso counter pointing mezzo-soprano. "Sad storm whose tears are vain, Bare woods, whose branches strain. Deep caves and dreary main. Wail, for the worlds' wrong!"

With the final line, the mortal remains of Centurion IronTalon Cardino were solemnly loaded atop yet another gurney the medicos had quietly wheeled into the hangar for just this purpose. Moving deliberately, back stiff at rigid attention, I helped Melisande over to the gurney. The dirge was familiar; if I remembered my theological lessons correctly, it was an original work by Shelley, later adopted into liturgy by the church.

Falling to her knees, the Prefect Countess's wings went limp as a rifle and a bloody bindle also clattered to the deck. A moment later, the cracked and scorched mask of her Polyxo slipped out of her flight suit to clatter next to the sodden lump.

I stared. At that moment, she looked so young. Bone-deep fatigue stripped away artifice and armor, leaving only a face marked with a vulnerability almost painful to behold in its nakedness. Husked out and sucked dry, she looked far further below the official minimum age of enlistment than the one year she currently lacked. At least VioletBlood, being a year older, looked that part. Immediately, guilt rose in my heart, and I averted my gaze. It was far too intimate to gaze upon, like the moment of birth or the split-second snap of a neck under a garroting wire. It was something I should not see, something not for me.

Pointedly, I turned to stare at VioletBlood, who scarcely looked like her superior's elder. It was easy to forget how our kind aged. Compared to humans, we grew quickly, then matured very slowly, and aged glacially. Elder Demons were still vital military assets, but most of the fighting, especially in this Epoch, was the domain of those far younger. My tail drooped. It seemed that I could run from my past and my family, but as I looked upon the remains of my friend... none of us could escape Moloch's gluttonous maw.

A sharp sound turned my eyes back to the Countess as her small fist attempted to hammer a dent into the deck.

A medico, Primus Shadow, and Baroness VioletBlood converged on her while Invidia hovered above them. "I must thank you, Countess," she was saying. "You prayed for our deliverance."

From the hanger floor, Tauria icily glared up at the CSR officer as the two Forest People who had been on the VTOL loomed behind her.

"You are too kind," the Countess started with cool politeness, "Be assured that your own efforts will not be forgotten. Though I must ask," the Countess continued, looking up at her other two Flight Leaders and me, "how is the Squadron?"

Victorious took her hand. "We didn't take any more casualties. Everyone is back on the Tarantula Hawk."

Tauria nodded. Presumably Victorious, or perhaps VioletBlood, would tell her later how Victorious Shadow had commanded her in her absence: how her second had fully lived up to her name in the ruin she brought to the enemy.

That would be their story to tell, I decided, and kept my peace. The Countess might have been informed how many casualties her Squadron had sustained during her VTOL trip back to the Tarantula Hawk, but I doubted she yet knew how the greater whole of the Ritual Plate force had fared, to say nothing of the toll extracted from the ground teams. Though the hoof-sloggers had fared comparatively better than the Legion Fliers and Fleet Pilots, "less dead comrades" was hardly a comfort when there were still plenty of emptied bunks to go around.

As VioletBlood and Victorious Shadow helped the Countess back to her feet, Quirinus strode up. "Really Invidia, is that why the battlecruiser appeared over the VTOL you were on?"

"I had no means to summon the HVF DarkStar," Invidia demurred with a shrug.

"It's true, Ma'am!" the battered First Squadron Pilot in her flensed Harmonia suit said. She gave a bleary nod to Prefect Caenis and Primus Crystal Candida. "And it's also true for you and you, Ma'ams."

"Thank you, Fulvia," Crystal Candida said as she walked over to her subordinate. "It's good to see you again." Bitter joy emanated from her. Before Fulvia came onboard, she was looking at having half of her Flight killed in action.

Caenis, for her part, was looking at losing four of her pilots, fully a third of her Squadron. Not counting the losses from Crystal's Flight, which had been attached to her. Even with the Countess's help, First Squadron had still taken the highest casualties. Second Squadron, commanded by Lady Julia JadeTalon, was close behind. I wondered how our rookie Prefect was handling it.

"Good to be back, Ma'am!" Fulivia agreed as Crystal came over to her and the rest of us. "And we have the Countess to thank for it!" she added.

"You're too kind," my commanding officer politely repeated, her tail stiff. "But I have only my Zephyr to thank for my continued existence; they kept me alive until Lares and the rest of the SAR team rescued me."

A small frown crossed my face. My own Squadron Commander was new to her position; given her age, that was something that should not be easy to forget. But, much like Caenis, she had an effortless command. Likely due to both of them being Quirinus's protegees, though now both would grapple with loss.

Melisande's uninjured hand squeezed mine as her tail flicked, and my attention went to Cardino's mortal remains.

"We'll be moving her, Ma'am," one of the medicos gently told Melisande.

My blonde friend stiffly nodded while the baroness rummaged through the Countess's bindle. Tail happily wagging, she sipped from one of the Elenese canteens and wordlessly handed it to Victorious.

"And if you'll come with us to the medical bay," another medico said to Fulivia, gently but firmly nudging her along.

"We'll talk about your rescue when you get back, but you did good," Quirinus assured Fulivia before giving Crystal Candida a look. The rancor between the two was, by mutual agreement, suppressed for the moment.

The commander of the Fleet Flight nodded and helped her subordinate out of the hangar.

"A moment, Miss Hood?" the Tribune then asked me.

"I'll catch up," I assured Melisande. "And... we'll all catch up about Cardino."

My friend gave a light chuckle. It almost seemed genuine if not for the cold tightness around her eyes. "Thank you, Lulu."

"I need to go talk with the Lady Legate," Invidia said, and she gave the Countess an appraisal. "Despite her strong spirits, I would recommend DiamondDust get a checkout by the ship's doctors."

"Yes, that is a good idea. And you can make sure the SilverHold is secured both physically and magically," Quirinus stated, her tone crisp. There was perhaps a ghost of resentment emanating from the Legion Flier. She had lost a fair fraction of her Demi-Wing to capture said artifact.

"Indeed, Tribune," Invidia's cold smile returned as she bowed her head before taking off.

Melisande hugged me, her wings wrapping over my shoulders.

After a moment of not being sure what to do with my hands, I put my arms around her torso.

"Don't feel guilty, Lulu. It was our choice to sign up, too," Melisande squeezed tighter; she released me and followed the medico pushing the gurney with its nearly empty bodybag.

After watching them leave, I turned back to the rest of my Flight Leaders and our commanding officer. We were clustered in the forward end of the hangar in an out of the way space that served as a staging area for cargo and passengers.

Her straight-backed posture returned, and the Countess tried to present an imperious air. That impression, however, was marred beyond repair by VioletBlood gleefully holding up the bloody bindle for all to gaze upon while Victorious sniffed the canteen.

Tribune Quirinus eyed the collection of muscle and organ meat. "Ah, I see. To the victor, the spoils. Vae victis."

"Vae victis," Countess Tauria Magnus DiamondDust exhaled in a gust of breath. "To the victor their just wages." Her tail curled, her emotions roiling. It seemed she had thoughts on that phrase. I, too, had my own thoughts. It was a sentiment I had grown up being told was justification enough for any cruelty.

The Tribune held a hand. "Prefect, we will have time to discuss things later, and your Squadron is in Primus Hood's able hands," she nodded to me before shifting back to Tauria. "If I may suggest perhaps after your checkup, you should spend some time to unwind with your Vs."

Tauria tried to pout but was pulled inexorably into the arms of Visha and LoveBlood. "I do have things to do," she protested. "The Squadron's status alone..."

"You did bring treats back," VioletBlood said. "Which was very kind of you, Countess."

"Oh, and liquor too," Victorious added.

"Have you given any thoughts on preparing the Countess's bounty?" Tribune Quirinus asked

"Oh! Er…well, Ma'am... I was thinking..." Baroness VioletBlood stammered as she studied the bloody bindle's contents with a pout.

Quirinus's tail flicked as she glanced at Signifier GreyDawn.

GreyDawn cleared her throat. "I can borrow an enclosed burner from the galley for them. The bakery also just made a batch of naan and some red potato curry. That and some garum and spices to make more of a meal?"

"That does sound lovely," Victorious gushed with an enthusiasm I would have called feigned had it come from the other V. From Victorious, it rang with a simple sincerity that reminded me of another girl, long lost, who once had reveled in the joy of the kitchen.

Even though Euphy never could cook worth a damn… So perhaps the comparison isn't quite as relevant as I had first thought it… DarkStar, I'm exhausted…

The Countess coughed, unknowingly pulling me away from my tired thoughts. "There's no need for any of that."

"Nonsense, Ma'am. I'll be more than happy to help," GreyDawn assured.

My stomach did grumble a bit. Naan did sound good: chewy, bubbly, and fluffy. If ever there was a bread that did describe Primus Centurion Shadow. Maybe the galley had some simmering stew or other midnight-rations. Which was clearly what made me hungry. Certainly not the scent of raw meat, fresh from the battlefield.

Lares gave an earthy chuckle. "Rest and recover, you have earned it."

"Little demons are always hungry," one of his fellow Forest People grumbled.

"Especially when it's a rare treat," GreyDawn said, with no small amount of covetousness in her voice.

Turning my head to the Tribune and Signifier, I respectfully bowed my horn as I tried to move past the "foibles" of my adopted culture. "I'll make sure to get something out of the galley for the rest of the Squadron, including the Ritualista; they've been working through the night too."

"You don't have to do that..." Tauria caught herself. "Er, no that's a good idea, Primus." Giving a wicked grin, the Countess nodded to Victorious.

My fellow Flight Leader slipped up to me with a... morsel held between her claws. My tail stilled as I licked my lips.

I saw Lares putting a hand on the Countess's shoulder, and the two exchanged a moment that was only slightly farcical due to their massive height disparity.

"Eat it now or share that meal with them," GreyDawn murmured, bringing my attention back to the offering under my nose.

Taking the meat, I chewed and swallowed. Some of the tension I was holding eased. I was not sure what I was so afraid of. I knew since I was a child that revenge was sweet; was it any surprise to find that the blood of my enemies was really that good?

I wonder if my older sister would be proud or disgusted? I thought idly as my tongue licked the morsels from my teeth. Wherever she is… I wonder if I'd still care what she thought about me?

I turned and, for a moment, thought that Lares and the other Forest People had vanished. The reality was more mundane: they had simply slipped away and were leaving via the hangar's forward doors.

"Thank you for the-" I caught myself just before I said "offering". I was of the Order of Our Martyred Lady which, compared to my commander's Order of Hallowed Lady, focused more on the meaning and example of DarkStar's sacrifice than on the other aspects of her life. Worship in both branches of the Church was rather similar, though my sect did have theological differences in which rituals were sacramental, ordinate, or both. Navigating such doctrinal disputes had been something I had dealt with my whole life.

This whole thing was awkward, but it would not be the only feeding going on tonight. Plenty of my fellow pilots, not to mention the ground team, would want to burn off stress or sate their hunger. The baths and galleys would be quite busy, not to mention the recreation rooms.

"For that sample. You three deserve a nice... meal." I tried on a toothy smile for fit, intimately aware of how the expression left my own fangs menacing and bare. I raised my arm, unsure. We were in the same unit; would physical contact, even a pat on the back be too... intimate?

"Think nothing of it," Tauria tried to wave my praise away. She also looked at my arm with a sense of awkwardness.

Inwardly, I cursed finicky demons and all their societal rules. For a species of alluring, empathic succubae, we could be strangely prudish.

"It's only polite. You did bring us through this mission," I insisted, bowing my horns to Tauria and repeating the gesture to Quirinus.

"I'm getting too much credit," she waved off, her fingers brushing mine. There was a surge as I felt the Countess's anxiety and fatigue intensify.

"Battlecruiser," VioletBlood reminded with a chirp.

The Tauria's tail straightened. "Not now, Baroness," she said, staring at how our hands were linked.

Steeling myself, I pulled the shorter blonde into a hug. Her body tensed for a moment, but as she relaxed, I could feel her appreciation. Unbidden, my tail began to swish to and fro as I likewise eased into the embrace. However, my over-long appendage betrayed me and, without my conscious decision, entwined with the Countess's tail, immediately adding an entirely new dimension to our embrace. My eyes widened as a mass of emotions flooded into me, and I got an almost invasive view of the concerns and fears lurking behind my superior officer's imperious mask.

A spike of jealousy flared from VioletBlood, though it soon tempered with a possessive... hunger. The baroness smiled at me. I quickly disentangled from my Squadron commander and stepped back, my hooves ringing on the deck.

"I'll help them get that burner and the other supplies from the galley while our Squadron Commander gets checked out," GreyDawn offered as she tried heroically to usher the Countess and her Vs towards the door.

Soon, it was down to myself, Tribune Quirinus, and Prefect Caenis. Despite being alone with not one but two superior officers, I was more at ease now that the eccentric trio were well gone.

"Well, at least that helps those three," Caenis remarked and nodded to me, "and the rest of the Third too."

"That leaves the other Squadrons," said Quirinus, shaking her head.

I could sympathize. The losses we had taken were recoverable, but we would need replacement Pilots and, if possible, time to integrate them into our formations. Crucial teamwork required time, and nobody wanted to learn about their new wingwoman's foibles first under enemy fire. We hardly had enough time to form up these Squadrons in the first place, and already we would have to alloy in replacements.

"And somehow getting shot down only lets the Countess up her kill count. She even managed to get some choice cuts of meat and fucking drinks. Unbelievable" Caenis shook her head. I noticed she made no mention of the battlecruiser.

"All while trying to be humble about it. Despite coming onboard with a dirge," the Tribune rubbed her horns. "I suppose there's one upside to this being a CSR spook-show."

"And that is, Ma'am?" I asked sensing the hanging prompt.

"Otherwise the Librarians would be all over this ship, and I'd have to fill out even more paperwork" Quirinus sighed. "And the church is doubtless going to find out about it."

"Centurions do gossip like old biddies," Caenis stated with a twinkle in her eye. "Give them time."

Tribune Quirinus shook her head and made to leave. "Come, Primus Centurion," she said over her back.

I dutifully followed alongside Caenis as we made our way to the aft side of the hangar and exited forward to the rest of the ship.

"I am sorry; IronTalon was a good pilot," Quirinus stated, almost off-handed. Despite that, the non sequitur did feel sincere. The Tribune was hurting from the losses to her unit. The Fleet Squadrons seconded to her from the other airships had also been mauled, which was something she also doubtless felt.

Battle had a kind of sanguinary alchemy all its own. Skill, training, and luck could mitigate its acid bite, but any chance at victory required some sacrifice, lives wagered and risked. Upon that blood-slick and ever spacious altar, sacrifice was more than becoming, per church, state, and every other pillar of our civilization. The possibility of defeating the enemy, the probability of capturing a city, a bridge, an artifact, the prospect of returning in glory to the City of Trees to regale the eager crowds with tales of conquest… Yes, those were the carrots suspended upon gut-strings, dangling over the ravenstone called Nike. But no amount of glory could reverse the process, could recall the athame, could restore the blood.

I held firmly onto the hope that the SilverHold was worth the risks, worth the lives lost tonight, worth the lives yet to be lost. The hope that this victory was worth the cost.

"She was," I agreed, and bowed my horns.

"With all the VTOLs secured and everyone back on board, we'll be teleporting soon enough," Caenis stated, obviously trying to direct the conversation to safer grounds as part of her duty as the Demi-Wing's executive officer.

"Good riddance." The Tribune's tail flicked as we crossed the cargo bay. With most of the Mules having been scuttled on the ground and a lot of its material expended, the compartment was almost completely empty. The port cargo bay, on the other side of the ship, was practically packed with an assortment of miscellany. It was where all the "mundane" trinkets stolen during the operation were being examined, stored, and guarded.

"We got CSR's accursed bauble. Our part is done. The DarkStar and her escorts will cover our exit," Quirinus continued.

I nodded. The Tarantula Hawk and the rest of our little flotilla had charged teleport runes and were ready to go, but the DarkStar and her escorts, having just arrived, would have to wait out their cool down and recharge cycle. I was not terribly worried about the battlecruiser staying behind on Harp's World, though. The DarkStar could more than take care of herself. Especially as she had twice the normal number of escorting destroyers and light carriers.

"Good work, Primus," Quirinus said, her own weariness beginning to peek through. "Your Squadron is on stand down, so things should keep until the Countess gets some time to recover."

"Yes, Ma'am," I readily agreed. Despite her words, I was already going over the Third's status in my head. Everyone's Ritual Plate was damaged to some extent, but there were enough functional suits and Pilots that we could get at least a reinforced Flight into the air if required.

Our next jump would take us back to Outer Jaffna, nominally an Alecton Colony and thus friendly territory, but the world was thinly populated, and if Elenese task forces were sent out after us that would be one of the routes they would follow. Worse, it would take the DarkStar and her escorts the better part of a day to catch up to us.

Quirinus studied me, and for a moment, I felt utterly unmasked by the older demon's penetrating gaze. "Primus, Outer Jaffina is a large and mostly empty colony."

"And our little flotilla has the whole world to hide in," Caenis added. "Besides, the DarkStar's VTOLs had enough time to top-off our corvette's magazines."

"Yes, Ma'am." That was true, and hiding was something the Tarantula Hawk, Desert Strix, and Tamora were quite skilled at. And while the prefect was exaggerating, a few more torpedoes were better than the nearly empty magazines our Kolibris had.

"I am far less concerned about being followed. And after that, Ma'am?"

Her crimson features got a bit tight as a wisp of irritation flashed on her. "That is an excellent question. Doubtless CSR had some plan to return the SilverHold to the entities whom House Elena had stolen it from. I'm not sure if they'll transfer the cursed thing to the DarkStar or keep it under lock and key aboard this ship, however."

"After all the hassle an' blood spent to get that DarkStar-forsaken thing, I don't see the Lady Legate lettin' it slip through her claws," Caenis said, her Midlands accent coming into prominence as the three of us stopped by a ladderway.

"But, for now, we have a respite," Quirinus nodded to me. "Primus, as you were,"

"Ma'am." I acknowledged as the two officers climbed the rungs to the deck above. I knew they had their own work to do. I took a moment to compose myself in the brief solitude and resumed my journey in the direction of the airship's bow, towards the starboard aft RP Maintenance Bay.

After the events and horrors of tonight, going into the incense, chemical, burnt-metal, and coffee smelling compartment was reassuring. However, seeing only ten of the twelve arming chairs had Polyxo suits bolted to them was like a knife to my heart.

The suits had burnt engravings, and all had some degree of damage. My own suit would need most of the ward emitters replaced. With the cracked bone-white death masks and the suits splayed open with Ritualista rooting around in their battered, innards the whole room had a macabre cast to it.

Gibbs came up to me, a bit of sympathy coloring her eternal ill-humor. "Primus, I take it you have command," she stated, handing over a clipboard. Behind her, almost two dozen Ritualista were hard at work on the suits. Despite the number of maintainers at work, it was still a fraction of the total complement under Gibbs' wing; it was hardly like any of them had enjoyed an easy night either.

"Rumor travels that fast?" I asked, giving each status summary a cursory once-over. Each page gave the condition of a Flight's worth of Ritual Plate with a brief on each major subsystem. Every one of which contained an alarming number of variations on the phrase "not cleared for active duty use."

"The Prefect Countess brought back the flesh of her vanquished foes and then did some holy nonsense on the flight back." The chief Ritualista shrugged while her subordinates chattered excitedly on. "Meanwhile, I got to have my girls inspect the power distribution runes of every suit that exceeded power ratings, which was all off them, and then triage all the damage the enemy did."

"Have you taken into account the medical status of the casualties?"

Centurion Gibb's withering stare made me immediately regret the question. "Yes, Ma'am," she crisply said in a tone that was almost, but not quite, blatantly insubordinate. "No reason to spend time fixing a suit that'll stand empty. I will ask the Countess if she wants to have a surplus suit assembled for her, but I have my doubts."

"That wouldn't be the most efficient use of your time," I agreed mollifyingly. House BlackSky was efficient like that, as of course were her Ritualista, who were best not offended by accidental, stupid slights. I had seen some nobles, when deprived of their precious mounts, bully the maintainers into spending whatever time it took to fix their equipment. Even if doing so came at the cost of maintenance time that could put four other pilots back into the saddle, to say nothing of the thousand other ways the Ritualista could make their displeasure known. Thinking on that particular malfeasance was, in an odd way, something of a nostalgic reminder of home.

Other than taking someone else's suit, Gibbs had enough spares and assemblies to build Prefect DiamondDust another Polyxo, but that would take a lot of time and gobble up a mountain of parts.

"I'm glad we're in agreement." Gibbs' tail slowed as she saw me staring at the summary sheet for my Flight. "You look like you could use something to drink, Ma'am. Coffee?"

"Uh, yes please," I sighed, handing the clipboard over.

"It doesn't get easier, Primus," Gibbs said as she filled a mug from the coffee machine the Countess had ordered be installed at one side of the Maintenance Bay. "Well, no, that's a lie. You do learn how to manage it."

I accepted the cup. "I suppose you've seen Squadrons get more chewed up than this?" I asked, taking a sip. Instead of the bitter Fleet brew, I tasted something actually flavorful. Clearly, Prefect DiamondDust had broken out her personal supply for tonight's mission.

Gibbs gave a shrug as she filled her own mug. "Focus on what's in front of you, Ma'am."

The overhead speaker chimes as the Primary Circuit came on. "Teleport Warning. Teleport Warning. All hands prepare for Teleport. Secure all equipment and safe all arcane systems," a cool voice stated.

"Ah, well when you are right, you are right, Centurion," I noted.

The Ritualista snorted. "Shall I make sure everything is squared away?"

"Do it, Centurion."

"Ma'am," Gibbs spun on a heel and started shouting orders to her maintainers, who were already making sure everything was secured and powered off.

Sipping the rather good coffee, I watched as the ship got ready for teleport.

A true tragedy that I will have to bid such a lovely locale farewell so soon. I mused, a familiar bile curdling in my gut. Harp's World has done such a wonderful job reminding me of all the most enduring memories of home.

And I do mean that from the bottom of my heart.

+++++

Outer Jaffna's sun rose not long before lunch, shipboard time. Which was effectively my only temporal reference point. Spending a week traveling through six different worlds had thoroughly disconnected my sense of time and obliterated any vestige of my circadian rhythm.

Bearing food, I stepped into the Tarantula Hawk's medical wing. The smell of antiseptic hung in the air as a medico looked up. The tall woman's lips creased as her tail flicked. "Our patients already have lunch," she stated.

"It's just some treats," VioletBlood said.

"From the bakery," Visha added.

"And some coffee and hot chocolate. For those who can have it," Lucia added, holding up a pair of carafes. For this phase of the operation, I had once again dipped into my personal, if diminishing, supply.

"I did bring enough for everyone," I said pointing to how the four of us were carrying multiple flat boxes. "Medical staff included."

It had taken a bit of trading to get the bakery shippies to run us an order, but that was the main reason I contributed to the Squadron's liquor stock. Or more accurately, I let VioletBlood toss more bottles into the pot. Personal use was not high up on that list. A position freshly reaffirmed by last night's sampling of Elenese pomegranate-based rotgut. Not to be outdone by my Baroness, Primus Hood had also sacrificed applejack brandy for the cause. Generous though her contribution was, it was also of a far more... common earthenware jug vintage that would be best appreciated by those who favored quantity over quality in their spirits.

That, and a couple bottles of Eastern Province's finest plum brandy, managed to raise the bounty of various fried and sugared treats to a standard that met with Quirinus's lofty approval. Aided, of course, by the fresh batch of zeppole I made sure would find their way to my Tribune's desk.

After giving the medical staff their due, I set my Vs to distributing the lion's share of the food among the other wounded while I went to check on our Squadron's casualties.

"You should really be under observation," the medico who had admitted us stated, standing by my side. Though much of the edge to her tone had been smoothed via a turnover with an ersatz filling made from rehydrated peaches.

"I'm fine," I insisted. "I was checked out when I came on board, and again this morning."

"Ah yes, after a very filling meal and a restful night's sleep," the medico's tail swished in amusement.

"That is what I heard happened," Lucia said in a deadpan with just a bare amusement in her purple eyes.

My wings ruffled a bit at the implication.

"It's true," VioletBlood said as she bounded back to us. I eyed her, but she did have a right to be here. One of hers was among the casualties. Though Lucia's formation had taken the brunt of the damage in my Squadron.

The room we entered had brightly painted walls and gave a credible illusion of natural light. Melisande and RoseTalon were already present sitting by Charity and Pulivia's beds respectively.

"Ma'am!" Pulivia said as she straightened up in her bed. Her words were less slurred, that was a good sign. Others followed suit and saluted.

"At ease," I waved them off and motioned for my Flight Leaders to give out the refreshments.

"You brought sweets?" Charity asked, adjusting in her bed. Under the blankets, I could see that her leg was longer than it was before. Our regeneration was a boon, but it did come at a cost.

"It was the least I could do," I said. Simple luxuries were a way to boost morale. At least in the short term. In the long term, I would have to gauge how everyone handled the fallout from this mission. Melisande would require special care; I could only imagine what she was going through. Fear of her loss falling upon me hung over my horns adding to the anxieties from the fate of my birth parents and VioletBlood's mothers.

"I'm not complaining. A pastry and coffee is more reward than I've gotten after other missions. The less said about those the better." Charity stared down into her cup, her tail flicking.

"You've had worse missions?" Lavish asked, disbelief in her voice. Unlike before, there was no eager awe at the idea of daring do but instead a far wiser cautious trepidation. I feared that all too soon, distance would cloud her memory, causing pride to turn the combat over Harp's World into some grand adventure where she had cut her teeth and wetted her talons with gore.

"I have," Charity asked. "Last night was bad, but as things go... it was no marathon."

Lucia and Melisande looked to the senior pilot in their Flight.

"Before your time, kiddos." Charity sipped her coffee and bit into a pastry. "Supporting a Legion landing operation is an endurance march. The enemy knows us Legionary Fliers can only operate for so many hours before we're combat ineffective, so if they wait us out they can strike after the Legion's air cover crashes."

"That's standard doctrine though," Visha said. "Don't most Tribunes try to pare down a few Squadrons after the initial landing to try to have a reserve they can rotate back in?

"Sometimes the enemy isn't so gracious. Kinda hard to build up a reserve of pilots who are rested when facing increasing losses while being harassed by constant enemy raids," Charity shrugged.

"As bad as cloak and dagger nonsense is, it can always get worse," I said with a sardonic air. "The truth is we all know how many years, months, and days we have left in the Imperatrix's service."

"Unless you plan on serving another term!" VioletBlood cheered.

"Yes, unless that." My tail stilled as I eyed my betrothed. Piercing her brittle mask would do her no good. Losing face in front of her subordinates was not worth it. "I want to show my gratitude for your work and sacrifice and do what I can to help you all. The rest of the Squadron will be visiting when they're no longer on ready status."

Melisande stared down at her lap, her partially-healed arm in a sling. Visha came over to her with a cup of coffee and gave the blonde a new pastry before returning to me and refreshing my drink.

"I should explain some of the things you will hear mentioned quite soon." I looked over my pilots. "You are all going to hear a great many pretty words about sacrifice and what it means to die in the Imperatrix's name, what it means to bring glory and honor to our House." I sipped some coffee.

"That," I said, licking a stray bead of coffee from my lips, "was never our mission. Our mission was never about the recovery of whatever it was that Elena stole. Our mission was to make sure that all of us – the hoof sloggers, the spooks, and even the other RP Pilots – had somewhere to land once they were done reclaiming our missing property."

"And to provide close air support to give them a fighting chance on the ground," VioletBlood added, her own tail languidly swishing.

I nodded. "And because of all of our efforts, nearly ninety Hoof Sloggers made it back. Yes, a couple dozen are right here being worked on, but it could have been much worse. Not to mention four hundred ship's crew, all of our Ritualista, and the other ships." I looked them hard in the eyes. "Girls, this is the job you all agreed to when you became Legionary Fliers. To make sure that when the scrivener tallies her butcher's bill it falls more on the enemy than on our sisters."

My gaze whet to Lavish RoseTalon. The spoiled senator's daughter idly scratched one of the silver flashes on her uniform tunic denoting the Volantes specialty. A more sober and quiet pride welled in her as Pulivia reached out and snatched a pastry from her hand.

"There will be a memorial service for IronTalon. Not just the shipboard service, but our own. The Tribune made it clear that every Squadron will, in due time, be given space to grieve. We all took casualties, but First and Second got the worst of it, including the most deaths." Of nearly fifty pilots, our Demi-Wing had lost seven. Over half a Squadron's equivalent was gone. That did not include the losses the Fleet Squadrons took, including Lady Primus Felicity IvoryQuiver, the Svalinna Pilot who died shortly before IronTalon.

"And we would have lost almost a full Squadron if not for the search and rescue teams," Visha murmured, giving voice to my quiet thought.

"We will certainly need to do something for the SAR crews," I agreed and looked over my pilots. "Know that I'm proud of all of you. Regardless of your experience, you completed a difficult mission."

"One that's not over, not quite yet," Visha reminded, being the executive officer's stick to my carrot. "Our Ritualista are hard at work to get our Polyxo repaired." She gave me a sympathetic wince.

"It's part of the risk." I waved her off, forcing down the useless pain I felt at the loss of my suit. "But Primus Shadow is right about readiness." I sipped some more coffee. "I won't say I won't pressure you. We do need pilots. But if you need to talk with me in private, my door is open. And I can recommend counseling when we get back to Mursam."

"What about religious issues, Ma'am?" Pulivia asked, her voice almost shy.

"Well yes, there is a ship's chaplain; she seems nice enough." I shrugged.

"No... I mean..." Pulivia's cheeks flushed a bit as Lavish patted her hand. Clearly, she was still getting over her injuries. "What about talking to you about religion?"
I blinked. "I'm not.... no?" I looked to my Flight Leaders for help.

Visha gave me a ghost of a smile. LoveBlood's grin was manically gleeful. And Lucia simply stared at me, disbelief written in large block letters across her face.

"Don't be so humble, Ma'am," Pulivia continued. "You're a Sister; you're clearly touched by DarkStar. You've seen more and... you were shot down and you came back. You're not afraid." she added the last part in a small voice.

I coughed. I suppose I did know about what lay beyond the veil of death, but given what those experiences had taught me, it was hardly a comfort. Being X was no god, and Uriel was an even more mysterious, if less blatantly hostile, entity. I might have factual evidence, repeatedly confirmed evidence, even, that there was a kind of life after death, but that, if anything, had only added to the troubles in my lives, nevermind how much stranger they always got.

"Pulivia... I was terrified after I got shot down. No sane person would be anything else. My return was simply a matter of… putting that fear aside, doing my duty, and having faith in my comrades to aid me. Nothing more than what any other good Legionary should."

My concentration slipped as I sensed LoveBlood's amusement at my statement.

"I'm sure if the Prefect has time she could arrange something," Visha smoothly offered. "But maybe it would be best to ask me so I can check her schedule."

I tried not to pout. She was doing her part as my executive officer in supporting my authority. It would be nice if more of my pilots were like Octavia, a member of the Baha'i faith. At least Pulivia was already an adherent to Our Hallowed Lady. One of my pilots petitioning me as a potential proselyte to the DarkStar Church and then guiding them toward penance perturbed me in a way I couldn't quite articulate.

"Having more people to talk to would be... good," Melisande admitted. Even I could see the vivacious pilot's spirits were down. Which was understandable.

I gave Lucia a nod as I thought. Melisande's pain was obvious, a feeling that was... It was something I could relate to. My gaze went to my Vs. What were the odds both of them would survive the decade and a half of combat operations to finish out their terms of service?

I suppose I will simply have to endeavor to "stack the deck", as it were, I resolved. After all, when any good soldier is faced with long odds, there is always one clear solution. Cheat.

I gave them, Lucia and all my wounded pilots, my largest, brightest, and most reassuring grin. For some reason most of their tails stiffened. "Girls, I will not make promises I can't keep. Obviously, I cannot promise you a safe life. Those of you who wanted that-" my gaze went to Lavish and Pulavia, "I gave ample opportunity to change specializations.

"However, I will endeavor to make sure you are all the best equipped and trained Legionary Fliers. Death stalks all of us, but I'll make sure you're all shooting back." I snatched a pastry out of VioletBlood's basket. "And that, by DarkStar's Grace, is something that it is within my power."


End Chapter 29

And Tauria's back on board and can start helping her squadron deal with the fallout of Operation Epimetheus. Now, they just have to hand over the SilverHold. That should be a simple enough task.

Thanks to Ahuva, DCG , ellfangor8 , Green Sea, Larc , Readhead, metaldragon868 , and ScarletFox for checking and editing this chapter. They all put in extra work to go through this and make this whole story so much better than it could have been without them. Special thanks to Readhead for helping get Lulu's voice, dramatics included, correct and to Larc for going over this one with a fine-tooth comb.

I'd like to wish everyone a Happy Holidays and wish you all well this time of year. I would also like to thank everyone who has read, commented, and helped with this story. I'm still amazed at all the support and interest this crazy story has gotten over the last couple years. Thank you all for being here on this and I wish you the best. I think you'll enjoy some of the upcoming plotlines for Tauria, her Vs, and everyone else.

Chapter 30 stands at nearly 8k words. I've also got some more art that I'll be posting in a couple days. And there's another map in the works. This one that's a... larger scale than the map of the continent of Diyu

 

[Sunshine Temple]

Merry Xmass, Happy Holidays, and a somber SBRs Watch.

Yesterday may have had a chapter 29 posted but the gifts aren't over!

Please enjoy this bit of art, but not before a bit of lore dump.


White Feast of DarkStar is on the 16th of September, is one of the Church's most important events, and one of the few ones that most of the sects largely agree on the same day of observance, the faith does have other holidays thought the year.

Known for her charity, piety, and skill with the blade that gave her the nickname: the Saber, Saint BloodRuby was known for her standing vigil of her village, especially in winter where she said she was "Awaiting Her return."

What had started as a minor Saint's Day at the end of a long fasting period, had in the modern DarkStar Church grew into a ritualistic fasting period followed by a celebratory feast with the exchange of gifts. This includes a lot of cross pollination with the plethora of other solstice time celebrations on the variety of other Diyu faiths (both native and imported).

Like many Saints Days, there is little consensus on when to celebrate SBRs Watch among the branches of the DarkStar Church. Though all the largest branches do recognize BloodRuby as a saintess. For example: the Order of Our Martyred holds observes on December 15th while the Order of Lady Our Hallowed Lady observers nearly two weeks later on the 27th. There is some merit to the idea the BloodRuby's profile was raised to give the DarkStar Church their own major solstice-time holiday.


But now onto the art.

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First from Lexi Kimble we have this slick piece of Reinhild helping Countess Tauria get dressed for a social event with Baroness VioletBlood. This piece has some fantastic coloring and shading.

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Next from Player Error 404 we've got the woman of the hour, DarkStar herself returned to Diyu and in formal attire. Though she's adding a bit of her own touches for her big gown.

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From DP we have Chief Librarian, and adviser to BlakSky, Mira Heartwood in drawn in spiffy business wear with a lot of fun detil.

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Next, Player Error 404 shows the two aspects of Imperial Heroines.
Fabia Firmitas HarrowFang in her Sarpedona RP suit shows the warrior side while Countess Tauria Magnus DiamondDust in yet another gown shows the pomp and pageantry side. The contrast is really fun, and I do like how the renditions of Ritual Plate have gotten more to how I envision the flight suits (more armored segments and less skinsuit)

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And from Scitty Kitty we've got a great set of wonderfully expressive emotes of VoiletBlood, Tauria, and Visha. They've all been getting great use in the Little Demon discord.

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And finally from Player Error 404 we have this wonderful piece of DarkStar bringing holiday presets for SBRs Watch while Tauria and her mother Sister Clementia watch with joy

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Again wishing you all a Merry Xmas and holiday season and thanking you all for enjoying this story.

 

[Sunshine Temple]

With ch29 being posted, the current arc may be wrapping up but a map of the various worlds on the Dimensional Spine will still be pretty handy. As it will give some context to events. Thanks to Readhead for coming up with the name, and for the LD Discord for helping revise the map.

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Map of Diyu itself can be found here. And the Map of House BlackSky's provinces on Diyu can be found here.

---

Diyu Demons have three main forms of teleportation. There is the persona teleportation magic many Elder Demonesses have, some of them have the ability to teleport between worlds. Due to the relative rarity of Elders with this ability and the limitations they have on where they can go and who they can bring, this method has been supplanted in many cases.


Teleport Runes are a common way to allow a vessel (typically an airship but other conveyances can be setup) to jump from one world to the next along the Dimensional Spine (and to different Aether Layers). However, this method is limited to surveyed routes. This results in many worlds being travel hubs, bottlenecks or dead ends. Finding new routes (and new worlds) is the primary goal of the Transcendental Survey Branch of the BlackSkyvian Cartographer's Guild. The other Great Houses have similar services as such explorations have strategic consequences. There are two primary frontiers on the Dimensional Spine one in the Up-spine direction, the other in the Down-spine direction. That the Dimensional Spine has directionality, implies it has a structure and many theorize that it means that this region of space has importance as some type of cosmic mega-structure. Diyu seems to be some type of central lynchpin as it has an unusually high number of connections to other worlds.


The final method are Teleportation Gateways. These are large, expensive structures that are built in pairs to maximize their thaumaturgical similitude. Then the two Gateways (each with a large chamber inside) are transferred to other worlds using a Teleport Rune equipped ship. Once emplaced, calibrated, and given considerable power, instantaneous travel between the Gateway pair is possible. Note that a given Gateway only allows travel to its twin. Father travel requires using another paired Gateway. However, unlike Teleport Runes, distance is functionally immaterial. Thus a critical colony can have a direct connection to Diyu (or another critical colony) no mater how far out it is on the Dimensional Spine. In addition to the great expense of production and operation (which means only the most vital colonies have Gateways), the dimensions of the chamber inside the Gateway does limit transportation to objects to the weight of tanks and lighter, and to medium VTOLs and smaller. Still this allows for teleport Gateways to supplement other forms of travel.

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House BlackSky's primary holdings are in the Up-spine/Sinister region. This is a large contiguous territory that is well developed and has access to the Up-spine frontier. Closer to Diyu is the one colonial holding of House Andromache and the Up-spine enclave of House Trosier, which acts partially as a buffer between BlackSky and Luxon. Father Up-spine, the minor independent world of New Van Zandt has a similar buffer effect with Elena's holdings.

The Dexter half of the Up-spine region is primarily split between House Alecto and House Elena. With the latter braiding their territory across the Alecton Worlds. Elena has considerable holdings but also has them spread out over many areas, while Alecto is even more of a narrow strip of worlds. Both Great Houses also have access to the Up-spine frontier. Ziox's holdings are also here, as well as the fractured Harp's World. The Independent world of Redemption is on the far Dexter corner. Continuing their tradition on Diyu, House Alecto supports and acts as a patron for all the independent worlds. Though Elena, BlackSky, and Luxon have their own alliances with various breakaway colonies.

Down-spine on the Sinister side is House Luxon. They have a rather large contiguous territory with plenty of worlds and access to the Down-spine frontier. However, economic troubles have prevented full development of its holdings, but this is changing with Luxon's revitalization as of late. Also in This region is Mard, the largest independent world. Mard has good relations with the other independents, Alecto, and Luxon as patrons. Mard is a world where many independent traders hang their banner. The Dimensional Spine has considerable merchant traffic as there are dozens of colonies that need supplies and have resources to trade for what they require, not to mention various garrisons in need of support. Also in this region is Trosier's Down-Spine enclave as well as Elena's toehold onto the Down-spine frontier.

These small holdings also border on the Down-spine Dexter region which is a collection of smaller territories: RedStorm, BlackSky's Down-spine enclave, and Irkella, However, it is the Empty Quarter that dominates this part of the Dimensional Spine. The site of much of the fighting, and the concluding campaign, of the War of Reprisal, this area was always desolate, but after the conclusion of that war, and subsequent explorations, a parade of dead, frozen, charred, and just inhospitable worlds were found.

Haven, the only marginally habitable world, was picked as a forward base for the Empty Quarter Patrol. The last legacy of the grand alliance of the War of Reprisal, the EQP is a multinational force where each Great House contributes a formation of ships, troops supplies, or other war material on a rotating basis. Each of the larger Great Houses contributes to ensure that they still have a say in how the EQP operates, while the smaller Great Houses do not want to be cut out of the loop, and all are interested in seeing what lays on the other side. The EQP works to survey and observe the Empty Quarter and to carefully explore Down-spine to ascertain its limits. While Haven does have a pair of Gateways, they do not go to Diyu, but instead go to secured, isolated bases on Nida and Huido controlled by BlackSky and Elena respectively.

 

[Sunshine Temple]

The War Chronicles of a Little Demon

Set in the Diyu Demons verse
A Saga of Tanya the Evil fic.
By Sunshine Temple

Naturally, I do not own Youjo Senki. So here's the disclaimer:

Saga of Tanya the Evil its characters and settings belong Carlo Zen, Shinobu Shinotsuki, and NUT Co., Ltd.

Previous chapters and other works can be found at my fanfiction website.
http://www.fukufics.com/fic/

C&C as always is wanted.

Chapter 30: Info Hazard

"Excellent work," I handed the clipboard back to Gibbs. "You've all worked miracles."

Something like amusement poked through my chief Ritualista's perpetual scowl. "What you call a miracle, I call a passing grade. We had two full days under friendly guns to make repairs, Ma'am. More than enough time for any competent Legion maintenance team to bring a Squadron's worth of suits back to full readiness. Frankly, anyone who couldn't even manage this isn't worth their jumpsuit."

I nodded politely, "Well, I'll have take your word on that, Chief."

My eyes crossed the maintenance bay and spotted the two empty chairs. One was IronTalon's, late of Flight Three, and the other was mine. Soon, all the chairs would be empty, but that was because my Squadron would be taking to the air to do their part of our flotilla's Combat Air Patrol. Not that the need was terribly acute; the DarkStar and her plentiful escorts had caught up to us before we jumped, which left us traveling in a rather strong, if entirely unsubtle, flotilla.

The air thickened with incense as the Ritualista ran their final checks on the suits and made them welcoming for my pilots' Zephyr.

My pilots, who would be taking to the air without me.

Contrary to the intent of the incense to lull and reassure air spirits, my own Zephyr remained very active and highly excited. My feathers puffed up a bit at their swirling interest. In their experience, this particular ritual always preceded flight operations.

"No suit today little ones," I said under my breath, trying to reassure my Zephyr. I would have to find some other way to entertain them once it sunk in that they wouldn't be going into the sky. Otherwise, they would spend the rest of the day sulking moodily.

As she countersigned the maintenance certifications, Gibbs looked up from the paperwork. "Thinking of your replacement Polyxo?" she asked with bland disinterest as she flipped to a new page and continued to carefully read.

I held up a placating hand. "I'm not going to order you to raid our spares to bodge together a suit for me."

"That's good Ma'am, seeing as I don't have enough parts to do that. Even though you did manage to bring back a mask and some odds and ends." Gibbs gave the final signature with a flourish and handed the clipboard back to me. Thankfully, such forms didn't require anything so arch as a wax seal with my personal sigil. A simple counter-signature sufficed. "Third Squadron is certified flight ready, excepting Suits One and Eleven."

I gave her a dry look.

Gibbs shrugged. "Once we get out of comms blackout you could wire MuArc's Mursam office for a factory-fresh replacement."

"I lost my suit in combat," I pointed out. "The Imperial Legion will provide a new Polyxo suit out of depot."

"I may disagree with the 'new' aspect Ma'am," said Gibbs in the long-suffering tones of one familiar with Legion procurement services. "Mursam may be the major colonial posting, but it is still a colonial posting. Yes, they'll have plenty of Mark 15s in stock but not many of the new model."

Folding the clipboard under an arm, I shrugged. "That's what I started out with."

Gibbs gave that cynical smile. "Yes, three years ago it was MuArc's cutting edge production model. There is a reason I have installed refit packages to upgrade all of my-" the Ritualista coughed, "-your suits to the Mark 16."

"And you have done excellent work, given half of these came out of MuArc Amalgamated as Mark 14s," I said, once again looking over the ten newly polished and engraved suits. True to Gibbs's word, they did look like they had just been pulled out of their shipping crates, fresh from the factory. I only had nine pilots at the moment, but hopefully, the medical staff should be able to certify Charity as flight-worthy at tomorrow's check in.

Soon, my Legionary Fliers, those who had survived, would be fully healed. Physically, at least. Without a blemish or scar, it would be like they had never been injured. So long as one ignored the mental trauma, of course. With a species capable of such rapid healing as ours, it was easy for a Legionary to deny she had any trauma accumulation. Doubly so for those in the Volantes specialization, where self-sacrifice was emphasized past even the point it was for hoof-slogging soldiers. Our scars were invisible, and a grizzled veteran could look just as peppy as a green-horn recruit, as long as one did not look too closely at her eyes.

This sort of behavior, an unfortunate but seemingly inevitable product of a system that prized toughness and rewarded those who took on heavy burdens for the benefit of their comrades-in-arms, was an active drag upon force preservation. On the surface things may seem as pristine and enduring a fresh forged steel, but just below the fault lines lay waiting nonetheless. Fracture points liable to tear open under just the wrong kind of stress, which frequently translated to "at the worst possible moment".

As their commander, it was my responsibility to make sure my pilots and my Ritualista were not keeping their pain inside or in denial about their traumas. This was just as much my duty as making sure that all under my command received adequate provisions so they could fly and fight. An army might march on its stomach, but bread and blood alone could not sustain life. If only Zephyr were the only spirits I had to concern myself with.

"Countess," Gibbs's emphasis on my noble title got my attention She seemed almost concerned for me for some reason. "You have a chance to get a suit that does not need retrofitting, and may even have the latest power system variant; an advantage that has saved your life before. You might even use your reputation to once again get MuArc's best."

"No prototypes," I immediately snapped. "If they want me to be a test pilot, they can pay me for the privilege after I muster out!"

Gibbs snorted. "Production only. I wouldn't trust anything our test pilots and Ritualista haven't put through trials. Those boffins will come up with some too-clever bit of magical mumbo-jumbo without considerations about little things like maintenance or stability."

Her words made me consider something, and I tilted my head slightly. "Speaking from experience? Well, you have spent many years maintaining Ritual Plate..."

"Exactly," Gibbs flashed her fangs. "And when they're not being too-clever, it's just buzzwords or nonsense. Remember the canceled follow-on to the Gamma Block power system?"

It took a moment, but eventually my brain made the connection. "Ah yes, the Medium Runic Conduit Circles with Dynamic Etheric Controls in the Delta Block would improve power output by fifteen percent." I nodded as the annoying, and best kept forgotten, memories washed over me. "That made quite the buzz for a while, didn't it? Although, I can't recall hearing much about it these days…"

"That's because it was literally just marketing nonsense, Ma'am," Gibbs stated evenly. "A line of random words strung together to sound clever and stand out from the market and catch the idea of Legates, Generals and Admirals."

"That's why it was canceled for the Epsilon Block?" I asked.

"Partially. It wasn't all bad, just not as good as they made it out to be, and they covered it up with bullshit fancy talk."

My opinion of MuArc dimmed a bit, but I could still understand the kind of pressures a defense contractor would be under to maintain their performance edge. "Well…at least they were straightforward with having no idea why the starboard flight stabilizer array had that 44-C Amplification rune when we visited them at their factory in the capital," I conceded.

Gibbs scoffed, "Because we blindsided them with the question. You know that in the latest manual they call it a Zephyr enrichment and engagement module?"

"That's not... entirely wrong," I weakly defended the design and immediately wondered why I was bothering to carry MuArc's water. They were big girls, they didn't need little old me shilling for them.

"You won't believe the things our suppliers have tried to slip through or the obvious issues they missed." Gibbs's eyes momentarily went hollow and distant, as if every overly-engineered horror from her whole career were parading through the maintenance bay.

It really brought me back to the question I'd asked earlier. How many years has she been at this? I should look up her service record when we get back to Mursam.

After a moment, she refocused enough to add, "Though I'll admit MuArc is better than Imperial Blimp and Freight."

"Then why the instance on the latest version Polyxo?" I asked.

"Because that way it'll come from the factory with most of the known problems already fixed," Gibbs explained reasonably. "And that means I can focus on the unknown problems, in addition to the expected Pilot-induced damage."

I pointedly ignored the minor slight to my piloting skill. "While a special model designed just for me...."

"Would be a shiny death trap." Gibbs snorted. "And you would never stand for the efficiency loss of forcing me to stock special components just for you."

"Fine.." I relented. "It would be better if I could get a fresh modern suit, instead of having you do all the updates on an older depot model. But I'm not sure MuArc would ship me one in time."

"Countess," she repeated, staring right at the Preserver award I wore around my neck.

"I know; I know," I held up my free hand in grudging surrender. "If not for the blackout, I'd wire them right now. New Batavia is a civilized world."

"It's Alecto's primary colony world," Gibbs neutrally said.

I put her comment down to inscrutable senior NCO humor. Between her, GreyDawn, and, increasingly, Charity, my command did have a generous number of experienced Centurions; their foibles were a small price to pay for the benefit of their knowledge.

"Still plenty of time to have my mask fixed up," I noted hopefully.

"Being sentimental?" Gibbs wryly asked.

"I saved it because, if I hadn't, the church would have pressured me to get a saintly face with my next suit. But with me recovering my old one, the Church can't complain about me reusing it," I explained, only slightly smug at having seen that particular bullet in time to dodge it.

"Yes... and certainly not out of any sentimentality for something your mother gave you," Gibbs drawled, but shrugged. "Well, hopefully for you, the Church doesn't decide that your mask'll become an increasingly holy relic the longer it remains in proximity to your face. Otherwise, your plan's gonna backfire just a bit, huh?"

I stared at Gibbs.

"Anyway," ignoring my attention, the senior Ritualista looked up at the wall clock, "we still have a bit of time left to get everything ready."

Shaking myself, I surveyed the maintainers as they finished up their work, a small cluster around every Polyxo. "I'd say you're ahead of time"

Gibbs grunted. "Enough to have them finish the power checks and have a twenty minute stand down to use the heads, hydrate, and have a quickie snack before going back to finish the pre-flight and suit up your girls."

There was a knocking on the hatch of the compartment, and a taller pilot, muscular with short blue hair and wings iridescent with blue-grey feathers stepped in. I bowed my horns to Prefect Centurion Fabia Firmitas HarrowFang, commander of Fourth Squadron.

"There you are Countess. Come on, we've got to talk to the boss lady," Fabia said after returning the bow.

"Oh, good. I've got some paperwork for Tribune Quirinus," I replied and waved my clipboard as evidence.

Fabia gave me a sympathetic look. "That's not who I'm talking about."

My tail drooped. "I don't suppose you mean Praefectus Commodore SharpTail?" I asked. Being called before the ship's captain would be... unexpected, but it was still better than the alternative.

"Nah, I wish it were the Skipper." Sympathy radiated from the older centurion. If a superior officer who wasn't our direct commander in the Imperial Legions or someone in the Household Fleet command, then that left one option.

"Right." I stared at my fellow Prefect Centurion for a moment. I turned and handed the clipboard back to Gibbs. "Have someone run this up to the Tribune."

Gibbs took the paperwork with a sober nod.

"Why does the Lady Legate want to talk with us?" I quietly asked Fabia once we left the compartment.

"And only the two of us," she clarified as we went aft a frame.

"Is it because..." I trailed off as we climbed a ladder up to the next deck.

"Because once again we both took reckless and violent actions worthy of an Imperial Heroine and somehow lived to tell the tale?" she pointedly asked, a gleam in her steel-blue eyes.

"I didn't do that much. I just tried to stay alive," I demurred as we stepped to one side to let some shippies go the opposite way down the corridor. A minute later, we had to go through a security checkpoint being run by a bored but thorough group of grenadiers. Ever since we had left Harp's World, shipboard internal security had been elevated.

"Sometimes that's all you can do." Fabia's gaze went distant. "Sometimes that's not enough."

The vision of IronTalon's suit being blown up flashed in my mind. If things had been a bit different, I would have been the one fried in my armor, and she would have been the one shot down. I nodded, and we walked aft for a bit in awkward silence. "How are your pilots doing?"

"I'm down to ten active suits, like you, and almost as many pilots." Fabia shrugged.

"Yours hasn't been repaired yet?" I asked, making an educated guess. She had led that "daring" attack right into the heart of Building 37 two days ago.

"Maintenance triage," Fabia stated. "Due to extensive damage and burn-out to the power systems, my Sarpedona got booted to the end of the priority queue. It was only today that I could spare the maintainers to work on my suit, but it'll take some time to repair."

"At least it's still salvageable," I replied then winced. "That... wasn't meant to sound so snippy."

Fabia's tail swished. "First time?" she asked, her voice quiet

"First time as a Squadron commander, though I did a tour in the Crocelli Jungles. But if you mean the... ground stuff, well..." I tapped the Preserver award pinned to my collar. "Not my first near brush."

The taller woman stopped walking and shook her head. "No. First time losing a subordinate."

"Ah." I exhaled. That was... complicated. In this life, however... "Yes," I admitted.

I saw something shift in Fabia's gaze.

"But I've talked with Quirinus about it!" I quickly added, hoping to assure Fabia that there was no need to bother our senior officer about the matter. After all, our Legate was dealing with her own mourning as well: her first multi-Squadron command had incurred fifteen percent Killed-in-Action.

The lights of the ship corridor tinged Fabia's eyes purple as she studied me. "Well, she is your mentor. But if you need someone to talk to… I do have experience."

Fabia was right about that. While the other two Prefect Centurions in our unit had more time in the Legions than I did, both Caenis and Julia were, like me, newly raised to Squadron Command. "I will," I assured.

After another checkpoint, we arrived in Hoof-Slogger Country, the part of the Tarantula Hawk set aside for berthing the ship's infantry complement. This was also where they had some of their exercise and trailing halls, baths, auxiliary storage, conference rooms, and other miscellaneous compartments. Two of Lares's men gave us a discreet escort, which, given their great size, was surprisingly subtle. Although, really, at this point, how much of a surprise was it that the Forest People were so adroit at being understated?

It was to one of these anonymous rooms that Fabia led me too. Invidia was waiting outside, arms crossed and wings folded to her back, ruining in the process the pretense that this room contained nothing of interest.

My mirth quickly died when paranoia struck. Was that the reason why we had been called in? Did CSR have some esoteric operation that only women with feathered wings could accomplish?

Invidia's angular features shifted to her own cold pleasure as she read my disquiet. "Ah, the Imperial Heroines have arrived." She bowed her horns with what I could not help but take as a slightly mocking edge and knocked on the door to her side.

A few moments of silence passed before a chill ran down my spine from my neck to the tip of my tail. By the way the other two women shivered, I could tell that I was not the only one bothered by the strange sensation. Even Invitia's tail straightened, and her black feathers ruffled a bit before flattening back down.

The sensation was a bit like a privacy spell, but instead of vibrating the air, the buzzing sensation lingered more in my bones than my horns or ears. I should not be surprised the CSR had some sort of detector or scanner. I knew Legion Counter Intelligence had a whole suite of arcane tricks to evaluate personnel and secure facilities. Despite doing critical if unglamorous work, LCI was very much a junior intelligence service when compared to the Office of Cultural and Strategic Reconnaissance.

There was a warbling buzzer that sounded like it should have set my teeth on edge, but did not. The oddly pleasant feeling that came in its wake disturbed me more than the door unlocking and creaking open a few inches revealing a dim gloom.

Fabia gave Invidia a flat look, and to my further disquiet, the spook actually looked somewhat guilty at all the theatrics.

An overhead light flickered on, revealing a dim, cramped chamber. Little more than an alcove, it was barely large enough to allow the door to swing open, let alone fit three people with fluffy wings and swishing tails. The room was bare save for another door to our left. Invidia closed the outer door behind us. Before I got too comfortable with my fellow legionaries and the risk of skin to skin contact, Invidia pulled a little leather-bound binder out of a cubby bolted to the wall. After signing us in, the room's second door to our left clicked open with another buzz.

Thankfully, the next room was far more spacious, if decorated with all the personality of a hold full of properly-secured cargo crates. There was a drab green lightweight desk, a set of locked filing cabinets, a few vibrating anti-scrying devices, and a handful of chairs. The only personal items seemed to be a tea service secured to a table by the desk and an open case that looked for all the world like a cosmetics bag complete with jade-colored combs, a few pots of various powders, and a chromed hand-mirror.

Looking at the stern features of Lady Legate JadeJavelin, I doubted the case was something so mundane as a mere makeup kit. "Prefect Centurions, thank you for seeing me. Please, be at ease. Tea?" the architect of Operation Epimetheus asked, her prim Alecton accent coming to the forefront.

The tea did smell fairly good. I glanced at Fabia, who simply shrugged and took one of the two chairs in front of the Legate's desk. Invidia took two mugs that bore a satirical version of the ship's seal: a large cartoony wasp aggressively pouncing on a hairy spider and filled them with the fragrant tea. I wondered if Invidia thought using such cups was some sort of breach of operational security.

Fabia took hers with a bit of honey. I asked for a splash of milk and a spoon of sugar. Unsurprisingly, Invidia had her tea unadulterated, but the Legate, for her part, used a peppermint stick as a stirrer that partially dissolved in her cup.

"I did not invite you here to congratulate you for your work on Harp's World, but congratulations are nevertheless in order." The elder demoness took a sip. "Your efforts were instrumental in a successful recovery of the SilverHold and related assets."

Invidia sat on a chair to the side by the tea set, looking somewhat like a glorified stenographer.

"You can surmise that I have more tasks for the both of you. Our mission is not over," the Lady Legate said.

I took a drink. The tea was a good Alecton breakfast blend. The elder demon across from us gave a polite smile that did not meet her bright blue eyes. I suppressed a shudder.

The Lady Legate was imposing and had a quiet, terrifying air about her. Not just because she was a much older and much more powerful demoness, but also due to her rank. A Legate typically ran a legion of over seven thousand personnel. A Volantes Legate, such as my commander's commander, was in charge of an Air Group of nearly four hundred Legionary Fliers. Either formation could change the course of battles, and in the process, potentially of history. In the Fleet, the equivalent would be members of the Admiralty. Regardless, a Legate's scepter represented massive authority in the Imperial Legions. The same would have to hold true in CSR.

However, given how Invidia, a mere Centurion, was quite familiar and chiding to Quirinus, a Volantes Tribune, it indicated an informal power greater than the official rank. Thus, a Legate in the Office of Cultural and Strategic Reconnaissance would have yet more pull. Lady JadeJavelin was a woman who managed to secure the services of the assault carrier, escorts, RP Pilots, and ground combat specialists required to execute her mission, as well as the assignment of a capital ship and attached support elements as our standby reinforcements.

She had been given authority sufficient to conduct an operation that could have, and might still, result in a declared war between Diyu's two largest Great Houses. And she had invited me over for tea.

The elder demoness gave a rasping chuckle. "My, you are a skittish thing. The Duchess said you were nervous, but I didn't believe it."

I stared at her. "You know my mother, Ma'am?"

"Only in passing," JadeJavelin waved her hand. "Duchess SilverFlight is very proud of you, keeps pictures of you and everything."

"She has supported me all my life," I said, trying to look less awkward. I should not be surprised. My mother was a reserve Legionary Tribune and had her own mercenary force of RP pilots. Doubtless, someone like the Lady Legate could find ample work for a duchess capable of quiet operations requiring a large amount of deniable firepower.

"It is good that you got back safe to us after being shot down." She bowed her horns to Fabia, "As well as you, HarrowFang. Very bold and decisive of you to take a Flight down. Risky, but you cracked Building 37 like a nut."

"Ma'am," Fabia bowed her horns.

"I expected no less from a pair of Imperial Heroines." The Lady Legate lifted her cup. "And a pair of Legion Fliers without functional suits … Well, I would just hate to leave you under the impression you had somehow been overlooked."

My tail stilled at that, and the dread in my stomach grew as Invidia pulled out a pair of forms. They were the basic bulk-printed security forms. The anodyne text and layout bellied the horror beheld in two simple pages.

"On this day the Fourth of November, in the 432nd year Aprues des Represallia, I, Legate Lady Angela Prudentia JadeJavelin of the Office of Strategic and Cultural Reconnaissance, confirmed by the Senators of the Curia, serving by the grace of the Imperatrix, do hereby authorize this briefing to Volantes Prefect Centurions Fabia Firmitas HarrowFang and Countess Tauria Magnus DiamondDust of the Imperial Legion's 78th Infantry Legion, Epsilon Wing." The older woman put down her mug and gave us a sharp smile. "You may sign now."

Fabia had a rather good poker face as she quickly read the proffered document. With great reluctance, I took the document, pen, and wax stick Invidia held out. The initial appearance was correct. This was a standard security form with the standard boilerplate about the consequences of unauthorized dissemination of any privileged information. The entries in the boxes looked identical to the form we had to fill in to initially get briefed into Operation Epimetheus.

Except for two factors. First, instead of Invidia's spidery scrawl, the lettering was done in a neat copperplate that had to be the Lady Legate's. Second, a single anonymous box labeled MIH had been ticked by a hand not my own. Near the bottom, it was one among many in a long row that included such banalities as species, service branch, and province of birth.

Neither hardly seemed worth such pomposity, which only meant that I was failing to understand the importance of one or both. Regardless, knowing I was trapped regardless, I sighed, signed, and, heating the wax, sealed the document a second after Fabia did.

Invidia gathered the forms and smoothly gave them to the Lady Legate who, with deliberate thoroughness, scanned over them, countersigned, initialed the little MIH box, and then rolled them together into a narrow tube that bulged in the muddle around the curved lumps of still-soft wax.

As the Lady Legate worked, Invidia watched with the tiniest bit of impatience leaking out. After the older demon picked out of the case a bottle of pale green powder, she sprinkled it onto the rolled up forms. Then, leaning over the cased mirror, there was a flash of emerald fire, and smoke billowed for a moment as the mirror's surface rippled like quicksilver. The thin plume shivered and my air spirits stirred with renewed interest as smoke was pulled down and sucked into a small silver whirlpool. The Lady Legate snapped a finger, and the mirror's surface stilled and became solid once more, placidly reflecting the room.

"I do apologize for that theatrical tediousness, but alas, it is a necessity," the Lady Legate sighed, her prim accent making her sound slightly sarcastic. She sealed up the leather case and handed it over to Invidia. "Let that be the end of it. I assure you there will be no reading of entrails, though my subordinate is a trained Haruspex."

Invidia gave a thin smile as she checked the case's seals.

"Personally, I prefer augury when it comes to dubious means of gathering intelligence." JadeJavelin's narrow smile returned. "But that is not why you three fine feathered women are here."

"It's about the SilverHold," Fabia frowned into her mug. "About how we're going to hand it over?"

The Lady Legate gave a dry look at the mirror case. "Correct. Personally, I care far less about what the SilverHold does than who wants it back. As for all these theatrics, I do apologize for the extreme compartmentalization on Operation Epimetheus. I hope you will understand."

I gulped down some tea, hoping it would settle my stomach.

The senior officer smirked "Perceptive, Countess. Now that the acquisition part of the mission is over, we will begin the next phase. This requires briefing you in. We hadn't troubled you with this information earlier because you didn't need to know, there was a risk of enemy capture, and, of course, on account of the memetic and info-hazard concerns."

My tail twitched as I tried to get it under control. The first two points were valid enough, and both of us had set foot on Harp's World, but the last...

"But you're telling us now," Fabia flatly said.

The Lady Legate merely arched an expectant eyebrow.

My fellow Squadron Commander gave a long exhale. "Damnation."

"Elena decided to play a rather dangerous game and steal from a powerful polity," the Lady Legate stated in a tone that suggested this was a simple observation, one that bore little relevance to the topic at hand, despite all contrary evidence. "One that has a very acute sense of justice. One that makes examples of those who dare affront them. One that can be a bit... indiscriminate in its retribution.

"That alone," she continued, the airy tone vanishing from her voice, "is enough risk to BlackSkyvian interests."

"But the info-hazard?" Fabia pressed.

"An advantage of said polity." The Lady Legate finished her tea. "We are dealing with beings of stories and myths. Ones that do not hail from reality as we know it, that exists in a symbiotic relationship with humans, of all things. Their power waxes in the minds of those who know of them, that grows with every story told about them. As does their influence."

I tilted my head in disquiet while Fabia went very still. "Stories and myths? They are known to Diyu? If this 'polity' is no secret, then why the compartmentalization?

The older demon bowed her head ever so slightly. "Ah, let me clarify. My associates and I are not chiefly concerned about the strategic implications of Diyu learning of these entities. Yes, they are known to the public, mostly as stories, folklore, and tales of their own. We are more concerned about the handful of individuals capable of extracting reality from fairy tales. Including a handful of that handful who are in positions of great influence, and are thus able to render actionable knowledge that was previously only scholarly in nature."

"It's more a tactical issue?" I ventured. "That is, keeping the secret of who and what these entities are?"

"More operational, but yes. The info-hazard that the knowledge that these entities are real presents to the planning and execution of this mission is a significant risk. This risk, by the way, is cumulative: The more people speak of them, the more of their attention our activities attract. Hence the circumlocutions and the compartmentalization."

"So, discussing these entities draws their eyes to this mission…" Fabia frowned. "But, this mission was all about recovering their artifact?"

The Lady Legate gave a slightly bitter, dry chuckle.

"The beings we talk of are not unified," Invidia explained, a somewhat pained, almost constipated expression crossing her face. "They have peers, internal factions… Not too dissimilar to our own Great Houses, in that way. They also possess an enemy who is their perfect mirror. Should this rival, their sister polity, learn of this operation, the consequences would be almost as damaging as Elena learning of it."

I exhaled. Great House politics was one thing, but getting into some sort of internal tiff between entities that gained more influence the more people spoke of them seemed like exactly the kind of horrifying mess CSR would wade into.

"Who are they? What magical nonsense are we dealing with... Ma'am?" Fabia asked, apparently tired of dancing around the drake in the room.

"The Lords and Ladies," JadeJavelin stated with clear distaste, as if she found even the euphemism tiresome. "Also called the Gentry, Those Below the Hill, or half a dozen other equally florid titles."

My wings lowered. It sounded like she was talking about some kind of fae creature. She was correct that legends of such things were common on Diyu, largely stemming from human myths appropriated by the same demons who had appropriated so much else of human culture. According to virtually all of the stories I had heard, speaking the name of one of the fae was the surest way to gain its attention, to summon them. My stomach also sank as the concept of being with such powers reminded me too much of an echo of Being X's so-called omniscience.

The Sarpedona pilot stared for a long moment. "You're serious? El-"

"Yes Primus," the Lady Legate interrupted, "I requisitioned a newly refitted assault carrier, escorts, a Wing's worth of Ritual Plate, and a heavy Century of specialist infantry, then threw you all at a research facility, got two dozen of our people killed, risked a battlecruiser, and potentially started the Fourth Great House War on a lark," the Lady Legate's tone was dryly acerbic.

Then her gaze was as sharp and cold as drawn steel. "And do not, under any circumstances, say that word."

Fabia bowed her horns in apology.

The older demoness waved off the gesture. "It is a bit much to take in, I know," she said in a mildly conciliatory tone. "It always is. Peer states out on, or above, the Dimensional Spine are often... troublesome, and the Lords and Ladies all the moreso given the difficulties involved in reaching their territory, which is all I'll say about that."

She pushed her cup over to Invidia, who dutifully refilled it before passing it back. The Lady Legate took a delicate sip, and then primly announced, "The first thing to keep in mind is that the Fae lie."

"The stories make it seem like the opposite," I noted, dozens of stories of oaths and technicalities coming immediately to mind..

"Quite." The Lady Legate put the cup down. "The Lords and Ladies, as I will refer to them again, are beings of deception. They are not, to say the least, particularly ladylike."

I managed not to snort at a mistress of spies making such a statement.

"They can weave falsehoods via implication, omission, supposition, and deflection. They can quote someone else. They can ask a question that can be taken as a statement. Given all of that, does it matter that, within the pure strictures of Boolean logic, they cannot utter an untrue statement?" the Lady Legate asked.

"Surely, some value can be derived from their statements nonetheless," I said, answering the clearly rhetorical question despite Invidia's sharp look. This seemed important enough to justify a minor faux pas. "If one of the Gentry makes a direct statement, then by the strictures placed upon them, that direct statement must be true, at least to a certain specific quality or in a particular light."

"Which is why they are loath to make direct statements," Invidia said, subsiding with a shrug.

"They hate to make such statements, yes," the Lady Legate agreed, "but the Lords and Ladies relish the edge they gain from over-confident outsiders believing that they have put one of them into a position of disadvantage. They delight in enlightening such individuals as to the depths of their hubris once the threshold of no return is well and truly passed.

"But, because the Lords and Ladies have a compulsion about pacts and deals, dealing with them can have small measure of worth. Though they are very inclined to play games with their word, it is still their currency, their social lubricant, their diplomacy. They are bound by their oaths and by their word, which is why they never fail to ensure such arrangements are to their advantage. No matter how it may seem to be in yours."

"It is safer to assume trickery and deception. Do not make a deal, do not incur a debt, even inadvertently," Invidia added unhelpfully. "Their inability to speak false is a technicality in name only, for they will ruthlessly seek to deceive and enthrall you with every breath."

Fabia gave me a glance.

I picked up my own cup and managed to keep it from trembling. "I presume this briefing and etiquette lesson is not academic. You're going to give the SilverHold back, and you want us to be with you."

This time when the Lady Legate smiled, a ghost of the mirth sparkled in her eyes. "Quite."

"It would be foolish, as well as impolite, to not have some kind of honor guard," Invidia explained.

"The impoliteness would be the foolishness," the Lady Legate sighed, and for a brief moment, her true age, the long fatigue of deep weariness shone through her controlled facade. "The risks, the losses… In the grand scheme of things, all of those are worth what we gained, but they will only remain as such if we return the SilverHold without giving the Lords and Ladies cause for offense."

"Which polity of fae are these?" Fabia asked.

JadeJavelin's hard gaze returned.

"It's no coincidence that the SilverHold was used to drop temperatures and generate snow."

"Ah," Fabia nodded understandingly. "Our embassy will be with no wildfae or minor polity but with the Unseelie Court itself."

The Lady Legate held up a quelling hand. "Allow me to reiterate this point: do not speak the names of any sovereigns or nobles or factions you may have heard mentioned in stories. Some of the named parties might oblige your call."

Speak of the Devil, I thought, tail growing cold. How ironic that now that I have become a demon, it is I who has to worry about my tongue?

Externally, I carefully gathered my words so as to maintain at least some level of decorum. "I'm... in no great hurry to see which legends are true."

JadeJavelin's bleak smile returned. "Do not fret. The Lords and Ladies are beings driven by their nature. And while all of Diyu may earn their ire, my associates doubt they are a truly existential threat. But make no mistake: they can hurt us, and given the cosmology of where they hail from, any expeditionary force we send would have great trouble exacting revenge."

"One can see that famine, even on a small scale, is a natural threat such beings could pose to us, by dint of their nature," Invidia observed, flexing her fingers as she spoke. A spike of fear and anger flared from the CSR spook before she tamped it down, which was understandable. While no society reacts well when faced with starvation, our species tended to be particularly extreme in our reaction to hunger.

"Still, we have contingencies," Invidia declared in a particularly wintry voice, failing entirely to be reassuring. "Take comfort in that existential posturing is not one-way."

I could imagine just what dread measures lurked behind the word "contingencies." The bulk of the stories claimed that the fae were weak to iron, of all things, while a minority insisted on silver. Either way, the Great Houses of Diyu did not lack for creativity in arms, nor stocks of base metals. The War of Reprisal and the Empty Quarter were evidence enough of that.

"And since you want Imperial Heroines to be your Honor Guard, who better than a pair of Legionary Fliers who, without suits, would be waiting on the airship anyway," Fabia stated.

Invidia gave that smarmy grin again, perhaps my least favorite of all of her expressions. "But of course," she said as she secured the mirror's case in a locking cabinet but also withdrew a ribbon-wrapped folder and handed it to the Lady Legate.

"More than that," JadeJavilin added as she opened the folder and put out a few cheaply-printed chapbooks. Most of these were heavily fictionalized propaganda pieces recounting my adventures, but a good number were slightly older ones featuring similar nonsense about Fabia. "You are both beings of story and legend, quality of course varying. You have also been named by the Imperatrix and fall under her aegis. In these circles, such factors are of great importance and bear great weight."

Fabia's features hardened a bit at seeing the pile of little books with their crude illustrations. The beginning of an exasperated sneer only just held back. "Ah."

"Oh yes," the Lady Legate continued with a relish I found distinctly unlovely, "you both are known across the empire in song and story. From the cheapest cinema to the highest brow ballet, your names receive top billing in whichever productions you might appear in. And you both, protests aside, have used that narrative to advance your positions.

"Not a statement of judgment, mind," she clarified, "Leveraging such advantages is both natural and rational. It does, however, add a certain degree of… let us just call it narrative weight to your roles. And with such weight comes worth, at least to beings whose sweetest sup is story-telling."

I tried not to fidget in my chair even as my mind and gut twisted uncomfortably. It was... audacious, to say the least. If the Lords and Ladies truly craved mortal stories, if they were influenced by them, if such stories were their meat and bread, then bringing two living legends was a very definitive move. Although the full implications of that move were admittedly somewhat lost on me, I could certainly see the logic, no matter how distasteful.

When faced with beings who gained more influence the more people talked about them, beings about whom even the CSR was afraid to speak openly about for fear of their meddling, JadeJavelin had decided to go on the offensive. After all, if the narrative magic of the fae was real, then it had to be a two way connection. If I were not a pawn in this gambit, I might have appreciated her daring.

"Meanwhile, both of you have studiously worked to minimize the odds of having such popular... weight attached to your names?" I ventured a guess.

"Names have power," the Lady Legate agreed, though I couldn't help but notice how she refrained from answering my question. "Still, both myself and my protege also have our own honor names."

I glanced at Invida and wondered what hers was. Perhaps she had been awarded Fidelis; that seemed appropriately ironic. "And our notoriety brings us a measure of... protection?"

"Indeed," the Lady Legate agreed, just a bit too quickly for my liking, "that, and a message. Both you and Centurion HarrowFang went through the crucible at quite young ages and have since shown remarkable tenacity even at great personal risk. Take Harp's World: Countess, after being shot down, you could have merely stuck to evasion. Given your skills, you could have even baited your Elenese pursuers into an ambush of your choosing. Instead, you seized the initiative at every angle, turned predator into prey, and set the forest ablaze with your passion."

A halfhearted protest died in my throat, and my wings slumped. I'm never going to live that down, am I?

The elder demoness turned to Fabia. "And while I appreciate how decisive you were in leading a ground assault, we both know that your actions had considerable risk... both from the enemy, and from your superiors, had you not proven yourself victorious."

Throat dry, I sipped my own tea. "Okay I can see why you wanted us. But what would have happened if Fabia or I had died? It was hardly an outside risk. DarkStar's Blood, I was shot down! I'm lucky I wasn't killed."

JadeJaviln didn't look up as she gathered up the little chapbooks that had been spilled on her desk. "Not to worry. We have a list of backup candidates."

I blinked. "Oh."

Invidia accepted the refilled folder with a toothy grin. "Besides, what makes you think you were at the top of the list?"

My mind flashed back to Lady Primus Felicity IvoryQuiver, she was a Svalinna Pilot of some renown in the Household Fleet and had died two days ago. Having seen her in battle, I could say that her legend was warranted. Did she have an honor name? If so, I wondered which of us was her replacement. A shiver went down my spine to the tip of my tail at the all too chilling reminder of just how replaceable I was, even as a "Heroine of the Empire" with "narrative weight". Ultimately, I was still just a cog in a very large machine. The story of my lives.

The Lady Legate gave Invidia a disapproving look. "But yes, our plan will be to have the four of us be at the handoff when we return the SilverHold. Other assets will be in position and in the air."

Trying not to glare, I nodded. They were still keeping secrets from us; Fabia and I still had no idea what the SilverHold was.

"The handover is at risk," I said, stating the obvious. If it was not, there would be no need for airborne reinforcements to just hang around burning time and fuel. "Does that risk stem from rival factions among the Lords and Ladies?"

"Internally and externally. There are factions within the Unseelie Court but they also have their historical rivals in the Seelie Court. Not to mention their external enemies." The Lady Legate stared at her cup. "Also, we cannot discount our own rivals making an attempt to spoil the soup. It is possible that Elena or some other Great House would attempt to interfere."

"Or perhaps take the SilverHold from us and hand it over to the Lords and Ladies to claim the credit?" Fabia asked. That the DarkStar had continued to escort us was ample evidence that no chances were being taken.

"Perhaps, which is why all assets taken from the Onyx Institute are secure. Quite secure in the case of the SilverHold. No one is taking it from us." The Lady Legate's eyes twinkled, indicating that she would not elaborate.

There were plenty of secure and secure places on the Tarantula Hawk to stow the SilverHold. The Torpedo magazine in the bow was just one possibility. More than the hatches that limited access, the literal tons of ordnance and fuel stockpiled there could be detonated, in extremis. Such a detonation would destroy, or if we were very, very lucky, cripple the ship, but that would certainly be enough firepower to ensure no one else would get ahold of the damnable fae artifact.

Thus, a highly secure facility.

"And these measures are sufficient to secure the SilverHold from beings who we cannot freely name?" Fabia asked.

The Lady Legate's smile turned vicious. "I told you, it is quite secure. Even if they were able to locate the Tarantula Hawk, unless they were invited aboard, the actions they could take would be severely circumscribed. You see, the Lords and Ladies are also limited by the rules of guest-right and hospitality.

"Another reason to restrict knowledge," JadeJavelin added. "The only people who can invite them are those who have been read in."

"Unless invited, these people…" Fabia trailed off inquiringly. "What? Can't take the SilverHold?"

"Or harm anyone, or use any knowledge gleaned," Invidia added as she went back to the tea set to refresh everyone's cups. "They can hire mercenaries, who of course do not have such restrictions, but that is why I have assigned the ground teams to augment ship-board security among other such containment measures."

I rubbed my eyes. I could dismiss the concept of powerful beings limited in such a way as silly mumbo-jumbo, but... wasn't I sitting on a ship that kept a number of ship's cats with the express purpose of helping firm up the vessel's own Threshold? All to help better anchor things like wards, jammers, and teleport systems. Even Uriel had admitted that he was "limited in his remit" when we had met, and he was a supposed archangel sitting outside of time and space that apparently helped me kill a so-called "god".

Besides, what was a ward but a magical shield that acted as a direct means of blocking out the uninvited? It just also happened to work well against energetic guests at sufficient velocity.

JadeJavelin accepted her freshened cup with grace. "We need to give you a crash course in conversational tactics: etiquette, informational security, and diplomacy. You will need to understand the basics of fae culture and motivations. This is all with the aim of keeping you from accidentally incurring an obligation or debt with them. Fortunately, this is exactly what CSR was founded for. I will free up as much of my schedule as possible but, given my commitments, Invidia will supplement your lessons."

Invidia gave Fabia and I an almost apologetic shrug.

"After we finish our resupply and recharge here on New Batavia, our next jump will take us to Forlorn Prospect, the location of the handover, but we expect to arrive several days in advance, giving us adequate time to get into position and reconnoiter the site," JadeJavelin said. Which explained the continued presence of the HFV Tamora and its complement of Occultia recon suits.

"Ah," I said as I took in the full capabilities of the reinforced flotilla around the Tarantula Hawk. It was, I noted, a very quiet little force that nicely complemented the DarkStar and her rather heavy escort. The poisoned dagger and the cavalry saber. I glanced at Fabia, who nodded to me.

The elder demoness watched us come to the realization. "We may have taken losses during the raid on Harp's World but we have teeth. It is my hope that the Lords and Ladies will parley in good faith and accept the SilverHold, but if not, we will be ready for them."

+++++

Considering the world it glared down upon, it was a cruel irony that the sun shining on Forlorn Prospect was a bright blue inferno. I was not sure if it was orbital distance atmospheric attenuation or what, but the Alecton colony world only had a very narrow equatorial band that was even remotely comfortable during their long year.

Alas, we were not at a temperate latitude, and thus there was considerable ground shine that reflected up from the craggy permafrost surface below us, turning the planetary surface below into white-blue hell. However, that same view did make up for the brightness, and the long climb it took to get all the way up to the secondary dorsal observation station.

A hexagonal blister consisting of panes of glass with metal shutters on the top of the starboard hull near the front of the ship, the post gave us an unobstructed view of the Tarantula Hawk's entire upper half. Nearly two hundred feet to our left was the primary forward station atop the ship's port hull.

Under most operational conditions, the compartment we were in lay idle, but in case of emergency or poor visibility, could be used to direct high tempo operations. More commonly, posts like there were a relatively popular hangout spot on the ship. Though the difficulty in getting to the dorsal posts did make them at the bottom of the list. It had taken some favor trading to get private use of the observation post, but only minimal dickering had been required; after recent events, my star was on the rise among the ship's complement.

Marching down the hull were the recessed hatches that contained the Vel launchers and other close-in defenses, and behind us were some of the propulsion pods and the giant twin vertical tails.

However, GreyDawn, my Vs, and I were all focused on the leviathan bulk of HFV DarkStar as it flew with its escorts off to our port side. Lit from above and below, the twin-hulled vessel shone like a quarter-mile sculpture. VTOLs glinted like tiny dragonflies as they darted into and out from the aft sections of the high-altitude behemoth.

The DarkStar's camouflage systems had blended its coloration to match that of the sky around it, leaving the appearance of a ship outlined in silver tracery, grey fog, and blue crystal.

The Tarantula Hawk's own low-profile systems were superior but for the last couple days, our assault carrier had been pretending to be a plain old Mellona medium carrier. Similarly, we were traveling slower to keep in formation with the larger vessel. Faster than the Fleet's battlewagons, the DarkStar could cruise at a standard fleet speed of around ninety-five miles per hour. The Tarantula Hawk was about ten percent faster than that.

Compared to the other observation posts, the dorsal ones were less popular given the difficulty in reaching them, but after today's events, I was more than happy to have a bit of privacy.

"It's a shame you can't fly next to such a legendary ship," VioletBlood said with a slight pout. "Although, perhaps it isn't quite all that it's been cracked up to be; I expected more ornamentation from a vessel of such renown."

"What, like hundred foot tall gilt bas relief icons of DarkStar and various saints?" GreyDawn sarcastically asked as she made sure we had privacy. The baffling magic made my horns buzz annoyingly.

"Don't be silly!" VioletBlood huffed. "That'd be far too much extra weight."

I stared at my betrothed. "That... is a valid critique."

"Quite so," Visha remarked. "Were you thinking something painted onto the hull? Or maybe some smaller devotional symbols?"

The Baroness nodded. "See, Countess? The Islander girl gets it."

"Fine, I suppose there would be a number of gold stars and other icons when the ship is gussied up for over-flights, formal reviews and other events." My tail flicked as I sighed, one frustration to the long climb up here was the outfit I was wearing that VioletBlood had oh so thoughtfully brought for me.

"The DarkStar's not alone in that," VioletBlood noted with a triumphant smirk.

I smiled despite my better judgment. "Your foresight was appreciated."

"I knew you wouldn't think to bring anything like that," she proudly said.

"It did come in handy," I allowed.

"That's what I'm here for: to do the thinking for you," the Baroness smirked at Visha's light chuckle. "And I'm glad you got to wear it today. Do you know how much of my luggage allotment I sacrificed to make sure you had something proper to wear?"

"I admit I didn't think to pack a nun outfit," I sighed in defeat.

"One of your poofiest and most formal nun outfits," VioletBlood added, as if that helped. Admittedly, her wings around my shoulders did soften the blow somewhat and made the insufferably frilly dress almost tolerable.

"It did come in handy for this morning's ceremony. Maybe you should thank LoveBlood for her generosity," Visha suggested, always the peacemaker.

I did not huff, nor did I stamp a foot, and I certainly did not lean into her hug. "Thank you, Baroness. Formal attire certainly leant the ceremony some additional gravitas." Somehow, I managed to say all of that with a straight face and even avoided pointing out that, unlike me, the ship's chaplains had not worn wimples large enough to act as sails, let alone any billowing gowns.

"Could you imagine how embarrassing it would be if, after a mission like this, after a ship like that appears," the Baroness flicked her tail in the direction of the battlecruiser, "if you were found lacking for anything proper to wear?"

"Perish the thought," GreyDawn said straight-facedly, her amusement nevertheless obvious for all to feel.

I frowned. Curse her eyes, she was right. After yesterday's briefing, it was clear that CSR deliberately requested the DarkStar. I was certain that they hoped the venerable ship would not be needed on Harp's World, but even having the battlecruiser for the handover here on Forlorn Prospect would add to the story the Lady Legate was trying to build. But now... now they could spin a web about my great piety praying for DarkStar to save us all.

Damnable spooks and the webs they weave. May their blood boil in DarkStar's enmity, I cursed as my tail lashed at the deck.

"And you were lovely." VioletBlood preened as she broke the hug to look me over. "Then you even made time to talk to your subordinates. You're very caring and a wonderful Squadron commander."

"Thank you LoveBlood." I eyed her. "But are you sure this is just sweet talk?"

"I can't just be nice and complement you?" she blinked innocently.

Visha and I exchanged a look. "No?"

She pouted at us, but I remained resolute in my skepticism. Eventually, she gave first.

"Fine. Are you sure there's not more we need to know about this operation? You know, to better help support you when you go down to the surface tomorrow night?" Baroness VioletBlood asked, bold as brass and instantly justifying my very grounded reservations.

"Ah…" I glanced away, knowing the hurt I would see in their eyes from my admission. "I'm afraid… unfortunately, ladies, further details are well and truly restricted. All I can disclose is that it is for good reason."

I took no joy in having to hoard secrets from my Vs. It was not like I had been told any truly game changing truth, other than the nature of who owned the SilverHold. For DarkStar's sake we had spent two hours this morning going over meal etiquette, which was especially rich given the primary rule about food when around the Lords and Ladies was: Don't.

I glanced at Visha for support. She smiled at me, but even she did not know everything.

Part of me worried that Visha had her suspicions about the few things I kept from even her. She and her too-perceptive friend, Erya, had harbored suspicions about my own maturity and command skill all the way back when I was still Tanya von Degurechaff. But now... as Victorious Shadow, she possessed the advantage of the memories and experiences from her life as Viktoriya Serebryakov. Would she make the deductive leap? Had she made it already?

VioletBlood gave me a skeptical glance, then pointedly put her full attention onto the magical tuning fork GreyDawn was operating.

"I'll confess Primus, I suspected you wanted to talk to us about something important, but private, when you had us go all the way up to this isolated spot," GreyDawn admitted. "But even if you wanted me to play chaperone, I doubt you would have insisted on me casting a baffle for you."

"Not to mention you did not bring Primus Hood up here, so you only wanted those of us from the old days," VioletBlood said with a little grin on her face.

"She's taking some extra time to help her Flight mourn. A more personal memorial instead of the pomp and ceremony the chaplains and I could provide." I rubbed my eyes. There was a lot I wanted to tell them, but despite my innate paranoia, I found it hard to disagree with CSR's assessment of the threat. Even now, I was loathe to think too much about the Lords and Ladies.

I had spent a lifetime planning, plotting, fighting, and defeating a being of near omniscience. And after all that toil and trouble, the concept of going up against creatures with even an echo of Being X's powers was not an experience I relished.

I looked over the trio of pilots. "Your mission tomorrow will be critical. If the situation requires it, you may get some... strange targeting orders."

Visha gave a sad little nod while VioletBlood's customary laughter stilled. and GreyDawn looked thoughtful. "That does explain why the brass horns wanted a Strike Squadron despite having an over-abundance of Torpedo launchers."

"Lances do give air strikes a personal touch." I gave them a hollow smile. "Invidia and her associates aren't lying. This mission, the SilverHold it... it actually is important. Quite so."

GreyDawn's expression turned thoughtful. "There's only a few reasons to have such restriction of information, especially after the mission's complete."

Visha gave her a calculating but cautioning look.

The older Legionary Flier held up a hand. "I know better than to speculate on such matters. Especially with how both of our Wing's Imperial Heroines were tapped for honor guard duties."

VioletBlood exhaled and gave me a toothy smile. "You want us to be your special backup," she purred.

"Nothing so arch." I held up a hand. "For tomorrow you'll get a briefing, but that won't give the full context. You will be one of the contingency plans."

"And if we are... hypothetically told to fire right by your position, you'd rather have Lance fire close than some angry spirits maneuvering multi-ton Torpedoes a stone's throw away?" Visha asked.

"Hypothetically, of course," VioletBlood added once again embracing me. "You have trained us to provide pin-point targeting even with the most powerful of weapons."

"Something like that," I allowed, wondering why she was being so amorous today. "Regardless, we should let Invidia and the Lady Legate have their secrets and schemes."

GreyDawn shook her head.

Visha also gave a little smile.

And VioletBlood's amusement was blatant.

"What?" I demanded.

"You brought us up here for a private, secret, intimate, meeting" the Baroness put her wings over my shoulders for emphasis, "all to reassure us that we need to trust the spooks no matter how crazy their orders were."

I sighed as my tail flicked. "There's more to it than that..." I admitted. In truth, there was little my Squadron could do to change events if I felt that CSR had... overstepped their bounds. The DarkStar was at the center of a battle group that out-massed and out-classed us in every way and every asset. I suppose the Tarantula Hawk was a quieter platform, but it was not like I had any influence over the ship's commander Praefectus Commodore SharpTail.

But I did have the utter loyalty of my pilots, I could only hope my good works would be enough to nudge the needle in a less catastrophic direction. "You all have Gorgon Rigs and I've trained you to keep situational awareness. Visha, you may have to take the initiative, like we've trained in the past. "

Visha's sunny disposition clouded slightly. "Like the good old days?" she asked, picking up my subtext. In our previous lives, we often got a lot closer to the ground.

I nodded. "Fabia will be down with me, so unfortunately we won't be able to rely on her for those kinds of heroics this time."

VioletBlood cackled with partial understanding. "You want us to react before we get orders?"

"That's a fine line," GreyDawn said with studied neutrality.

"Legionary officers are supposed to show initiative." I flashed my fangs. "Invidia should be well aware of what she's getting into when she dragged us into this."

My moment was ruined a bit by VioletBlood putting her chin on my shoulder to where her horns rubbed against mine. Her amusement and lo…loyalty coming through the now very close connection. Her tail had also wrapped around my leg which in a more public setting would have been at risk of undermining my authority. However, given the smiles Visha and GreyDawn were trying to hold in I suppose I had less to fear in that regard. If only I could keep my own tail from nervously curling.

+++++

The walk back down to the second deck where our bunks and briefing rooms was a laborious journey down twelve stories of ladderway after ladderway, helped not one bit by the heap of fripperies under which I had to labor. Sometimes, the route had a detour with a platform that went to one side before we resumed the seemingly endless set of steps. These corridors had hatches that led to the various inspection gantries that weaved among the lifting cells that kept the massive assault carrier aloft. They also provided access to the wide array of warding, veiling, and teleportation systems that had been built into the structural frames and skin of the airship.

It was at the first of these landings that we ran into a pair of grenadier friends of Lares's. My notoriety only extended so far, but his vouching for me did give us a measure of privacy as the Legionaries pocketed their dice, picked up their kit, and escorted us the rest of the way. I appreciated their vigilance but, if I wanted to sabotage the ship, I literally had access to magazines containing ship-killing ordnance.

If anything, the workout was a nice distraction for my mind. I knew that many Legionaries, especially members of the ground teams, would climb up and down these ladders as part of their PT. There was also a set of corridors on the third deck that roughly circumnavigated the ship, giving a running track that was over eleven hundred feet long. Five laps was close enough to a mile for most purposes.

My own pilots made use of those facilities. The greenhorns were long used to my training ethos and did not complain, and Lucia's mob also was fine with burning off excess energy.

It was fortunate that we were not winded or fatigued when we made it out of the upper reaches of the ship and into the bow area of the second deck. Our bunks were not far from here, nor were the rest of the amenities of "pilot country".

We had just gotten down to this deck, and were passing the smoking lounge, when the outer doors opened and Invidia stepped out. She gave me her cold self-satisfied smile and stepped aside to let a pair of Fleet officers exit the lounge.

To my surprise, both bore the Praefectus rank. The shorter of the two was a pugnacious looking woman with a rounded face framed by a short bob of amber-colored hair, dusky grey skin a few shades darker than my Signifier's, and a solid fire-plug like body. I recognized her asValentina SharpTail, mistress of the Tarantula Hawk. Wearing the basic dark blue coveralls all shippies wore as their default duty-wear, the only sign of her station were the gold saber-over-oar pins at her collar.

Next to her, however, was a woman resplendent in Fleet Whites. DarkStar's Blood, she even had a sword buckled to her waist and a Preserver Award tied around her throat! The gold-winged ruby teardrop was the mirror image of the one I bore with my own set of immaculate Legion Blacks.

Willowy and well-formed, the white-clad demon moved with an utter confidence and grace perfectly matched by the haughty expression carved into hauntingly familiar aquiline features. Her skin, an interesting sapphire shade, contrasted strongly with the pair of deep amber eyes that, for all of her studied aloofness, were focused intently on me. Her proud head was crowned with tresses pulled back into a severe bun whose structure was maintained by silver pins adorned with quadripoint stars.

The Lady Legate followed up close behind her, cutting off any possibility of a conversation absent her contributions. "There you are Countess DiamondDust, I'm sure you know of our skipper SharpTail, but please allow me the pleasure of introducing Praefectus Commodore Countess SunsetFrost, commanding HFV DarkStar."

"Please, do." I saluted, keeping in my apprehension. "A pleasure, Ma'am."

SunsetFrost gave me an imperious smile and an approving glance to VioletBlood before returning the salute. "We've heard much about you," she said in the same elegantly vicious voice that I had heard when her ship had arrived on Harp's World. "I must say, Countess, a most impressive display," she purred, her words as sharp as the sword on her hip.

It was quite impressive when you summoned her ship with your prayers, wasn't it? a traitorous voice teased in my mind.

"You are far too kind. I just did my duty to House, Empire, and Our Hallowed Lady." I added the last upon noting the other myriad of DarkStar regalia she wore. Like me, she bore a set of ruby earrings that practically had to be relics, as well as some silver bands near the end of her tail and a set of engraved bracelets. That the iconography on all of her jewelry indicated that we shared the same sect in the Church was the deciding factor in the pious addition. What use were cultural connections if they went unused, after all.

Something like genuine joy, with a dash of religious fervor flared across her narrow ascetic's face, and immediately I regretted my impulsive choice. Oh Hallowed Lady, was this the kind of madwoman the Admiralty put in charge of a battlecruiser? And thanks to LoveBlood, I'm meeting her dressed up as a nun!

"My, she really is a pious thing, Angela," SunsetFrost noted to the Lady Legate in a breathtaking bit of familiarity as her tail swished.

"Her record is quite clear on the matter," JadeJavelin dryly stated. I noticed she had refrained from expressing her own thoughts on the matter.

"In fact, she was just giving religious advice to one of her pilots who is interested in converting," VioletBlood merrily chirped in with her own eager pride.

Her fellow noble redhead eyed her approvingly. "That is right and proper. She clearly has taken the oaths of the Sisterhood as well." The DarkStar's commander studied my fiancee and then looked over Visha, and finally GreyDawn.

"Forgive me for the lack of full introductions. May you have the pleasure of meeting Primus Centurions Victorious Shadow of my First Flight, Baroness VioletBlood of my Second, and Signifier GreyDawn, my senior pilot. The Baroness is my betrothed and Victorious is my mistress." Somehow, I managed to keep an even tone throughout the ludicrous introduction; it all sounded so tawdry when laid out so bluntly.

SunsetFrost nodded to them and gave me what seemed like a reassuring smile but there was also that glee about her. I pushed down any misgivings; having the approval of the commander of the DarkStar was a good connection to have, in the military, the church, and among the nobility. "Ah, young love. You'll treasure this time, but... enough reminiscing. I'm not just here to exchange pleasantries."

Behind her, Invidia gave me a wintry smile.

"Volantes Prefect Centurion Countess DiamondDust, it has come to my attention that you will not be properly dressed for your upcoming honor guard duties." SunsetFrost's tone was mild, but I had been around acerbic nobles enough to spot the adder in the grass. She tapped the hilt of her sword. "I would be more than happy to loan you a weapon as well."

My mind raced as I went over the lessons in deportment and high-society survival I had been given in the capital last year, not to mention the diplomatic refresher Invidia had been running me through recently. I wasn't sure about the game she was playing at, but I had a reasonable guess.

"Then if I'm not too forward, allow me to thank you for your generosity in helping in such a way," I graciously said, bowing my horns. "You must allow me to make this up to you."

"It's no grand gesture," SunsetFrost assured. "I'm happy to help another servant of the Imperatrix and a member of the faith."

"Oh, but I insist," I pressed, trying to keep my wings from fluffing. I had no idea what she was offering, but at least I was correct that there was some sort of deal. Besides, insisting seemed like the right and aristocratic thing to do.

Meanwhile, GreyDawn seemed bemused by the noble dance happening around her, but wisely held her tongue.

"If you insist..." SunsetFrost gave a theatrical sigh as she undid her sword belt and held the ebony scabbard with its silver-fitting out to me. "I shall have to take your favor in return as an act of charity."

I may have miscalculated. I privately admitted within the confines of my skull. Externally, I numbly took the blade and said, "That is more than acceptable."

"I told you, you should have brought the sword your mother and sister made for you," VioletBlood remarked before helping me belt the bloody thing around my waist.

"You should listen to your Baroness," SunsetFrost laughed, obviously amused by LoveBlood's outburst.

I simply nodded and kept in a sigh. What was the point of all these bloody rules of etiquette if a noblewoman could blatantly violate them whenever she pleased?

Centering myself, I bowed at her. "Thank you for the loan. I will use it with honor and return the blade to you or forfeit my life."

"I expect no less," SunsetFrost waved and glanced to her fellow ship commander. "And you were worried about the Hoof-sloggers, Sharpie. Both Imperial Heroines are impeccable young ladies."

SharpTail shrugged. "I am glad they met with your approval. I'll pass your compliments on to Tribune Quirinus."

I kept a glassy smile. The Lady Legate was having the commander of the DarkStar loan items to Fabia and myself? I wondered what she had gotten. Maybe a sidearm. I wondered if I could trade Fabia the sword for the pistol.

"We shall do that directly! I have a bit of time before I must go back to my own ship. Angela, are you free for a bit more?" SunsetFrost asked the Lady Legate.

"But of course." JadeJavelin nodded.

I was slightly in awe of the battlecruiser commander's force of personality. Not only did the Lady Legate outrank her, but CSR's sinister clout made it so that most officers would listen to the "suggestions" of someone even of lower rank. It seemed that SunsetFrost felt that such rules were for people who didn't have a capital ship at their beck and call. Or maybe it was specifically that capital ship that gave her the political cover for such familiarity.

Or maybe SunsetFrost is simply like that. I thought. She wouldn't be the first officer I ran into with such an odd kind of charisma. Always best to steer clear of their chaos, I say.

"Let us go talk to the Volantes Tribune then," Sharptail said, giving a slight nod to the Lady Legate. Yes, despite being the same rank as SunsetFrost, the Tarantula Hawk's captain was more accommodating to CSR. Which was expected, seeing how the high-veiled assault carrier was made for the exact kind of sketchy operations JadeJavelin and her associates got up to. Fleet or not, Commodore SharpTail was clearly beholden to the force sinistre the CSR represented.

Invidia coughed. "If you'll accept my apology, Ma'ams; I have other duties."

"Nor a formal Apology I'm sure," SunsetFrost warmly said. "I just loaned out my sword and my sidearm, Centurion."

"Nothing so arch," the Lady Legate assured. "Invidia is merely entertaining some of our other... guests and should make sure that all their needs are seen to."

SunsetFrost nodded before turning to me. "Best of luck Countess DiamondDust, and may DarkStar guide your hand."

"May Her wisdom bring you enlightenment," I automatically replied.

The DarkStar's captain bowed her horns to me while the Tarantula Hawk's shook her head slightly. The Lady Legate then left with them going further forward towards the ship's bow while Invidia slipped off to a side passage.

"That's certainly a positive development for tomorrow," GreyDawn stated.

I gave her a look and eyed the rest of the corridor. It was just the three of us. Where had the grenadiers gone? Were they helping route traffic to detour around us? Or did they have the sense to, upon seeing a gaggle of brass-horns, slip away to avoid the attention of senior officers?

Damnation…how do they do that? I wondered, half bewildered and half jealous. If I could sneak off half as easily, I wouldn't get stuck in these impossible situations nearly as often.

"Oh yes, I think she likes you, Countess," Visha cheered.

"Clearly, she has good taste," VioletBlood eyed the sword before giving me a toothy smile. "And you were worried about tomorrow."

"Yes, I was," I sighed, patting the hilt.

End Chapter 30

And we're nearing the end as the SilverHold will soon be given back to its rightful owners, and everything will be fixed. The next chapter REDACTED has over 8k written and is on the last scene of the last chapter of this arc.

Thanks to Ahuva, DCG , ellfangor8 , Green Sea, Larc , Readhead, metaldragon868 , and ScarletFox for checking and editing this chapter. Special Thanks to Endymion for the idea of having the DarkStar's captain loan her sword to Tauria. There's been great contributions from all my editors as they help really polish this work.

 

[Sunshine Temple]

The War Chronicles of a Little Demon

Set in the Diyu Demons verse
A Saga of Tanya the Evil fic.
By Sunshine Temple

Naturally, I do not own Youjo Senki. So here's the disclaimer:

Saga of Tanya the Evil its characters and settings belong Carlo Zen, Shinobu Shinotsuki, and NUT Co., Ltd.

Previous chapters and other works can be found at my fanfiction website.
http://www.fukufics.com/fic/

C&C as always is wanted.

Chapter 31: REDACTED

The Spatha shook with the gusting winds as we shot down to the surface of Forlorn Prospect. To our west, the horizon lit up with sunset as the world's misleadingly too-bright star slipped out of view. The Ventus Pilot at the stick must have been ordered to treat this as a combat drop given the aplomb and alacrity the little VTOL was being maneuvered with.

"Well, this is a new experience," Fabia dryly noted as she looked past Invidia's shoulder to a small window mounted in one of the side doors. We were sitting across from Invidia and the Lady Legate on the Spatha's small jump seats.

"I suppose this type of deployment is a novelty for a RP Pilot," Invidia remarked, the frostiness in her tone clearly coming over our headsets.

"That and that we're doing it in full mess-dress," Fabia said with slight exaggeration while adjusting the restraints over her Legion Blacks. The white leather holster to her loaned sidearm did match her belt, but to anyone familiar with Legion sartorial themes, the clear bit of Fleet kit would stand out.

"Ah, I suppose that is a novelty," Invidia allowed. Her gaze drifted to the dark green crate that had been secured to a low-slung cart chained to the deck in the aft of the Spatha's main compartment. A fair bit wider than a Ritual Plate casket, the crate none-the-less had a coffin-like aspect.

My attention went from the ominous container with its securing bands and bindings to my... companions. Invidia was similarly dressed to myself and Fabia. With her sharp features, ebony feathers, and black uniform devoid of any specialization or rank beyond that of a centurion, Invidia Fidelis Nihilus was less than reassuring. However, she was not lacking in honors. She bore a small number of highly select Phalera in polished gold and silver.

Phalera, little sculpted disks with intricate devices, usually served as an officer's Curriculum Vitae; for those fluent in their sigils, a line of Phalera revealed the lines of an officer's entire career, indicating the theaters and campaigns they had served in. My own abbreviated line indicated my brief time in House Vualia and my extended tour in the Crocelli jungles, though the less said about my Preserver Award, the better. Fabia's own rack, which was just as lengthy as Invidia's, displayed her own status as an Imperial Heroine and noted a rich history serving in myriad colonial brush wars, including the Laotia Crisis, the Storming of Sevillia, and the Siege of Bononia, not to mention a tour supporting the Empty Quarter Patrol.

Meanwhile, despite bearing commendations and medals, none of Invidia's commemorated any particular campaign, battle, or even theater. Instead, all her honors were for the quality of her service without going into any specifics. Noticing my interest, Invidia gave me that chill smile as if to ask, what I had expected from the CSR?

I simply shrugged my mute reply. At least she was wearing a uniform instead of aping a civilian this time.

She had clearly left such pretensions to our Lady Legate. Dressed in an ash-grey suit and matching bodice with a dark tan overcoat, the only symbol of military authority Lady JadeJavelin bore was the polished brass and jade Legate's scepter. Which, I had to admit, more than sufficed.

"We'll be down soon enough," the Lady Legate stated. "See, we're over the settlement now."

The "settlement" was more of a company mining town, and looked thoroughly dead. Gazing out the window as the little VTOL banked about, I could see a group of buildings at the head of a valley. No lights were on, and nothing moved below us. It was unnatural, especially considering all the industrial infrastructure. The abandoned town sat in the shadows of a silent refinery from which spread rails to sealed mineheads. We flew over lines of snow-covered hills, showing the vast number of tailings from the closed mines.

For it all to be quiet and still seemed… ominous.

"Alecton Duraluminum really had an amber mine here?" Fabia asked. She tried to sound respectful, but the skepticism was still there. Aether Amber was a major energetic component in ship power systems and was thus critical for any Great House's war and merchant fleets.

"They have several on Forlorn Prospect, but with rich veins being discovered on Oncaster the lower performing hardship posts here on Forlorn Prospect were mothballed like Byrnsville down there," JadeJavelin explained.

I nodded along. Oncaster was a far more pleasant world. It was also, like Forlorn Prospect, one jump from the Alecton hub world of New Batavaia, but unlike the frosty mostly-wasteland we were on right now, Oncaster was also far closer to Diyu.

"Really?" Fabia shook her head. "And here I thought Oncaster was just a stopover world in part of the chain linking New Batavia to Diyu."

JadeJavelin gave her a dry smile. "Oh, it was. Initial surveys found a pleasant enough world, but one with few connections and fewer still obvious resources, so it was passed over for development." She shrugged. "Just another minor piece in the Great Game of carving up the Dimensional Spine."

Invidia gave an equally cold grin. "At least until later on, prospectors got curious. Thankfully, this time the arcana they found buried and forgotten was a benefit to their House."

I gave a noncommittal shrug. Despite discovering over a hundred worlds, our kind tended to fight over the handful that were strategically vital by the resources they bore, the infrastructure upon them, the travel options they facilitated, or, in the case of Diyu, all three. There were dozens and dozens of worlds that had minimal settlement: nothing more than a few counties and maybe a city or two of note.

"Eyes to the horizon, we risk missing the adder at our feet," JadeJavelin chuckled

The Satha's propulsion pods raised in pitch as they rotated as we came in for a final descent. Landing gears came down with a thunk. The short buildings of the abandoned town rose up to meet us as the flaps and engines flared, and we landed in an empty square. Snow blew up around us, and, for a moment, the windows went into whiteout.

The Lady Legate stood up, and with her eyes softly glowing, hit the button to lower the aft ramp. It took me a moment to realize that the VTOL had not landed and instead was hovering just off the ground. As the Legate talked with the Spatha's pilot, Invidia and Fabia started removing the chains that had secured the SilverHold to the deck.

By the time I got my sword adjusted and the side door open, the thin snow cover had all been blown away and I was able to make the modest jump onto the cracked paved street.

I had a brief moment of wonder at their paranoia before the sound of Fabia exiting the other side door grabbed my attention. Without any need for words, Fabia and I took up positions bracketing the open ramp, backs towards the VTOL and facing out towards the empty street. While the likelihood of a sudden assault, much less a sudden assault that we could do anything about without our Ritual Plates, was minimal, there were appearances to keep. While we kept our self-appointed and mostly honorary vigil, the two CSR officers carefully rolled their precious cargo off the ramp onto the ground.

Invidia followed the crate down and kept watch while JadeJavelin secured the side doors. For a moment, a trio of feathered women stood a mute watch on Forlorn Prospect. The wind blew up, as my wings fluttered and a chill bit into my limbs.

Then, with the measured stride of a conquering general, Lady Legate JadeJavelin stepped down the ramp and set foot on the surface. The ramp closed behind her, and without so much as a by-your-leave, the Spatha shot back up into the air, almost as if fleeing the empty husk that was Byrnsville.

I had a moment to reflect on my spike of anxiety. Once again, I was stranded sans RP on the surface of a strange world. Unlike Harp's World, however, I was not alone. Fabia was by my side, with JadeJavelin and Invidia by the cart holding the SilverHold.

JadeJavelin gave a toothy smile as she waved a set of carefully crooked fingers with her free hand, and all the dark lamps in the plaza flicked into life with cold, antiseptic light. The Lady Legate had not used kinetomancy to turn on the valves or pyromancy to ignite the burners; I doubted there was any gas in the lines.

No, this was an illusion, a comprehensive and far-ranging one. And she was using it to light our way. The casual display of power was as overdramatic as it was pointed with intent.

"Come, ladies, we have an appointment to keep," the Lady Legate encouraged as Invidia took the handle to the crate and pulled it along. "Our guests are not the type to graciously welcome the fashionably late."

Exhaling, Fabia and I followed. Despite the way my breath steamed in clouds behind me, the sudden, almost stifling warmth that had wrapped itself over my shoulders since my heels touched the planet's surface clung to me, resolute despite the cold.

I resolved to do my best to ignore it.

+++++

The Lady Legate halted our little procession in what had been the town's market square. With a bit of denial and imagination, I could pretend that the merchants had shut down for the night, had gone home, and were ready to open their stalls and hawk their wares again come morning.

A comforting delusion, but a delusion nonetheless. While there were the remains of a few folded-up stalls and booths, most everything else had been cleared out. Besides, this was a mining town, shifts at all hours of the day would not be uncommon, and even if not, our species was quite comfortable in darkness. More than a few of us lived functionally nocturnal lives.

A bit of melancholy swept through me as I scanned our surroundings. The Lady Legate's illuminating magic could only do so much to thaw my melancholy. I could see a deconsecrated church of DarkStar standing next to a synagogue. That was interesting in and of itself, as neither religion was particularly common in House Alecto. But what struck me more was the idea of the last service each place offered and what had happened to their congregations.

My eyes went to the schoolhouse with its carefully installed storm-shutters. Whole families had been pulled out when the shifting politics of the Great Game suddenly left these mines redundant to Alecto's interest. That so much care had been taken in protecting the windows of the now-vacated buildings indicated that the residents of Byrnsville had hoped they might one day return.

The optimist in me, such as it was, theorized the residents had moved to one of the mines closer to the equator and would likely have been happy enough to find new homes in a more temperate, almost livable clime. Perhaps they had moved to Oncaseter.

The cynic in me pointed out that those places already had plenty of miners.

"There's always New Van Zandt," Fabia suddenly murmured next to me.

"What?" I asked, my tail stiffening at the abrupt comment that drew me out of musing about the town and the Legate's magic. Despite the frosty weather there was no chill in the air, just an… absence of temperature. I had growing concerns that the Lady Legate's magic was far more than it seemed.

"It's only one jump from here," Fabia continued in a soft and casual tone. "They have their own mines, nothing as glamorous as Amber, but they've got coal, useful metals, and even a Black Salt supply. There are worse independent colonies out here."

I frowned at her, suspicion raised. "Where are you going with this?"

"Oh don't worry, your empathy for the miners was obvious. You really can be a merciful little thing." Fabia's mirth waned. "Though you might want to get your game face on."

My heart faded back into a steady rhythm at her words of reason. Nodding, I put all my senses on high alert. Keen eyes probing the dark shadows, sharp ears picked to catch what they couldn't; I even sniffed the air searching for a whiff of something out of place. The Lady Legate was doing a masterful job of concealing what had to be impatience, even her tail swished to and fro with casual ease. For her part, Invidia was almost as good, but her tail flicked pensively as her stern expression became more focused.

The elder demon gave her aide a minute nod. Invidia tapped her headset. "Flight Ops, this is Ground Team."

"Flight Ops to Ground Team. Flight Ops to Ground Team," a voice rang in my ear. "We have you on telemetry. What's the situation?" asked a far more mature and... cynical voice than the typical chipper but professional Fleet dispatcher.

That one of JadeJavelin's associates had taken over our comms was disquieting, but at least we still had comms. Given all the heavy restrictions the Lady Legate had put on this mission, I had been concerned we would be under a total blackout as well. Our air cover held back to keep some pilot from seeing something they shouldn't. Thankfully, there seemed to be limits to CSR's paranoia. Or maybe their worries of an eleventh-hour betrayal had at least outweighed their fetish for compartmentalization.

"Flight Ops, we are in position. Waiting for pickup of the package. The guests are running a bit late," Invidia stated. Her voice was calm, and she had not used any of the duress codes I had been briefed on. However, for a mission like this, I was sure Fabia and I had not been given the whole story.

Tilting her head, JadeJavelin gave a not-to-ladylike snort.

"Understood Ground Team. DarkStar be with you," the comm spook said before the channel closed.

Then the near-oppressive silence returned. This time, however, we thankfully weren't left long to stew in the ominous quiet. Soon, Fabia's nostrils flared and she gave a slight frown, alerting me that her sensitive nose had noticed something at last.

Almost at the same time as I saw that frown, a sickly sweet scent, reminiscent of cranberries, drifted across my nose. It was faint, but quickly intensifying. I felt the weight of the sword of the HFV DarkStar pulling on my hip. The illusionary lights grew brighter as the Lady Legate stepped around the cart with its tied-down crate.

Then, from the old guildhall for the Sisterhood of Miners, Steamfitters, Refinery Artificers, and Alchemists, the sound of footsteps echoed, strange in the starry cold that should have flooded the square.

The sweet smell grew more intense as a tall figure bled into existence and sauntered towards us. I blinked. The person looked like a male human, albeit one that moved with the grace of a dancer. A long leather coat swayed at his thighs, and a bright red knit woolen cap crowned fine black hair.

The sickly smell, a scent that I at last placed as lingonberry, came from the iced treat he carried, deep red syrup poured over shaved ice in a paper cone whose sheer bland mundanity became a punchline by dint of its holder. The man's vaguely vulpine face gave us a hungry smile as he took a toothy bite out of the sweet confection.

"Ah, returning the queen's stolen property are we?" he asked in arrogant lilted Silvan Latin. But for his slight, lilting Atalian accent, his voice could have passed for a native's. His stride shifted to a predatory prowl as he smiled teeth too sharp for a mere human. The artificial lights cut harsh, jagged shadows in his wake.

"One might suppose that would be the minimum of grace that can be expected from parties who had wronged us and come prostrate begging for succor and forgiveness," the man continued.

Blinking, Fabia managed to keep her composure while Invidia's tail flicked with a weary exhaustion. The Lady Legate squared her shoulders and managed to look down her nose at the Sidhe man. For my part, I was reminded of the petty squabbles of the spoiled noble cadets in the capital who thought that surviving a few duels to first blood made them Mistresses of War.

I cut that line of thinking off with a sharp breath. Right. Playing the aggressive foppish dandy is an excellent way to convince someone to underestimate you, or to provoke foolish or aggressive behavior.

With a slow deliberate motion, Lady Legate JadeJavelin took her ornate scepter, the symbol of her office, and slipped it into a jacket pocket. She sent us the briefest flickers of approval at our composure. "Your suppositions, veiled-threats, and postures are not relevant to tonight's business, Gentle Lord of the Winter Court."

The sweet dessert was tossed to the ground. The casual littering offended me more than the blatant symbolism of the red fluid spreading out onto the cobbles. "You would spoil my fun, Angela? Bring a motley flock like this to honor my Queen? Is that the has-been I see?" He gave a smirking bow laden with mockery to Invidia. His shadow mirrored the gesture a beat later.

"And the..." his words trailed off as he met Fabia's gaze. The wind rose as a gust came down the hill bringing with it creaks from the refinery's pipes and conduits. Deftly stepping away from the mess he made, the fae's gaze went to me. "Ah... the Legion's finest. Heroines, rising stars... darkly but still rising."

Was that a hitch in his voice I detected? Was that a ploy on his part? There were too many unknowns. What I did know was that the man was deliberately avoiding even looking in the direction of the crate.

"Mayhap, I've been a poor host; I should apologize," he smiled winningly, and however much it may have been filled with bright teeth and honeyed words, it remained empty of any true apology. I wasn't entirely sure how much I could trust the CSR's word that the fae couldn't lie, but my instincts screamed that his every action dripped with deception.

The Lady Legate held out a hand as if to capture a falling snowflake. Her illusionary gas lamps turned a shade brighter making the shadows starker and giving an artificial, almost harsh contrast. "We are in Alecton territory. My command has host-right."

The man's smile flickered. It was a tiny thing, a ghost of a moment. If I had not been looking, I would have missed it; clearly, the Lady Legate had not. Her usage of the declarative could be nothing but deliberate.

"Challenges are to be relished, and where are my manners? We haven't done introductions. How rude," this time, his smile seemed genuine and lovely. But I had spent this life around pretty, alluring predators. "Would it be too much trouble to have your names?" the man in the red cap crooned.

The Lady Legate laughed. It was not a bell-like pearl of mirth, or even a throaty purring chuckle. She cackled derisively and motioned to Invidia. The back-winged woman stepped to the crate and drew a gold-etched dagger that shone in the harsh lights.

Now the fae's attention was to the crate that contained the SilverHold.

An ugly expression flicked over him as his body tensed; I suspected a lupine lunge, but he regained his composure when Invidia merely sliced through one of the bands securing the crate to its low-slung cart.

"Posturing and veiled-threats have no place here, Redcap," the Lady Legate stated, her tone iron. "We shall not question your Queen's word. Perhaps you should not question our Imperatrix's resolve."

The fae, the Redcap's, hard eyes went to me. Now those cold blue eyes gave more than a cursory glance and his head rapidly went up to the sky, as if he could see the waiting flotilla. "If one comes bearing the sigils, ships, and saints of the DarkStar-"

The Lady Legate cut him off. "Yes, then the story of BlackSky's wroth is not far behind. Do we have an understanding?"

I swallowed at the escalation. I knew that the HFV DarkStar had a considerable religious complement, but I should have expected that Praefectus Commodore Countess SunsetFrost had brought a living saint with her. The Order of Our Hallowed Lady only had a handful of non-posthumous saints, but if anyone could get their attention, it would be the captain of the DarkStar.

"I suppose that is the question," a silken voice said as a woman appeared on the steps of the abandoned church. She was tall, with luminous gold-green eyes and tumbling crimson tresses. Her pale skin aside, she reminded me of an older, more human-looking VioletBlood. Though her haughty expression was a bit more crazed than my Baroness's. Her tall shadow stretched behind her, moving just out of beat with her steps.

The Lady Legate did not seem surprised at her appearance, and the elder demoness even bowed her horns to the approaching Sidhe Lady.

The lamps closest to the redhead shifted from harsh antiseptic light to a cold blue as she approached, her long emerald green dress swishing on the sparsely snow-covered street. Her gaze set upon the other fae. And then she looked down to the spilled crimson iced confection. "Rude."

Her single word cracked across the plaza. Her hand snaked out, and, like a conjuror, a whip appeared between her fingers. The air sang with thunder, and the Redcap fell to his knees, a thin blue cord taunt around his neck.

Instinct took over. I took a step forward to adjust my stance. My hand darted to the hilt of my loaned sword. Wings fluffed with the roiling currents of my Zephyr, eager to play. My heart pounded with adrenaline at the sudden turn.

The Lady of Winter languidly rotated her wrist, forcing the man to gasp as he was pulled down to his hands and knees, practically baring the back of his neck. "La, good help is hard to find, is it not Lady Legate?" the woman studied the nearly prostrate man with a hungry gleam. I could smell the tall woman's blood-madness.

"I can't say I've had that complaint," JadeJavelin noted with the barest echo of dry wit.

"Ah, they do seem so very eager," the woman's feline-slitted eyes set upon me with naked interest. "My, she already has a sword ready. Would the Redcap's head make a proper gift? An... Apology, as you call it?"

The faerie rolled the word around on her tongue, sampling it as if it were some new and unfamiliar flavor, a concept intriguingly foreign to her sensibilities. But, given the vast bloody potential inherent to such a gesture, not one she found entirely distasteful.

I tried to control my heart. This woman was not something new. I had spent this whole life around violence-crazed women. I had worked under elder demonesses and dealt with their casually oppressive power. DarkStar's blood, I was engaged to Baroness VioletBlood, a woman for whom violence was only ever an errant twitch away!

But then I noticed I had started to draw, and several inches of engraved silvery blade had been exposed.

The Lady Legate stepped closer. "Peace, Leanansidhe; no offense was given. Countess, you may be at ease."

I snapped the sword back into its scabbard and shifted to standing with legs separated and arms clasped behind my back. This Leanansidhe may couch her offer in the Diyu Convention of Apology, but it was still a gift. And a gift from a Fae was a dangerous obligation.

"A shame," the Leanansidhe rotated her wrist the other way, and the whip slackened. "Get up," she ordered the Redcap.

Gasping, he rose in a single sinuous motion and immediately put on a composed, arrogant bearing. He gave Fabia a sarcastically gallant bow that did little to conceal the murderous look in his eyes.

"Do not fret, poppet," the Leanansidhe smiled almost maternally at me, showing her own set of delicate fangs. "Patience, patience, you shall have plenty of opportunities to wet your claws."

Fabia gave Invidia a questioning look, and the dark-winged spy passed that expression to the Lady Legate.

JadeJavelin simply shrugged.

"Come, crimson highwayman," the fae woman ordered her subordinate, who, with some reluctance, fell at her heel. "We are guests, are we not?"

This inquiry was pointedly at the Lady Legate. The duties of guest and host were important on much of Diyu, but apparently, they were unto a law of nature among the Lords and Ladies. Extending guest-right to these two fae would mean they would have an obligation to comport themselves as guests, but also that we would have an obligation to act as proper hosts. Extending that courtesy would be an obligation, but not extending it would be seen as rude.

"You are welcome in Byrnsville as our guests, but alas House Alecto has only delegated such authority to me for a brief window," the Lady Legate smoothly said. "As such I must apologize for the lack of amenities at such a venue."

Leanansidhe gave a small smirk at that.

"One of your ships would be more comfortable," the Redcap sneered.

"Ah, but good Sir, I am afraid those are not my ships. They are the Imperatrix's and through her the Household Fleet, where I am merely a Legate of the Imperial Legions," JadeJavelin shrugged and hung her head, as if this was some grand tragedy out of her hands. Yes, she was not in command of any of the vessels in our flotilla, but said captains would take her suggestions with all due consideration. It was a bare technicality, but among the fae that was what counted more than any practical truth.

Redcap scowled while the Leanansidhe laughed; it was lyrical and discordant. Unlike him, she seemed to have no concern about the spy mistress and her associates. I could imagine several reasons for that. Perhaps it was merely her madness that lurked just below the surface, like a reef for an unwary ship. Maybe she was confident that this deal would go her way in the end or was dedicated towards bluffing that scenario into reality. It could also be as simple as she was fully aware of the power arrayed against her and, in an utterly rational evaluation of her own abilities, saw us as no great threat.

The fact that the last possibility doesn't seem so slim… I thought, resisting the urge to grasp the hilt of my loaned sword once more. I don't like it. Not one bit.

JadeJavelin nodded to Invidia. The dagger came out, and the other bands securing the crate were cut away. The Leanansidhe rubbed her hands, and even the Redcap dripped with anticipation. Thunder rolled in, and the flurries above us started to fall with greater regularity.

Fabia shared a tiny frown with me. Apparently, she too hoped that we could simply hand the crate over without seeing what the SilverHold actually was. We had bled and suffered and lost good people to get to this moment. I would be lying if I denied having any curiosity, but that was tempered by knowing every bit of knowledge I gained drew me deeper and deeper into this world of shadows and lies.

By the time Invidia had her hands on the sides of the lid, the sky had grown overcast.

"Members of the Winter Court of the Fae. Emissaries from the Queen of Air and Darkness. House BlackSky returns the queen's property," Lady Legate JadeJavelin stated as Invidia lifted and slid out the wooden lid. It fell to the cobbles with a whirlwind of new snow. Brown corrugated paper packing material billowed up.

For a moment it looked like the box was full of frozen water. A level surface reflected the dark clouds and blue lights like an icy pond. As more of the packing material was cleared out, the object looked more like a puddle of quicksilver set in an ebony tray.

Gazing down into the crate, the Leanansidhe gave a contented sigh. "It is unspoiled?" she asked with a languid dreaminess. In the soft azure-tinged illusionary lamp-light, her shadow seemed far less threatening.

The Lady Legate nodded. "We have reconstructed much of Elena's research and testing data. Their focus was on meteorological manipulation."

In the end, I could not resist the siren's call. I looked into the crate. Inside, among the silver, was a pale demoness with white feathers and blond hair. It was my reflection. The SilverHold was a mirror. In an ebony frame, the oval mirror was a wide full-length cheval style piece supported by a frame of the same dark wood intricately carved and polished to shine like the night sky.

The Leanansidhe laughed. It was a musical noise that excited my Zephyr and made me want to take to the air and fire my Lances on an enemy armored column. "The weather? Your Imperatrix's sister beheld the Mirror of Reason and she used it to play with the weather?" she shook her head in disbelief. "Will the wonders of your little games never cease…"

JadeJavelin kept in her slight irritation at that name being spoken. I could understand why she would have preferred to use codenames.

"Perhaps Elena used all their cleverness in purloining the mirror," the Redcap stated.

"That they managed it at all speaks of their will, if not their judgment, and that it took... effort to get it back." The Leanansidhe directed her manic joy to Fabia and myself. "Oh, yes."

JadeJavelin gave us an overtly bland look.

"Such heroics should be rewarded, no?" the Leanansidhe purred.

"I was merely doing my duty to the Imperatrix and the Legions," Fabia stated.

"All honors and rewards would be bestowed at her behest," I added.

The redhead frowned. "La, so formal, poppet. Perhaps it would not kill you to loosen up? To enjoy your duties and indulge in your artistic side?" She then directed her attention to Fabia. "And you radiate stiffness. I suppose you more than earned the name Firmitas."

Fabia stiffly nodded.

The redhead gave her a vicious smile before nodding to JadeJavelin. "At least this time, you brought pretty little killers."

"We are Legion," the Lady Legate said.

The Leanansidhe ran a finger down the mirror's frame. Sparkling blue tracery lit up on the ebony wood as she watched the fluffy flakes fall onto the mirror's silvery surface and melt into glistening beads. "You can make that claim. Indeed, most of Diyu's claims seem founded."

Redcap scoffed, but it was held back by Invidia's level, flat glare.

"The Silverhold is in your custody, Lady Leanansidhe," the Lady Legate reminded.

Leanansidhe removed her hand from the mirror. "Ah, I suppose I must deal with business. Highwayman, you may call upon the porters."

I frowned at the Sihde woman's almost... dismissive attitude towards the Mirror of Reason. Did she even care about the mirror for what it did? Or just that it was her Queen's, and having it stolen was an affront. Was this even really about mirrors?

She seemed more interested in... us. The little anxiety within me worried that this was some sort of... trial. No, was it more of an evaluation by the Fae? Could Elena steal such an artifact? Could we recover and return it? Desolate Stars, Alecto could have been measured. They quietly, deniably, assisted us every step of the way.

If true, that meant we had been played. My tail stilled, and I exhaled. Invidia was giving me a gimlet stare as her angular features seemed to will me into quiet compliance. She knew; of course the spy knew. I just gave her a stiff nod.

No wonder CSR was keeping the fae's role in this locked down. The Lords and Ladies were eager. If they had their way, they would have many such little tasks for us. As Uriel seemed to have let me alone, I had thought I was free of other such puppetmasters.

Before this meeting, I had allowed myself the luxury of hope. I deluded myself with the ephemeral dream that the SilverHold, that this DarkStar-cursed mirror was worth the deaths, was worth the trauma, was worth risking a new war. I had told my pilots, I had told my Vs. I gave them hope and told them their pain had meaning.

That hope died.

I stared into the mirror and saw my reflection pale and angry. Hundreds had died on Harp's World. And all for a test, a game. Because we feared a threat that even CSR dared not openly name. My hand clenched on the hilt of the sword of the HFV DarkStar. Cold wind and snow started to rise up around me as my Zephyr thought it might be time to play.

"Oh, such righteous, bloody fury, poppet," the Leanansidhe purred with obvious pleasure as she faced me. "I haven't felt that since my godson-", the wind drowned the rest out.

"Centurion DiamondDust!" The Lady Legate shouted, but it was too late.

I saw myself.

I saw my sword, firm and perfectly weighted and pressing against the palm of my left hand. Silver light flared along the intricately engraved blade as I spread my wings, blowing the snow and wind around in a great crescendo.

I saw that Invidia had her dagger out. Fabia's own borrowed gun was out of her holster like a magic trick. Pain and indecision crossed her face. My spirits raised, and I knew. I knew that despite the elder demon's power, despite the skills of the fae, I would strike.

I saw the blade sweep out. The Leanansidhe was an ancient being of power and skill in her own right. A lean predator of madness and inspiration. She stood across me, eyes glittering in anticipation. Redcap moved up by his liege lady, shining teeth and suddenly misshapen hands ready to rend alongside her.

But I was not alone. And the Hallowed Lady would guide my hand. It would not be the first time I had sacrificed everything to slay a monster. My luminescent blade would quickly cleave through the Redcap before striking true through the heart of one who would play games with me and mine.

I saw.

I saw all this in the quicksilver stilled surface of the Mirror of Reason. My hand let go of the hilt, and the sword seated back into its scabbard with a click. The cascade of snow and winds around us died with it, and my Zephyr floated languidly back to me. It was not worth it.

I turned from the mirror to face the Leanansidhe. Invidia's dagger was sheathed. Fabia's holster was still secured. Neither seemed to have seen the mirror's vision. The Lady Legate, however, gave me a tiny nod.

Redcap had taken a step back and was rubbing his neck anew. I was sure he was still hurting from the whip attack earlier in the night.

The Leanansidhe was watching me with even more intense interest. "Ah, the Watchman always picks such interesting strays."

I looked away. That sounded too much like a title for a certain archangel. Without staring into that cursed reflection, I instead watched the growing gentle rain of snowflakes pattering onto the mirror's surface. Contrary to the fae's assertions, I suspected it was not a lack of creativity that held Elena's hand. I suspected that the Onyx Institute had focused on weather manipulation out of caution, out of wisdom. Given the guests the Lady Legate had on the Tarantula Hawk, I was sure that question would be answered in due time.

"Wary of what you'll see next, poppet?" the Leanansidhe asked.

"Maybe, she saw enough," Redcap sneered, voice full of bravado.

"Lady, Sir, my curiosity is not germane to this conclave," I stated.

"La, such self-denial." The redhead's mad gleam grew as her smile grew. "Still, you have all brought the Mirror and you have been polite hosts."

"We only performed our duty," the Lady Legate stated.

"How can a species of temptresses be so dry?" the Leanansidhe shook her head, and, with a wave of her, hand a snow-squall fell around us. The whiteout was brief and centered around the fae woman.

A motion from the Lady Legate had us stand down, but in a moment, the precipitation cleared to the steady flurries. And now instead of a whip, the Leanansidhe held a quaint woven basket and a bottle of wine. Handing the basket over to Redcap, she pulled out a pair of glasses and opened the bottle.

In the newly harsh lamp-light, the crimson wine in the thin-stemmed glasses was put in stark relief. "As a guest, refreshments would only be polite."

I stilled at that, and even the Lady Legate's wariness was palatable. We had been cautioned. Beyond the risk of incurring debt to the Lords and Ladies was the concern that their foodstuff was biologically incompatible to most other forms of life.

"Your offer is gracious and generous. However, and with no implication on your intentions, our biological differences may be a point of concern," the Lady Legate said with deliberate smoothness.

"The mighty Elder Demoness, the Imperatrix's Hatchetwoman, is afraid of mere wine?" Redcap opened the basket and rummaged around. "Or is it the charcuterie that threatens you so?"

JadeJavelin raised an eyebrow as if the younger-looking UnSeelie Lord's goading was not worthy of a response.

"Oh peace, Highwayman," the Leanansidhe chided. "What if I assured that these libations originated from the human world?"

"If you said such a thing that would ameliorate some of the risks," the Lady Legate pulled out a slim copper flask and seemed to study it. "Come now Lea, how would you react if we insisted you have Diyu foods without any assurances as to the quality of the meats?"

"Oh? Did your Countess save any of the vittles she acquired on Harp's World?" the Leanansidhe eagerly asked and then gave a wistful pout as her green-gold eyes gleamed feverously. "It has been too long since I sampled the sweet pleasures of Diyu."

The Lady Legate glanced at me.

No wonder CSR was so paranoid. The fae knew much about our raid. I wondered if they were covertly observing or if they had... interviewed some of the Elenese survivors. "I must admit with regret to have already shared such... bounty with my betrothed and mistress."

"Ah young love." The redhead smiled. "There is much to commend about your people's culture."

I kept in a sigh. Of the most positive aspects of my latest life, that there were socially acceptable forms of cannibalism was not something I was terribly enamored with. By the frown and related emotions Fabia sent to me, I could tell she shared my mild disquiet.

Redcap snorted. "It was with great patience that the paltry conditions of this venue have been overlooked. With what one could say is due to no fault of the hostess."

Smirking, JadeJavelin handed the flask to Invidia. "The first duty of a host is to ensure the safety of her guests. Are you really challenging that my, good sir?" she asked Redcap with a flash of fang.

He glowered.

The Lady Legate raised a hand. "If you insist, a demonstration would be trivial. Bringing in an abundance of servers, cooks, and guards would hardly be provocation on our part if the Good Gentlemen requested their presence. If you insist on the full hospitality of House BlackSky with the... vittles desired, who am I to deny such a request?"

Lea sipped her wine. "A threat to overwhelm us with catering and exotic foodstuffs is quite the novelty."

Invidia undid the cap to the flask and gave the contents a thoughtful sniff. A slight anise smell drifted out that seemed to shift to a sweeter scent as it dispersed into the snow-filled air. The sharp-faced spy took a dainty sip.

"Was not your godson presented with a virgin sacrifice as a ploy?" Redcap countered.

"La, the poor dear was less than willing to make a show of that particular offering, but he more than made up for it," Lea sighed.

"I suppose it would be proper to celebrate the successful transfer of the mirror with mutual refreshments to symbolize the balance between our peoples," JadeJavelin allowed.

"But Ma'am, that would require concluding our business here," Invidia said, returning the flask to the Lady Legate.

For the third time, Lea laughed; it was a beautiful and terrible thing. "So, you can bargain, Angela." She clapped her hands.

"It is a matter of finding the correct levers." The Lady Legate bowed her horns and gestured towards the mirror. "What levers does this have?"

Something like confused anger flittered across Redcap's face. "You possessed an artifact of great interest to our queen and you deny the power it brings you?"

JadeJavelin shrugged. "I am merely a courier. Lady Leanansidhe has possession now."

"And the terms for this transfer? One could count this as a gift to our Court and thus worthy of a considerable boon," Redcap proposed.

Invidia tilted her head. "Or it could be taken as us rectifying a past offense on the part of Elena."

"Is such humility common among your organization?" Lea inquired.

The Lady Legate held a hand. "It is academic, for any boons or deals regarding this specific transfer shall be decided by authorities higher than us."

The fae woman inclined her head slightly. While I doubted BlackSky herself would take the Vault of the Heavens to Winter for a summit with the Unseelie Queen, knowing that the negotiations were taking place far, far above my pay-grade was both a relief and a new burden.

On one wing, I would not be present, and thus not at risk, during such negotiations. On the other Wing, knowing that our mission had a direct role for the Imperatrix, or perhaps one of her Daughters, was a fair amount of pressure after-the-fact. And what did it say about a spy mistress to pointedly decline a boon from the fae? Possibly that the Lady Legate was far more wise about the cost of favors and cautious about accumulating power, especially power that came with strings attached. Which made her more dangerous in my book.

Lea gave a small sigh. "Shame, but I can not deny my queen and you cannot deny your liege either, Angela."

"Hence, why perhaps a celebration after the conclusion of our market-place business would sooth such feelings," the spy-chief assured.

Both Fae's hungry attention fell upon Fabia, myself, and even Invidia. This time, I managed to keep my hand off the sword, if barely. The snake had stated that as Imperial Heroines, we were beings wreathed in story, beings that the Lords and Ladies would find tantalizing. The old monster was using us as a lure to distract them!

"Oh poppet, please be at peace. Such stress does little for one's health and happiness," Lea assured with a purr. "especially, for one so little as yourself."

"I am not stressed," I said, effortlessly maintaining my professional and mature demeanor.

"Mayhap it's the venue?" Lea offered.

"She's kind of like this all the time," Fabia admitted.

I glared at her. Betrayal from every angle!

"You're not wrong but... that is a bit personal," Invidia admitted.

I sighed. At least I expected the spy to stab me in the back.

"Poppet, do you want worry wrinkles?" the fae teased. "I would say you should live a bit more, like your fellow Imperial Heroine."

Redcap snorted. "The other Heroine seems just as stiff."

"Oh hush." Lea waved him off. "Perhaps it is that our Countess and the Unbending merely have old souls: both so mature, so sober. Ah, but on Harp's World, neither seemed satisfied merely killing in flight."

I managed to keep my tail from stilling. For a moment, despite the Lady Legate's magic, the winter chill went through me. Were the fae reading me? Mentally? Emotionally? Even if Lea were merely very observant that was concerning enough.

"I suppose we will not lack for dinner conversation then," the Lady Legate offered, completing the use of myself as a lure.

"So be it," Lea drained her wineglass and handed it to Redcap. She put one hand on the frame of the Mirror of Rationality and extended her arm down the length of the abandoned marketplace.

The snowfall increased. It was densest in the area where Lea pointed, but a veritable white-out had formed all around us. Large figures started to loom out of the snow and march towards us in two lines.

"DarkStar's Blood," Fabia swore as a quartet of massive figures lumbered towards us.

Each was several feet taller than Lares. Bulkier and shaggier than any Forest Person I had seen with off-white pelts, the beady-eyed beings wore engraved armor seemingly shaped from vast slabs of ice.

Behind the veritable ogres, six sidhe in silvery-purple armor astride dark predatory-looking steeds cantered up with barbed lances held high. I eyed the fae knights. Their plate armor seemed well designed and, despite the great artistry in their craft, seemed more than functional.

The eyeless equines with the spiraling horns and broad fangs were another question. I wondered as to the industrial capacity of the Lords and Ladies. Doubtless, this was the Winter Court's honor guard, so a degree of ceremonial pageantry was expected. And did not my own House have mounted troops on horses and raptors?

A forest of banner-tipped lances lowered in salute as the knights split and formed a guard formation with perfect coordination. Lea's mad smile spread as she directed the brutish quartet. With surprising dexterity, each took a corner of the crate and, as if it weighed nothing, lifted.

Where the steeds gave a comfortingly-mundane equine smell, the brutes had the slight odor of anyone who had spent a long day of heavy labor out in the cold. Even that, however, was preferable to the knights who were utterly without scent, sound, or emotional presence, and made for barely visible phantoms in the snowfall.

Fabia's wings ruffled as she studied the fae knights. Her Zephyr blew up as their interest matched hers. Invidia had affected an aloof stance that almost hid her apprehension. Meanwhile, the Lady Legate had taken out her flask and took a fairly large sip. The lights around her returned to the harsh white color as her tail swished with amusement.

I found a similar confidence growing in my breast. Both by the fact that the Fae soldiery, now bearing that damnable-mirror, had started to return to whence they came and by that Flight Ops had announced Squadron Three was being fed targeting telemetry. With Visha and VioletBlood watching over, there was little for me to fear.

Redcap made a move to follow the knights and the mirror, but with a single finger, Lea held him in place. The wind blew up and the Fae troops, and their burden, marched into a fresh squall and soon vanished leaving the six of us alone in the plaza. Lea then turned to the rest of us and gave a razor-sharp smile. "Now that the business is conducted, shall we eat?"

+++++

The negotiations were involved, pedantic, and exhausting. Fortunately, the Lady Legate managed all of them, and I simply had to stand still and keep my mouth shut. Having spent two lives, short they might be, in the military, this was a skill I was well-practiced in.

JadeJavelin formalized the deal with the Leanansidhe with a pair of thin silver shot glasses filled with amber liquid poured measuringly from her flask. She held both out and let the Sidhe pick one while she downed the other. Fabia managed to not roll her eyes at the drama of the pact. Redcap had no such restraint. During the celebratory toasting, Invidia had called her associates to set up our part of the logistics.

And now I stood on the front steps of the guildhall for the Sisterhood of Miners, Steamfitters, Refinery Artificers, and Alchemists. Fabia and the Redcap had pried off the beam that had secured the large wooden doors and were now busily shuffling some furniture around.

Even at this relatively temperate latitude, the residents of Forlorn Prospect constructed buildings to last. This "mild" winter in desolate Byrnsville would have cut through me if not for the Lady Legate's magic.

I would have rubbed my arms in worry, but Lea had offered some cheese and sausage from her gift basket, and I had to use my hands to take the food. With this deal in place, it would have been rude for me to refuse. So, I had taken a polite amount of what was, admittedly, a very good appetizer.

The redheaded Sidhe gave me a languid smile. "And what mayhap comes next, dear poppet?"

"You're not talking about tonight?" I asked.

"That was implied," she laughed, sipping her wine.

My tail flicked as I frowned. That was the question. The last two months of my life had been preparing for, executing, and then surviving this DarkStar cursed operation. But the mirror had been returned. It was over.

I looked up at the sky. "Serving my Imperatrix," I stated while taking a fresh sausage offered from the Fae lady. It would not do to be rude.

She rolled her eyes at that. "Obviously. Your blood debt has, what, sixteen years of tribute remaining? What is next?"

My head tilted. Partially to concede her point, partially in confusion at her choice of words. I had volunteered. Granted, I had done so out of a feeling of societal and familial pressure. Or so… or so I had thought at the time.

"I could be clever Lady Lea, but I genuinely do not know." I shrugged.

"You do not have suspicions?" she asked with a disappointed pout.

"A Wing like Tribune Quirinus's is quite valuable. I'm sure we'll have another assignment," I allowed. We had seven pilots dead, and I would not be surprised if we got more empty arming-chairs due to medical discharges. The four Squadrons would need time to heal and train to get back to full strength. Hopefully, we would get it.

Lea held out a hand to capture the falling snowflakes that sparkled on her palm. "Duty is weighty for the warders of the Spine."

I had a moment to ponder her words before a quartet of gleaming figures burst through the overcast cloud cover in a screech of maximum thrust. Wreathed in droplets and whipping fog, the Polyxo Suits shone with all their might and power. This had been to plan, but something...

I immediately spotted that they were in strike configuration with full on Lances. In addition to the flasks for the Lances, familiar canisters were bolted onto the suits. That I could identify their equipment was due to years of experience, heightened senses, and that those four madwomen were running without any kind of Veiling.

Descending, the Flight looked like an errant tail from any of them could cut roof-tiles. Before I could frown at the lack of Veiling, the Flight lit up in sparkling comets as the staggered diamond formation shone with contrails of silver, cobalt, and obsidian glitter that rained down onto the street.

Midway through their journey, the members of Flight Two, this had to be VioletBlood's doing, ripple-fired the mortars they had bolted onto their suits and shells launched to the sides where they burst into waterfalls of red flames that screamed and flashed as they fell.

The tri-colored sparkles of the detonating fireworks rained down, adding to the swirling white flakes. Before the first quartet had crossed over us, another pair of RP shot past a hair's breadth higher. Wind blew in a gale and a pair of sonic booms slammed over us. In a blink, the two Polyxo had vanished back into the clouds, their wakes disturbing the sparkly contrails of the slightly slower formation.

My eyes were dazzled with spots and my ears rang. Sniffing the air, my nose was filled with the scent of pyrotechnics that I had not smelled since my days as a cadet.

Or that night over Narvos before my twelfth birthday. The night where I made ace. The first time LoveBlood and I flew in combat.

Watching the flight fly back up into the clouds, I scowled. This was the Lady Legate's doing. She had been banking on my exploits. Had she brought along a set of glitter dispensers and pyrotechnics mortars? Or had VioletBlood ordered her Ritualista to hide such indulgences among Flight Two's equipment. Was this why VioletBlood was being so... familiar yesterday? She must have known about this and had made sure her people were trained up. Her Flight was the only one in my Squadron that was at full strength.

I glanced over and saw that Lea had gleefully clapped her hands. "Oh lovely! Poppet, I would so want to see those Lances, are they not called? Yes, those Lances fire. Missing out on experiencing such carnage is so very lamentable."

"That was an adequate display," Redcap begrudgingly admitted as he and Fabia stood at the threshold of the now open front door.

Tail swishing, Fabia gave him a smug look.

Meanwhile, Lea's attention was on the half dozen Broadcast Recon troops in their light lorica that blended into the background. Six cubical shipping crates were lowered by their carrying loops, and deposited onto the cobbles where they disturbed drifts of sparkling, sulfurous snow.

Despite the secured lids, a more appetizing aroma came from the crates. The Hoof-sloggers looked up to us, exposing their necks, and saluted Fabia and I before they vanished in another flare of arcane light.

Will the wonders never cease? I resisted the urge to let out a tired sigh I felt with all my many years.

Personal teleportation troops were one of the rarest specializations in the Legions, and the Lady Legate had just used them as food delivery girls. I wondered what those Broadcast Recon troopers thought of all this? Did they get enough of a bead on Lea and the Redcap to realize who they were, what they were?

Or were they old enough hands at CSR nonsense to not ask any questions? Regardless, as LoveBlood had shown, there were plenty of eyes in the sky. This included the other six pilots in my Squadron. While VioletBlood had surprised me, Visha's role was something I had planned. And Visha had obeyed by keeping a Flight's worth of RP to stay above the cloud cover, ready to provide heavy fire support at a moment's notice. She just happened to have six more suits at her disposal, which I had assumed could be moved to support the other Squadrons in our Demi-Wing.

"Dinner and a show?" Lea asked once more, glancing up into the sky.

"As a multi-role rapid deployment platform, the Polyxo has much to offer," I stated.

"Oh poppet, for a nun must you use such clinical terminology?" Lea sighed as she walked towards the crates. "Would you drain the passion, the mystery, the magic, out of everything the grand tapestry of existence has to offer?"

"The Countess? She's merely reserved; it is how she grapples with the chaos of life," Invidia stated with an almost genuine-seeming smile as she approached us.

I eyed the black-haired woman; she had stepped aside to set up the supply drop but could have also been doing some other sinister scheming.

"Ah, excellent timing," JadeJavelin came out the front doors that Fabia and Redcap had left open. "Shall we?" she asked, walking towards the neat line of crates.

I followed the others with Lea at my side. The tempting scents grew as we drew ever closer. Unbidden, I could feel temptation gnaw at my gut, but I tried to maintain my composure, to guard myself against fae prying.

"The ship's cooks have outdone themselves," Fabia noted as she lifted a lid. Inside were stacked metal baking pans with foil lids. Tendrils of steam wafted up, and I paused to take in the scent of sausages, steak, and baked chicken.

Invidia quickly checked a crate packed with ice and had various bottles and cartons, while the Lady Legate took one that had been filled with fresh fruit. I was not too proud to admit that I eyed that collection covetously.

Having been on the Tarantula Hawk for not even two weeks, I was already craving fresh produce. I suppose this was part of the resupply when we rendezvoused with the DarkStar and the fleet train.

My spirits lifted a bit at the prospect of a meal with some variety. I went to an unopened crate. This one had a sweet but spiced smell coming from it. I pulled the lid and frowned. Inside was a collection of flatware, plates, and glassware carefully packed in napkins and other linens. The scent was coming from a couple potpourri packets off to one side. I stared at the dried flowers and herbs.

I could only laugh at the absurdity of the preparations and games CSR went through for this operation. There was enough bric-a-brac here to set up a formal dinner. Truly, they were all crazy demons; it seemed that those lessons in etiquette would not be wasted.

Despite there being six crates and six of us, it was obvious that our guests were less than willing to do such mundane tasks as moving crates. While even the Lady Legate had taken a burden of produce, Lea seemed comfortable sipping her wine glass, and Redcap watched with amusement.

Regardless, bringing everything into the guildhall and unpacking it was done with relative ease. Inside, thanks to the Lady Legate's magic it actually felt warm. The artificial lighting was bright, revealing a pair of long old wood tables with a set of chairs around one. The food was unpacked around the other table with the plates and glassware to one end.

"I am afraid serving will be buffet style," the Lady Legate noted as she opened a bottle.

"Alas, such suffering must be borne when one roughs it in the field," Lea noted somberly as she intricately folded napkins at each seating place. Her own basket had been portioned out to make an oeuvres platter. "Yet is it not said that these minor inconveniences only serve to make the true indulgences all the richer."

"Yeah, we've hardly got a full bar here," Fabia dryly said as she put a splash of pail green oily-looking anise-smelling liquor into a stout glass and mixed it with a dash of sugar and a spray from a seltzer bottle. "But it beats field rations. Or… you know. 'Field Rations'."

I decided to ignore that. Instead, taking my own refreshment with a glass of cider, I gave the lone still-closed crate a quick peek. Inside was a collection of sorbets and gelatos.

"Spoiling your appetite?" Invidia inquired.

I glanced at the small plate she bore, which had a collection of petit fours and other little pastries, and simply raised an eyebrow.

"As if I would begrudge you from indulging a bit to celebrate. I'm hardly that cruel, Countess. You more than earned a tasty treat," Invidia assured, the conciliatory tone seeming at odds with her sharp features and cold eyes. "If nothing else… think of this as my small way of paying an investment towards a worthwhile asset, hmm?"

That, if nothing else, set my mind somewhat at ease.

"It would not be the first time for her, no?" Redcap asked with his own plate of cheese, sausage, and ribs. Despite being inside, he had kept his woolen cap on, though he had at least divested himself of his coat.

"Those times were different," I argued as I picked up a plate and approached the buffet line. I did have to angle to one side to keep from knocking the table with the hilt of my loaned sword. Out of politeness, I took some of the cheese and crackers that Lea had brought.

"Different in the indulgence or the choice of meat?" Redcap asked, his own pointed white teeth flashing.

As I filled my plate with some smoked fish and a fruit salad, I eyed him. "Why the questions?" I asked as I took some honeyed dates. "I doubt a man of your experience and rank would indulge in squeamishness over such things."

His crooked grin was dashing and roguish, but those eyes were still flat as a predator's. "Oh, I'm not. But you will pardon someone taking fascination in a warrior society's stories venerating anthropophagy."

Tail flicking, I returned the smile. Fabia and the Lady Legate had approached. Both were having a little nosh, though the elder demoness was watching with the same politely-interested expression. JadeJavelin nodded to me as if to allow me to respond.

"I can't deny that my actions haven't been the source of stories," I shrugged, gamely trying to conceal my amusement at the Fae's misreading of BlackSkyvian culture. We were not a warrior society.

Oh yes, the Legionnaires, Fleet personnel, and Axillaries were greatly respected. And individual heroism was elevated, much to my personal annoyance. However, the BlackSkyvian military was a collection of soldiery, not warriors.

The Lady Legate's lack of displeasure showed I had made the right decision in not correcting Redcap's misconception. One might point out that the history of Diyu, or a least the first three Epochs, was all about learning the folly of being a "warrior culture", said culture being extinguished in the War of Reprisal alongside the doctrine of Elder Demonesses being the key strategic and tactical war-fighting asset.

Though a real cynic would point out that the "modern" Diyu of the Fourth Epoch has seen more global conflict in four hundred years than in any of the preceding Epochs, each roughly sixteen hundred years. A roughly four-fold increase in war. "Admittedly, we do have a long history of conflict," I allowed.

"The Great Houses do pride themselves on being so very civilized," Lea added with her own vicious smile. She seemed most pleased with herself for having negotiated this meal with the Lady Legate.

Redcap's smile slashed anew. "Civilized," he enunciated as if tasting the word and then thoughtfully chewed on a spare-rib. "I can't say I've ever seen the appeal before, but now...."

"History is full of gratifying examples," Invidia stated.

Redcap rolled his eyes. "If one relishes washing out all the blood, terror, and intrigue."

Lea shrugged. "My associate prefers a more hands-on perspective."

"Understandable, none of us here are shy about getting our claws wet," Invidia said.

This drew an amused smile from Fabia as she ate some ribs of her own, put her glass down, and took a seat.

Lea took a place across from her and, using silverware, ate with surprising delicacy. "I've been told it's a rare treat to use your wargear in such close confines."

"And this was not your first time." Redcap said almost eagerly, as he sat down next to Lea.

"Oh? You mean when I was a cadet?" Fabia asked.

"La, that time's been well-told," Lea leaned closer. "Our interest is the second time."

Fabia's composure slipped for a bare moment, but she rallied gamely. "Ah, when I was nineteen?"

To give moral support, I took a seat at Fabia's left. It also put the table between myself and the fae. The two CSR spies were of little help with the Lady Legate at the head of the table and Invidia across from her at the foot.

"That raid on Sevillia?" my fellow Squadron leader clarified.

After sipping her wine, Lea shrugged. "I care little for those trifles."

"Perhaps you're talking of the time she ate Trosic flesh," Redcap helpfully added.

The aggressive redhead's smile grew as she clapped her hands. "Oh yes, if we're thinking of the same story then our aqua-feathered centurion was in quite the vicious spot."

Fabia met JadeJavelin's eye and, without breaking her gaze, emptied her glass and handed it to me. "Make it neat, Countess."

I obliged her and went to find the absinthe bottle. My trip was delayed when the Lady Legate had gotten up to refill her own whiskey glass.

"We just have to last a social function," she assured me, putting the amber bottle back with the other on the impromptu bar. The elder demon's tail swished as she looked over her shoulder.

Fabia was well into her story and was talking about how the Fleet had bugged out, leaving her team high and dry on an enemy world. She was most grateful when I walked up and neatly snatched the glass with its green fluid out of my hands.

She caught herself before our fingers could touch, if barely, and pulled her hand back.

"Thank you, Tauria," Fabia said cupping her palm so I could place the glass.

Taking a long drink, Fabia tapped her fingers on the table before resuming her story.

Eating my meal, I tried to be supportive and nod alone in all the right places. It was made easier by Fabia's "misadventure" being a harrowing tale told with a wry wit that gave the collection of screwups from the Fleet's early withdrawal, to the weapons misfires on a Flight's worth of Sarpedona due to a maintenance screwup, to Trosic Marines discovering the ground team calling down air support which due to a navigational error ends with Trosic RP firing on their own Marines.

By the time Fabia got to the bloody climax, I had gotten up to refill my plate.

I was mulling over if I wanted to risk the potential mess that came with stew when Fabia's recounting concluded, and, with her blue wings drooping, she went to her meal.

My tail straightened in shock as the fae woman suddenly slipped up next to me. "Quite the story, Countess?" she asked.

"It was... vivid," I allowed as I refreshed my own glass.

"I must admit that my curiosity is not fully sated." Lea gave me a sharp smile.

"Oh?" I asked carefully, feeling very much like I'd just been handed a live grenade.

"Who you are makes for a most enticing tale," Lea's smile widened as she opened a fresh bottle of wine and looked over the petite fours and other desserts. " Your story makes who you are. Why not indulge me? I suspect yours to be a tale most enticing."

"I'm sure you've read plenty about me," I said, affecting boredom as I finished refilling my own plate.

"Poppet, I am aware that the storied version those tales portray is but a shadow," Lea actually had the gall to wag a chiding finger in my face.

I managed not to glare at the fae. "That reputation has followed me for years. It is flattering, but over-exaggerated in its enthusiasm."

"Shadows do more than follow. La, one would think you would not be so... young." Drinking the deep red wine, the Unseelie studied me critically. "You should know the power of such things, especially for one such as you. It is not just Names that have power, poppet. Even an echo, even a shadow has a power, if properly wielded."

I frowned. "Thank you... but I'm not sure I need to learn such a thing."

The redhead gave a very patiently haughty sigh that reminded me of the few times my Duchess was disappointed in me. Nobles always had a way of expressing themselves. "Do not let your pride result in your untimely death, poppet. Few are so secure as to turn down knowledge."

"But at what cost?" Invidia asked as she came up bearing a small platter of glasses. Back at the table, Redcap was having a surprisingly animated conversation with the Lady Legate while Fabia watched.

"Always a cost, the scales must be balanced." Lea's smile grew warm and delighted.

Tail flicking, I tried to keep the pensive expression off my face. A lot of blood had been spilled to get that cursed mirror, and we had just handed it over.

"Indeed," Lea gave a light laugh. "Do you want to know what your Imperatrix is getting from my Queen?"

"That knowledge seems ill-worth the cost." Invidia's face was impassive. "Given what else is on offer."

I held my tongue. I knew a leading question and would not play their game.

Lea laughed. "Oh, do not fret. I am used to the stubbornness of youth."

My mouth opened to protest, but my mind managed to get control of my mouth. I stared at her. Cold paranoia ran down my spine from my wings to the tip of my tail. "As you say, I still have years of youth. That, years is before I'm grown," I carefully stated with all the fumbling delicacy of trying to defuse an old mine with shaking hands.

"Did I say such a thing?" Lea teased and looked to Invidia for confirmation.

"I can't say," the black-winged spy allowed while refilling the various drinks. Her flat almost-grey eyes pierced me.

I nodded. I had been warned. She had warned me: the fae could lie with the truth. And Lea didn't say that I was a youth. She merely implied it. That left open... My mouth dried. I picked up my own glass of cider and nearly drained it.

I felt dread at being caught between beings with vastly more power than myself. Yes, I was a soldier oathed to serve my Imperatrix against her peers and rivals among the Diyu Great Houses, but that was... impersonal. I was just another cog in a vast imperial war-machine.

This... this felt like being a toy. I was a bauble the Lady Legate was dangling in front of the fae as a shiny lure to entrance the Lords and Ladies. I had been the plaything of eldritch beings before, and I cared little to repeat it.

"Poppet, have you considered learning to relax? All this dourness and stress could be the death of you," Lea laughed as she beckoned for me to go back to the dining table "Come, I would love to hear more of your stories."

I gave Invidia a frosty glance, which she returned impassively. "Come, Countess, we require just a bit more of your forbearance tonight," she stated, typically and frustratingly aloof.

Giving a sigh, I made my excuses to the others and went to the facilities Fabia and Invidia had set up earlier. As field-improvised latrines went, the guildhall's old bathroom was more than acceptable despite the lack of running water. There were already filled buckets of water and even some soap for washing. True luxury.

After returning, I refilled my glass. I decided to go for the stew and filled a small bowl. When I finally got back to the table, I found Invidia finishing up a quick story.

"The key thing is to remember that freeport Harbor-Mistresses are eminently practical ladies. One has to be out on the edge of the Spine. They know their livelihoods are caught between the whims of the local ruler and her bully-girls, merchant conglomerates looking to squeeze outworlders for a few denarii more, and any Great House fleet that decides to burn anyone providing aid and comfort to pirates.

"And that's not even counting the pirates themselves. Who range from idled mercenaries driven to the meanest of work, to desperate tramp freighters turning second-hand weapons on their former kin, to privateers flush with surplus gear of quite deniable origins." Invidia said her delivery, dry with just a bit of a sarcastic edge.

Pondering the trailing-end of her tale, I used the opportunity alone to eat. Contrary to the proclamations of the Great Houses, Diyu itself was far from a peaceful bastion of civilization. However, things got even harder the further one went out in the Dimensional Spine. And despite the massive military expenditures the Great Houses put into securing their offworld colonies, said fleets were still dwarfed by the amount of commercial traffic. Traffic that both provided targets and camouflage to a variety of predators.

"At any moment a Harbor-Mistress has to worry that such... independent traders might tire of using her port for fencing their ill-gotten gains and instead turn to pillaging said port. Which I don't need to explain is exactly the opposite type of commercial exchange a small independent port needs to survive."

Redcap's eyes gleamed. "Ah, such people wouldn't truck with brigands if they didn't need their money, would they?"

"Quite. But the dock-workers aren't powerless. A sloppy crew may not look too closely at what stevedores are loading or unloading. Not until they're up into the sky and their hold gets turned inside out. " Invidia paused to sip her drink. "Or so I've been told."

"And for those who are cautious?" Lea inquired.

"The Harbor-mistress is not without friends. The local dives, provisioners, artificers, and brothels all depend on the port not being razed to the ground. More than a few troublesome pirates have spent their last moments in companionable then surprised silence with a woman of negotiable affection. The trick is to use your claws at the most unguarded and... intimate moment. Though, it does make quite the unfortunate mess."

"Or so you've been told?" Lea teased.

Invidia smirked. "Oh, some things I can speak with direct experience."

It was hard to imagine Invidia in such a role. It was not a lack of physical charms. She was literally from a species of seductresses after all. The problem was that while her body might technically meet all the physical requirements to be the equal of any seductress on Diyu, her demeanor and personality were utterly charmless. But, she was a spy and, presumably, could act.

That didn't make hearing such stories of the CSR operative conducting such lurid wetwork exactly appetizing, though.

I slowly put down my fork at that unpleasant mental image of Invidia conducting a honey pot act with all the vitality of rigor mortis. Though at a glance around the table, I saw that everyone else was merrily eating, even Fabia. Crazy fae. Crazy demons.

"It was supporting such a mission where I met Tribune Quirinus," Invidia mildly stated.

My tail stiffened slightly, and despite her poker-face even Fabia twitched at that.

Invidia caught our looks and just rolled her eyes, "Oh nothing so tawdry. Besides that's a waste of a valuable pilot; her Flight was providing fire support in case our operation missed any of the target ship's officers or the vessel tried to take off."

"That mission resulted in several fruitful new relations," the Lady Legate commented idly.

"Sounds lovely." Lea relished her wing before turning to me. "And what about you, Countess? I am quite curious about your own adventures. Perhaps when you were young and desperate?"

My tail flicked. I attempted to deflect. "I've told the story of how I earned the Preserver Crown quite often. Perhaps something more…unique would be more to your tastes?"

Lea pouted. "I suppose I could hear about your romantic life with your betrothed and your mistress."

My tail dropped. Maybe talking about the Preserver Crown and that fight wouldn't be so bad? I reconsidered. "Well..."

I could just feel the amusement coming from Fabia and Invidia.

"It all sounds so romantic!" Lea clapped her hands.

"The flower of nobility nourished in the glory of war," the Lady Legate observed, her tone desert-dry.

"Fine, fine." I looked into my glass. "I was part of a ballet troupe that was visiting the Andromachin city of Narvos. It was supposed to be a peaceful night at the opera but my mother Duchess SilverFlight had a favor for me..."

I fell into the familiar rhythm of telling the tale of the first time in this life where I was forced to kill, forced to feed. I was not lying. I had told this story many times, and as much as I disliked the notoriety it engendered, I was not above using the advantages it gave me.

It was disquieting to see the naked glee that Lea and the Redcap reveled in, especially when I got to the bloodier parts. Fabia's professional interest was not expected, but even the two CSR spooks were amused, with Invidia actually giving a chuckle when I got to the end and how I used glitter to blind and defeat the War Mistress.

I must confess that after I concluded telling my tale, I felt a bit more at ease. And while it was not comfortable being caught between such... dangerous dinner guests, I was able to at least enjoy the food and let the meal pass with less open anxiety.

After the warm guildhall, going back into the bitter wind outside was an unpleasant surprise. The food and drink had been boxed up with the crates lined up to one side of the plaza.

Holding her picnic basket, Lea watched us work with some amusement.

"What else would they do?" Redcap asked, gnawing meat off one last plate of ribs.

"No reason to leave it behind," Fabia said.

"Ah, a reward for your subordinates?" Lea asked.

"Quite," the Lady Legate said as she raised a hand and, with an extended finger, and a bright green beam of light shot up like a flare that punched through the heavy cloud cover.

A fresh gust of wind rustled my wings. Exhaling, I looked up into the sky. Thunder rolled above us, followed by more heartening sounds.

The clouds blew apart as a Flight of familiar Polyxo descended and took position over the abandoned down circling in an ominous formation. Another RP Flight flew in their wake, these were Sarpedona that formed a closer ring that flew with naked bellicosity as the air practically hummed with charged weapons.

Finally, a Spatha descended through this protective cordon. Engines growling, the VTOL made a direct line towards the plaza. Snow whipped around us as it approached. Landing gears lowering, the Spatha set down and the rear ramp lowered.

I joined Invidia and Fabia to form a line and bucket-brigade style passed the crates to the VTOL's load mistress, who worked to secure the cargo. While this happened, the Lady Legate exchanged a few words with the fae.

JadeJavelin walked towards us. "Good job," she told myself and Fabia, her voice carrying over the idled engines before walking past us and up the Spatha's ramp. Invidia shrugged and gave the plaza one last scan.

"We'll be watching your careers with great interest," Lea gave us a confident little smile and a wave.

Fabia awkwardly returned the wave while the three of us went into the Spatha. I turned back and saw Redcap had pulled off his crimson chapeau and held it over his chest in a mock salute. His cold eyes met mine, and he flashed his sharp teeth before the ramp rose up and closed with a thud.

Shaking my head, I went over to an open seat and strapped in. The engines increased in power and, with a roar, the Spatha took off, and I closed my eyes. I had spent enough time dealing with Harp's World, Forlorn Prospect, and meddling fae.

End Chapter 31

And here we are at the end of the Harp's World arc. It's been a bit of a paranoid and fraught journey but at least Tauria should be on her way home and can how focus on fretting about the mission's fallout and her next assignment.

Ch 32 stands at one scene and over 4k written, and there is a bunch of upcoming art.

Thanks to Ahuva, DCG , ellfangor8 , Green Sea, Larc , Readhead, metaldragon868 , WhoWhatWhere, and ScarletFox for checking and editing this chapter and helping with this whole arc. And Special thanks to ScarletFox for helping punch up Tauria's vision

 

[ellf]

And Omake time! Chapter Two of Knight Sirens!

Knight Sirens

Chapter Two

The Mountain felt empty with everyone gone. Nightwing and Artemis were back in Gotham, Kid Flash was in KeyStone City, Zatanna was visiting friends of her father, and Red Arrow was dealing with some of the fallout that came from the reveal of his status. It made it hard for M'gann M'orzz to sleep without those comforting presences. Sure, Kaldur and Connor were still in the Mountain and that helped, but the absence of the rest of the team ached.

Kaldur was asleep in his room; she could feel it. He'd spent a good portion of the day training, and M'gann couldn't fault the Atlantean for taking his rest when he could get it. There wasn't any major mission that the Team was needed for at the moment, but she knew that could change at a moment's notice. M'gann almost hoped it would. After all, the Mountain would be full again, and the familiar minds would help her rest.

She wandered into the kitchen, careful not to make much noise, and she considered what was available. Perhaps some cookies? She might wake someone up if she overdid it, but at least they'd have some sweets to offset any upset they might get. Wait, was that correct phrasing? Well, perhaps not, but it wasn't like she was trying to be perfect. After all, cookies just needed the right amount of love, combined with the recipe, in order to sweeten the pot.

M'gann mixed her ingredients, accidentally dropping one of the metal bowls before she could catch it. Perhaps she was trying to alert someone to her presence, just so she wouldn't be alone. There were those with enhanced hearing in the Mountain at that time, after all.

M'gann felt Superboy stirring from his room, and a private smile came to her face. He'd enjoy the cookies, but even more, he'd enjoy helping. Or at least licking the bowl.

He made his way into the kitchen, dressed in shorts and a muscle shirt. "Guessing you couldn't sleep?"

M'gann couldn't help her eyes tracing his form, but she simply smiled at him, turning her private one toward him directly. "Not really. With everyone gone, it's quiet here."

"Yeah, it is," Connor said. "With Wally Artemis and Robin--excuse me, Nightwing, back at their homes… I can only hear you and Kaldur. I guess you've gotten used to all of us."

M'gann nodded. It wasn't that she hadn't been alone before, but the comfort of others, others who were friends and willing to not only put up with her, but welcomed her in their presence… she felt spoiled by it. Still, Superboy's presence was comforting. As it always was, these days. She smiled at him. "I'm sure I'll sleep eventually. I just need to tire myself out."

"How can I help?" Connor asked.

M'gann directed him, and soon the two fell into an easy silence, anticipating the needs as they went along. The recipe was easy enough, as M'gann had made it before, and soon enough, they had the cookies in the oven.

As they cleaned up their preparatory dishes, the Zeta-Tube console and reception area activated, lighting up in preparation for transit.

"Odd time of night," Connor said, frowning as he stepped toward the Zeta-Tube, placing himself between it and M'gann. He wasn't wrong. Usually, the League would call before directly coming over. However, it wasn't like exceptions hadn't happened.

"I don't think we're expecting anyone," M'gann said. She frowned, glancing toward Aqualad's room. "Do you think we should wake Kaldur?"

"Not yet," Connor said. "No messages came in. We'd have heard it, with us out here. We can buzz his communicator, but he doesn't need to "

M'gann nodded. The rings on the Zeta-Tube started spinning. Before she could respond to her friend, the console announced the arrivals. "Recognized, Nightwing, B-01. Guest User BlackFire, A-08. Guest User FrostShadow, A-09."

Connor and M'gann shared a look of confusion before looking toward the Zeta-Tube exit. Guests were not unheard of in the Mountain, but they usually were somewhat known. With the names given, clearly they were of the more masked variety and not civilians.

Nightwing was a familiar mind to M'gann. She gave him a brief telepathic greeting, a brush across his mind, before directing her attention to the people he brought with him. An initial brush indicated a lack of humanity. Not that they had ill intentions or anything, but they certainly didn't feel the way humans tended to. Nor, M'gann noted, did they feel Martian.

Whatever they were, she could feel a psychic resonance within them. A sort of telepathic and empathic link connected the two visitors, and as she reached out to them, they started to reach out back. The way they felt was almost familiar, familial, yet it was different enough that she pulled away after the first touch, out of an abundance of caution. Whatever they'd done, it had been instinctive.

Nightwing brought the pair out of the Zeta-Tube, a pair of winged humanoids, one with leathery wings, the other, smaller one with more feathered ones, and the two of them seemed somewhat disoriented at first.

Then the disorientation shifted to something worse. It was as if a dam had burst, and a psychic scream echoed throughout the Mountain so loud that M'gann almost didn't hear the vocal one that accompanied it. It pushed her down onto a knee, slamming into her own psychic defenses, weighing her down. The pain, the immense, overwhelming pain. It was theirs, she felt it pressing down upon her, everything they felt. The two had fallen, nearly catatonic themselves.

"M'gann!" Superboy was at her side in an instant. He wrapped an arm around her, and she felt more than saw him look up at Nightwing. "What's going on, Nightwing? What did you bring here?"

"I didn't know this would happen!" Nightwing said. "They were fine back in Gotham! Miss M! M'gann, are you okay? What's wrong?"

"Hurts…" M'gann said, focusing on the familiar minds nearby, trying to push away the ocean she felt flowing through the guests. Her skin rippled near her forehead as she almost lost her form, but she adjusted it back. It wasn't her pain. She could block it out, now that she knew where it was coming from. She let out a sharp breath. "I'll be fine. Thank you, Connor. It's your guests that I'm worried about."

"I don't know what's going on," Nightwing said. "They didn't seem too worried about the Zeta-Tubes when they came, but… this…"

"What are they?" Superboy asked. "The feathered wings on that one… well, she's still got too many other features to be a Thanagarian…"

"They said they were from a place called Diyu," Nightwing said. "Demons or aliens, given that it's an alternate plane of existence or something. Batman believed them, and he asked if they could stay here."

M'gann turned her attention closer to the supposed demons. She carefully, without lowering much of her shields, touched the barest edges of the minds. Empathy. Both were highly empathic, but the smaller one was even more so than the larger, given her longer, curled horns. Add whatever happened with the Zeta-Tubes… "It's too much. Too much input. They can feel all of Happy Harbor… from here. Oh… wait. Huh. Hello, Megan! The solution's simple!"

"What?" Connor asked.

"The bioship! It can help block out the excess emotions and help them!" M'gann looked at her friends. "Connor, do you think you could carry them both there? Nightwing, check on Kaldur? I think he should be awake for some of this."

Nightwing nodded. "I really should be getting back to help out--" At M'gann's sharp look, he held up both hands in surrender. "Fine. I'll go see what he's up to."

"You know where the room is," Connor said, and he scooped up both girls with ease. A brief shudder went through him as he touched their skin with his own, maybe something to do with the G-Gnomes? He shouldered them and glanced at M'Gann. "They're not that heavy. Do you really think the bioship can help?"

M'gann nodded, floating alongside her friend as he carried the guests. "If it's not enough, some distance should help some more." She was worried a little about them. Their eyes were open, darting around, yet not focusing on either Connor or herself, and their tails thrashed back and forth while they were carried. It was lucky that Connor was harder to hurt than a normal human, but it helped that neither one was using their clawed hands to scratch at him, instead mostly being limp in his grasp. M'gann hadn't heard of any species like them, nor had she heard of Diyu at all. Demons, aliens… something that could be considered both?

Of course, given Mars's isolationist state before her uncle arrived on Earth, it was possible that someone had encountered Diyu before. She just hadn't heard about it. M'gann adjusted her mental shielding as they came upon the bioship's hangar. She couldn't help them if she fell back into the same state as the guests.

She gestured for the ship's boarding platform to lower, and she led Connor inside with the girls. "Place them down on the ground, anywhere that looks comfortable."

"Sure," Connor said, following her command. "So, you were saying something about excess emotion before?"

M'gann nodded, using the biomorphic properties of her ship to generate a safe area for the two alien girls to rest. Once no longer in Connor's arms, they thrashed about, their bodies trying to latch onto something. As their mouths opened, M'gann noted the sharp fangs in each of their mouths, matching with their horns and tails, somehow. She carefully moved, placing a hand on each of their heads, shivering at the touch. The raw emotion filtered through them was almost too much to handle, even with her shields. "Something happened during the Zeta-Tube transit. I suspect that normally, they have some sort of mental shields to block out emotion, sort of like my own, but both are very empathic and slightly telepathic. Something disrupted those shields when they went through, and it overwhelmed them."

Connor frowned. "And the ship can create its own shields to help them?"

"That's the theory," M'gann said. "It does have a sort of shielding, but whether it's enough… "

Connor nodded. "Do you need me here with you to help them?"

"Not exactly," she said. "They should hopefully come back to themselves soon enough, and Nightwing trusted them enough to take them with him here. But if you wanted to…"

Connor smiled, placing one of his hands on her own. "I could. NIghtwing and Kaldur can wait, and if they're hostile…"

M'gann met his smile with one of her own, and she patted his hand with her free one. She then turned her attention to the Diyu aliens. Diyuvians? Close enough. With the shielding up, they started to still. M'gann ran a hand through the powder-blue hair of the smaller one, careful not to dislodge the hairpins she had placed there.

Now that they were in the shielding of the bioship, it didn't seem as if either was telepathic the way Martians were, but there was a form of something akin to it there, in addition to the empathy. The girl's eyes remained unfocused, roving around the bioship. M'gann felt a little guilty over what she felt she needed to do, but if she was to help them, she needed to see what she was working with.

So she delved into the girl's mind.

The imagery of a great forest flickered before her, the vast reaches of space, and then M'gann's eyes locked tightly on the girl's. The blue pools, almost like ice crystals, held shadows within them, flitting about, never quite the same as they were there. The blue eyes overtook her entire vision as she delved further into the girl's mind.

The girl, FrostShadow, had a mind full of secrets, ones that M'gann instinctively avoided, but she still saw. She held herself to a high standard, with a desire to help people that permeated throughout. She saw a city of trees, a key. A gate. Shadows and ice, and storms surrounding her and her older sister. Death. Destruction. She saw a massive battle, a series of massive battles. Deaths, and then a need to pull back. She was more affected by it, and… then M'gann was forced away, but she found herself hugging the girl tightly, and the emotions grew more intense. The selfless actions, even in the face of adversity, meant that the girl was good.

Then, like a moth to the flame, she probed the second girl, meeting her pair of burning red eyes in the process. BlackFire's mind was much like her younger sister's, full of secrets, full of battles. She'd been affected by what they'd needed to do as well, but she worried more about her younger sister, about FrostShadow's health. It was BlackFire that suggested they take a break and the way it happened. She loved her younger sister very much, and the two were bonded. M'gann could tell how close they were, but where FrostShadow had ice and shadow, BlackFire had her namesake. Flames surrounded M'gann, but somehow her normal fear never came. The flames wouldn't harm her. Not here. They faded away, revealing the alien girls themselves.

She hugged them both, as Connor watched.

"Whoa, what's going on, M'gann? You okay?"

"I'm fine," she said, hugging the two tighter. "They've just… they've been through so much."

He frowned, nodding. He fell into a defensive stance as a rumbling sound started to come from the girls. They started to snuggle into M'gann's embrace, and it occurred to her what it sounded like. Purring. They sounded just like cats, and they even somewhat looked like them too with their graceful movements and the way they moved their eyes.

The smaller one slowly blinked, pulling slightly away from M'gann as she did so. Her eyes seemed to regain focus, and she looked around the cockpit of the bioship, curiosity wafting off of her. The smaller girl's eyes paused on Connor for a second before coming back to M'gann and meeting her own.

"Huh," said the girl as she tilted her head to the side. Her horns glinted some in the ship's lighting, and her eyes seemed to glow blue as they caught the light. "You are… new. Both of you. Perhaps, you are friends of the Nightwing?"

The girl's sister seemed to come back to herself, and she nodded.

"I'm not sure you could call us friends," said Connor, and M'gann shot him a glare.

"Of course, we're his friends," she said. "I'm called Miss Martian, and that is my friend Superboy. Who is indeed friends with Nightwing."

"Some of the time," Connor added.

The older of the pair let out a snort. "Clearly. My name is BlackFire, and she's my younger sister, FrostShadow."

M'gann heard the way she stressed the names and adjusted accordingly. BlackFire, not Blackfire, FrostShadow, not Frostshadow. It was important enough. "Nice to meet you both."

"Indeed," FrostShadow said, a smile playing cutely on her lips. "Though I did not expect to meet other nonhumans today, let alone end up on… a Martian ship?"

"Yes, this is my ship," said M'gann. "You were affected by the Zeta-Tube transition and needed some psychic shielding."

Both girls nodded. They spoke in unison for a second. "That makes sense."

"It was a form of teleportation we are not used to," FrostShadow said. "The method probably interfered with us metaphysically."

"We'll be prepared next time," BlackFire added. "And… Miss Martian and Superboy, huh? You do have… other names, correct?"

FrostShadow reached over M'gann and poked her sister in the shoulder. "BlackFire! That was rude. You should not just ask about something like that. Secret identities are secret for a reason."
BlackFire made a comment in a foreign tongue that sounded almost like Latin. That explained the accent that both had. It reminded her of the humans from Italy. Her tail swished from side to side.

FrostShadow replied in the same tongue and then nodded to both M'gann and Connor.

BlackFire sighed, and she nodded. "Apologies, Miss Martian, Superboy. My sister isn't wrong about the politeness. I managed to refrain from asking the same question of Nightwing and Batman, but in my defense, both were human. Despite my surprise about Batman."

"I did tell you," FrostShadow said.

BlackFire shrugged.

"It's okay," M'gann said.

"Sort of," Connor added. "It's not like we haven't been asked before. You were tamer than some."

"Curious," FrostShadow said, her lips quirking into a smile again as her tail swished. Amusement wafted off her. "Of course, those names are hardly the most creative that could be used. Miss Martian and Superboy? A girl from Mars and a boy with superpowers, I suppose. Any relation to Superman?"

Connor looked down, clenching his fist.

FrostShadow held up a hand. "Apologies. I did not mean to bring up something distressing."

"Kryptonian, but only partially," BlackFire observed. "That explains it. You are part human."

"I am," Connor said. "I'm a clone, a mix of his DNA and a human's."

"We see," said the girls. "Apologies again. We did not wish to cause you pain."

He waved the unclenched hand. "It's fine. Fine." He looked at them, cuddled up to M'gann and nodded. "I'm assuming FrostShadow and BlackFire aren't codenames?"

"No," said BlackFire. "They're actually our names."

"Then you can call me Connor," he said. "Just Connor."

"And my birth name is M'gann M'orzz," said M'gann. The purring sound from them, which hadn't stopped, got louder at that.

"M'gann… M'orzz… Connor…" the girls almost tasted the names.

An involuntary shudder went through M'gann, albeit not of disgust. She wasn't entirely sure, but something about the way they said her name caused a telepathic ripple, yet not an unpleasant one. It was actually the opposite of that. She wasn't sure what they did, but they were… there.

FrostShadow blinked, tilting her head to its other side. "Oh. Right. I apologize. You are… It just… Never mind."

M'gann pursed her lips, and then she reached out with her mind. Whatever had happened between the four of them had been interesting, and she needed to find out more. Unfortunately, as she brushed FrostShadow's mind, she immediately was assaulted with a pair of icy eyes that chilled her to the bone. If she pushed, she got the feeling that it would simultaneously be the best and worst decision she made that day. It certainly was tempting.

"Careful," BlackFire said after a second. "Dipping into my sister's head is a recipe for madness, and the protections she has…"

The accent was more pronounced that time. M'gann wondered where they had learned English, as for the most part, their diction was good, but the accent came through at times. More so with the younger of the pair. "I'm sorry. It's been a few months since I've been around other telepaths."

FrostShadow nodded. "I understand, but please ask permission before you try and listen in. We have strong defenses on our minds, most of the time."

"You mentioned that the Zeta Tubes disrupted those defenses," Connor said. "How are you going to be prepared for them next time?"

"We know what they feel like now," said both of them at the same time. It was a little eerie, as their voices synchronized and harmonized. "We can adjust accordingly as we prepare. We may need to study some of the literature on the technology to make sure our calculations are correct, but it should work."

"I see," said M'gann. "Do you think that your defenses are good enough to leave the bioship now? That you won't be overwhelmed?"

"We should not even be 'whelmed' about it," said the girls, smiles playing on their lips as their tails swished in unison. "Especially with the two of you there."

"How am I helping, exactly?" Connor asked.

"You both are familiar to us now, as Nightwing is," FrostShadow said. "We can use your emotions as an anchor, if it comes to that."

"Perhaps it won't," BlackFire added. "But it's good to have backups."

M'gann nodded. She could understand that, and given what she had seen from the two of them before, she was pretty confident that it was worth helping them out. She stood up and offered each of them a hand up, and so did Connor.

The two paused for a moment then with solemnity they took the hands, standing on their taloned feet, and together, the four of them left the bioship. As the four of them made their way into the hangar, both FrostShadow and BlackFire immediately sniffed the air. Curious, they must have had some sort of enhanced sense of smell, compared to that of humans or Martians.

"So, where are we, exactly?" BlackFire asked. "Batman just called this place the Mountain."

"I'm not sure if I should say," M'gann said. "We do keep locations secret, for safety reasons. Maybe if you stay longer, or we hear from some of the League, we can share it."

"It's an older League facility," Connor added. "That they repurposed for our team. I'm not sure how much you know, given what Nightwing mentioned."

FrostShadow waggled a hand. "We have heard of some of the Justice League, but how much of our knowledge is accurate is unknown. Some of the heroes had partners in our intelligence, but I am uncertain as to how much veracity it contains."

"You did research on us?" Connor asked.

BlackFire shook her head. "Not as such. We read some passing reports on various Earths as they come through, and this isn't the only one with a Justice League."

"Various Earths?" M'gann asked. "Your species does dimensional travel?"

"It is how we arrived here," FrostShadow said. "We will need to recalibrate some things to attempt a return home, but much of Diyu does reach out to extradimensional areas. Our nation even trades with multiple Earths."

"That could be interesting, I guess," M'gann said. "So you haven't encountered the League yourselves before, just in intelligence briefings?"

"Something like that," BlackFire said. She tilted her head as they made their way into a hallway. "And… it looks like the only other person here is awake now."

"That would be Aqualad," Connor said. "He spends the night here often enough."

"Any relation to the Aquaman?" FrostShadow asked.

"He's a subject of Atlantis," said M'gann. "But we'll let him introduce himself properly."

The four of them fell into a comfortable silence the rest of the walk as an ease settled over M'gann in their presence that she hadn't really felt since she left Mars, save for around Connor at times. They seemed to anticipate the directions that M'gann and Connor both wanted to go, and both Diyu-vians had no issues navigating with their help.

When they made it into the Mountain's lounge, both Kaldur and Nightwing were sitting on the couch, deep in conversation. Nightwing gave a nod and a smile upon spotting the girls up and about.

"Glad to see the two of you are feeling better," said Nightwing. "Aqualad, those are the two I was talking with you about. Meet FrostShadow, the smaller one, and her older sister, BlackFire."

Kaldur stood and bowed to the guests. "A pleasure to meet you both. It is always good to meet someone under peaceful circumstances."

"Indeed," FrostShadow said, returning the bow, dipping her horns to Kaldur. "M'gann said that you were a citizen of Atlantis. I am curious how you decided to fight for surface dwellers."

"I merely followed the example of my king," Kaldur said. "What affects the surface can affect Atlantis as well."

"That makes sense," BlackFire said, also bowing her horns. She stood up, and smiled. "And as Nightwing introduced us, I want to make it clear that those names are actually our names. We do not have the same sort of codenames as you do."

"They're soldiers," Nightwing said. "In the general sense of the word."

FrostShadow nodded. "More specifically, we are pilots within our country's Fleet."

"So, why exactly did you come here then?" Connor asked. "And by yourselves…"

"Technically, we're on a temporary assignment to a testing facility," BlackFire said. "We were in the process of testing some new hardware, and we went somewhere we… normally would not have. In order to avoid a dangerous situation, we did a blind transition and ended up in Gotham City."

"It may not have been the smartest move, but it was necessary," FrostShadow added. "We will need some time to calculate the best route back home. Batman's offer was generous, but Nightwing made it clear that it was not up to him."

"They helped with Solomon Grundy and the Joker," Nightwing said. "While wearing their power armor."

"Ritual Plate," FrostShadow said. "It requires innate energies of the pilot to help operate, whereas power armor would have a separate power source."

"If it looks like a duck, quacks like a duck," Nightwing said… He shook his head. "But yeah, they don't really have a place to stay. I know we have room here, but it'd be up to you three."

"I have no objections," Kaldur said. "I would be curious to discuss these energies with you both."

M'gann nodded. She was curious to learn more about both of them as well. Plus, being with other telepaths was comforting in some ways. It reminded her of home in the best ways. "They can stay."

As everyone looked at Connor, he raised his hands. "I don't really care either way. How long are you planning on being here?"

"As long as necessary to get our bearings so we may return home," said BlackFire. "We can, perhaps, help some if you require it."

Connor nodded. "Then sure, you can stay, for now."

"Thank you, Connor," FrostShadow said.

"If you are staying, I'll introduce myself properly. I am Kaldur'ahm, of Atlantis. You may call me Kaldur in private, but I am Aqualad in the field," said Kaldur. Everyone turned to look at Nightwing.

He raised his hands and shook his head. "Sorry. We just met. Maybe after we get to know each other more, we can share that, but I'm fine with you just calling me Nightwing."

"NightWing is a nice name," FrostShadow said with a swish of her tail. Perhaps she found something amusing. "It is surprising that we have not met someone with that name before now, but I suppose some mothers would rather choose other names."

"And NightWing chose his," BlackFire said. She glanced over to her sister as FrostShadow started to yawn. "Perhaps we should retire to bed. Frost and I would like to share a room, if possible."

"You can have the room next to mine!" M'gann said with a smile. It was so nice to have additional telepaths here, and girls to boot. "I'll go ahead and show you where it is."

"Until tomorrow morning then," Kaldur said. "Nightwing, are you going to stay as well?"

"Not tonight," he said. "The new Robin's probably getting restless with Batman out alone. I should help him work off some of that stress. I'll bring him with me when the rest of the Team meets up tomorrow."

Kaldur nodded. "We will have to ensure his readiness. Hopefully he… will be better prepared than the last."

Nightwing grimaced. "Yeah. See you."

"Good night, NightWing," said the new girls, and M'gann led them into the room they would be staying in.

The room next to hers had been empty since Artemis had moved out of it entirely in favor of a room closer to Wally, but it still had a couple of twin beds, a dresser, and a mirror. The beds had the most basic of bedding on them, pillows and a light comforter. Immediately, the Diyuvians pushed the two beds together and climbed into the bed. They smiled at M'gann, and a wave of tiredness seemed to overtake them.

And her, for that matter. She was going to say good night, to head back to her own room. But something made her linger, and as she stepped closer to the bed, the girls pulled at her mentally. When she got close enough to them, FrostShadow's hand lightly landed on M'gann's arm. Somehow, she found herself lying on bed between the two of them, and before too long, sleep claimed her.

In a way, it was the best sleep she'd had since setting foot on Earth.

 

[Sunshine Temple]

Greetings, been a bit since there was an art update but we've got a few great pieces.

In other good news a draft of ch32 has been written and is being edited. Chapter 33 is also being outlined and will be making good progress and will be the start of a new arc that will be the second half of Book 2: More than a Shadow.

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First from Scitty Kitty we have this fun piece of Lares trying to hold back a... passionate Tauria. Even lifting her off the ground does little to dampen her "enthusiasm".

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Next from Lexi Kimble with some amazing shading, colors and textures we have Tribune Artemis Quirinus in her Harmonia RP and the late Lady Primus Felicity IvoryQuiver in her Svalinna warding suit.

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In a piece very ably colored by Scitty Kitty we have a nervous DarkStar showing off a new gown to her eldest and youngest daughters.

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And from Daywalkerrl enjoy a nicely-detailed pic of Tauria telling Visha that it's time for them to go out for dinner.

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And once more from Scitty Kitty there's this great piece of Invidia trying to convince a, shall we say skeptical, Tauria.

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Finally from PlayerError404 we have Tauria being mobbed by two of her nieces Talia and Liata while in the back her maid Reinhild is trying to warn the Countess that the broodlings have gotten into the sugar.

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And thank you all for reading and enjoying this crazy story! I'm still amazed to have this continued and growing interest in Tauria's adventures.

 

[Sunshine Temple]

The War Chronicles of a Little Demon

Set in the Diyu Demons verse
A Saga of Tanya the Evil fic.
By Sunshine Temple

Naturally, I do not own Youjo Senki. So here's the disclaimer:

Saga of Tanya the Evil its characters and settings belong Carlo Zen, Shinobu Shinotsuki, and NUT Co., Ltd.

Previous chapters and other works can be found at my fanfiction website.
http://www.fukufics.com/fic/

C&C as always is wanted.

Chapter 32: Saintly Situations

"Come on! You must see it!" VioletBlood exclaimed as she pulled me along.

The shops and boutiques along Vitrix's High Street were upscale and exotic, befitting a true Diyu metropolis. That it was a true slice of Diyu went without question – Mursam was the main world linking BlackSky's outworld colonies to the Diyu Homeplane, and much of what was imported Homeward and transfered from points out on the Spine passed through the ports here.

"You'll really like this! Lavish found this shop a couple days ago!" It was less a promise than a demand, underlined by the sheer energy in my betrothed's voice. VioletBlood was unusually chipper, as if she hoped cheer in sufficient quantity could prove contagious.

"What, did Centurion RoseTalon go shopping right after we got back?" I asked, allowing my fiancee to pull me along. It wouldn't do to cause a scene, and it was generally easier to go along with LoveBlood's whims when she got in this kind of mood than try and put my foot down.

I certainly could, if I wanted to, I told myself. I simply… don't want to right now.

Though part of me had to admit we did make a dashing couple, the baroness with her Legion service pins in her hair and a silver-trimmed and emerald evening gown while I wore Legion dress blacks, complete with all my frippery and awards. I even had that thrice damned crown perched on my head and the sword my mother and sister had given me banging about on my hip. The ostentatious decorations might be a bit rich for my blood, but even I couldn't deny Diyu's eye for aesthetics.

Compared to our finery, Visha was smartly dressed in business-wear, with sensible heels, grey pinstripe skirt, leather bustier, and matching jacket. When it came to Legion-specific ornamentation, she merely had a Volantes specialization pin in her hair over her left ear. For all that I envied her more casual wear and the comfort she appeared to be reveling in, it would not do to have her look just as my valet; we'd have to have something more for her next time.

"You know how vain Lavish is," VioletBlood laughed. "Nobles just can't help themselves."

Visha, I noticed, was laughing behind her hand, just out of LoveBlood's line of sight.

"Yes, some girls can be clueless and spoiled," I admitted.

"But we accept you anyway, faults and all," VioletBlood teased.

I did not pout as we wove our way through the crowd and past a bakery and a bistro.

"I don't mean to tease; you just have the cutest reactions," VioletBlood assured with a far too innocent smile.

I did my level best to give her my angriest scowl.

She wasn't steely enough to plow through that as she bit her lip and swiftly changed the subject, "Oh we're here, just turn left! "

I held a light glare on her that VioletBlood tried to ignore, but in the end we followed her down a side-street in the direction of a thickening crowd. I noticed the number of exasperated mothers herding excitable broodlings increased as we went.

VioletBlood pulled us along, literally in my case, in the same direction as the other people were moving. My confusion waned as a particularly twee building came into sight. Dressed with red-stone, the structure was fronted by grey granite pillars hung with green garlands of woven pine boughs twinkling with marvelous lights of a quite magical nature.

Similarly enchanting and enchanted evergreens flanked open doors through which the scents of spice and cinnamon wafted out. A long queue snaking back from the threshold was full of broodlings, all of whom were flapping their wings with impatience. I saw one terror of little girls standing below the trees dressed in their tinsel and fox-fire, staring up with stilled tails. A sure sign that each demon had mischief on their young minds.

Furthering the incongruity of the late spring day was the store's window display. With an abundance of flocking and other white fluff, a winter village was rendered in saccharine miniature, complete with ceremonial altars, carolers in the town-square, a bonfire with a split boar carcass on a giblet, and a glossy green tiny train threading through the too-adorable miniature scene.

I found myself drawn closer to the window, VioletBlood and Visha by my side. Looking deeper into the store. I saw more holiday displays, treats, and toys. My hand hovered just above the glass as I watched the simple familial bliss inside.

"Isn't it a bit early to have all this stuff up? It's not even the Ides of November, is it? Why not wait at least until the latter half of the month?" I asked, pulling my hand back.

"Saber's Watch isn't much more than a month away. Besides, this shop specializes in all sorts of winter holidays from Yule to Christmastide," VioletBlood chided me.

"Yeah, I'm just surprised to see it out here, you know. I mean in Silvana there would be decorations running from the Feast of DarkStar right through to Saint BloodRuby's day," I admitted.

VioletBlood sniffed imperiously. "That's due to Censor CloudFire and Aedile Felisia," she pointed out airily, "who by their offices must support such celebrations. Hardly an act of faith and piety."

Fair enough, I nodded to her. The Imperatrix's Daughters, especially those two, did have considerable influence on public ritual and ceremony, as was proper for the holders of such offices.

"Just because Bovitar in Eastern Province has less pomp and circumstance doesn't mean you should be surprised at one shop," VioletBlood said, the tones of disappointed despondency hanging like icicles from her words as she shook her head. "Islander girl, please, back me up on this!"

Visha nodded, dutifully rising to the occasion. "Opalescence Bay had a cute little place that was open all year and a couple more that pop up over the fall and winter."

"See!" VioletBlood practically jumped, wagging a chiding finger. "And this is the largest city in the largest colony world! Besides, more will be opening if not already; this is just the nicest one."

I gave a vague murmur of reluctant agreement, browbeaten as I was under the twin arguments of my Vs.

"And extravagance aside, Felisia and CloudFire are correct. Decorations are expected for nobles this time of year." VioletBlood looked at me with an unsettling twinkle in her green eyes. "Especially for those of particular piety."

I have a bad feeling about this, I thought, shifting uncomfortably; my wings twitching. My eyes, at their own impulse, began to scan for any clear exits.

"The Feast is a more important holiday," I tried to counter. "And has the advantage of actually being a Saint's day-"

"Agreed. Duty permitting, we'll need more decorations and observances next year," VioletBlood stated, smugly bulldozing over me.

I looked at Visha pleadingly.

"It is quite fun, no?" she replied, a warm smile full of honeyed betrayal.

"At the very least we'll need something perfunctory," VioletBlood went on, her tone abruptly all business. "Maybe a bit more. And of course your Mother Clementia would appreciate something showing your faith as well. Maybe we can get a camera and send out holiday cards with photographs?"

"She… would like that, yes," I reluctantly admitted. "And I suppose My Duchess would too…"

"So come inside!" VioletBlood smirked triumphantly as she pulled me towards the doorway.

"But we're cutting the line!" I cried.

"Oh that's just for the broodlings to sit on DarkStar's lap," VioletBlood laughed. "Or I guess that old human guy; Odin I think."

The woman dressed as DarkStar did have a full-length dress with long sleeves and matching gloves. Even with those precautions, she was clearly taking every care in the proper execution of her solemn duty, a positive sign as to her professionalism.

"Well, have you been a good girl?" Visha asked teasingly.

"That's not funny." My tail flicked as I was dragged along.

"Oh, it is," VioletBlood cheerily assured me. "Let's get you something special!"

"I'm getting a nice enough present," I half-grumbled, but allowed myself to be pulled along like a loose branch in a current.

VioletBlood rolled her eyes. "A replacement suit doesn't count."

Inside, the peppermint, spice, and pine smells were stronger and I could see a group of carolers preparing to unleash holiday wonder upon us. Despite the seasonal mismatch, the festive atmosphere was rather contagious. There were even a handful of humans, a drow family, and a family of Forest People to my silent surprise. The parents seemed a bit overwhelmed but their child was galumphing about on a pair of large feet that showed he still had plenty of growth to go.

"It will be a very nice Polyxo," I defended. "And really, an improvement to my survivability is one of the best gifts I could ever ask for."

My redheaded fiancee turned and pouted at me, squeezing my hand a bit tighter. "You will have fun today," she ordered. brooking no disobedience.

I opened my mouth.

"Without talking about work." Visha cut in, an implacably stern look on her face.

I felt myself wilt under the uncompromising gaze of my Vs.

"I am," I assured them, fending them off as we stepped to one side to keep from blocking the entryway. We were closer to the grotto-like alcove that was dressed to look something like a feasting hall, complete with an altar at one end. I tried not to twitch at the habits worn by some of the helpers. They were a close approximation to the robes of my Order, but the headdresses were all wrong. The other helpers were wearing tin armor and helmets that were more decorative than practical.

Green eyes studied me before VioletBlood turned to Visha. "Perhaps we should have gotten into the line."

"I don't need to talk to someone dressed up like DarkStar," I crossed my arms and tried to not sound petulant.

"It's not a bad costume..." Visha allowed.

"She's wearing a wig; changing her hair color would have been the least she could have done if they couldn't find someone with some proper red on their head," VioletBlood stated, giving the smiling woman on one of the wooden thrones a critical look. Next to her sat a large, barrel-chested older human male with a graying beard, crimson hunting leathers, and a sable eye patch.

His remaining blue eye twinkled as he assessed the bravery of a broodling who tried to pick up a large hammer at his feet.

"At least the person they got to play Odin looks good," Visha murmured. "And that wig isn't bad, and besides, Baroness, not every redhead can have such an elegant coiffure as you."

VioletBlood gave a quiet huff, but didn't disagree. "Still," she muttered, "it could be better."

"I mean... The eyes are right, and that gown is correct to the First Epoch... or at least close to it," I said, weakly defending the demon's costume for some reason, trying to keep my voice down as I did so. There was already a vast clowder of broodlings giving us curious and wide-eyed looks, and the last thing I wanted was to draw more attention to myself.

VioletBlood laughed. "Do you believe these kids really think that DarkStar came back just to ask what presents they want?" she asked, but, I noted, in a near whisper to match my own.
"A key part of our faith is the idea that one day she will return," I replied automatically and then winced at my waspish tone and at the ingrained piety being raised by nuns had instilled. At least I was in my Legion blacks; if I had arrived wearing my habit, I surely would be causing a scene by now.

VioletBlood bowed her horns to me. "What I mean is really Saint BloodRuby should be here instead of DarkStar. She's the one who stood vigil for her return, and this holiday is her saint's day."

That was fair. Though something about the admission still left an unpleasant taste in my mouth.

"I think the Saint is supposed to be here," Visha said leaning in to read the sign indicating the entrance to the grotto proper. Added onto the printed sign was a handwritten note apologizing for the lateness of Saint BloodRuby.

"Well, good thing we didn't wait in line," VioletBlood sniffed. "Come, let's get out of the way."

Feeling broodlings' eyes on my back, we followed her deeper into the store. "What's the plan?" I inquired, glancing curiously about. The rest of the building was divided into roughly three sections focusing on decorations, toys, various foods, and inevitably, a wide selection of treats.

"Something to spruce up our billet and the office." VioletBlood's smile radiated confidence. "And, because I know you have a sweet tooth, I have brought you to an establishment full to bursting with all the variety you could possibly desire!"

"Plus there are various gifts that we'll have to buy for our families, friends, and comrades," Visha added more sedately.

"Good idea. With my nieces back on Diyu, I will have to buy my gifts early so they'll arrive in time. Plus your family and your cousin." I nodded to Visha and VioletBlood. A nice thing about being in the Legions, Auxilia, or Fleet was that offworld shipping cost far less subsidized by the service. However, that was contingent on the packages being relatively small – the Fleet was unamused by games such as "mail a landing craft home in ten easy shipments". Also, since said parcels were shipped whenever there was spare cargo space, delivery times were rather sedate.

"Toys then?" Visha suggested.

I stepped to one side and saw that the toy aisle did have a collection of bright little books, plenty of fancy dolls, rows of soft stuffed animals, and lots of other gewgaws. "Good idea."

"Do we need a basket?" Visha looked around to find where they were stored.

"I'll grab a clerk," VioletBlood decided, and before I could say a word was boldly striding off before I could protest. She swept her way around a couple broods. I frowned, noticing that the girls were still pointing at us and whispering amongst themselves.

"Let her have her fun," Visha laughed as we went to the toy aisle.

"It's pretty busy in here," I muttered, thumbing my way through the children's books, looking for something appropriate for my nieces. I also needed to shop for my mothers and my sisters, but that could be later. "I don't want her to bully some poor salesgirl."

Visha noticed my hand skipping right over a handful of books that glorified my adventures. "No good?"

"My reservations aside, the girls already have these. Maybe something from the Silvia Succubus series?" I asked, wincing a bit at the informal name for our species.

"That could be cute. I liked reading those growing up," Visha noted, and tilted her head in thoughtful consideration. Then, her eyes narrowed, just as I felt the hairs on my neck stand on end. Leaking out over the shelf at our backs, we both heard the sound of little voices whispering to each other, awed and not half as quiet as they probably thought.

"Maybe I should have changed," I pouted despite myself. People going out in uniform was hardly rare; Victrix supported a massive military instantiation, after all. DarkStar's Blood, I wasn't even the only uniformed Legionary in the store! I saw one harried mother with the markings of an Armis specialty at the front of the line. The Legionary tanker had visible relief when her girls swarmed the Odin figure.

I was, however ,the only person in the shop with a Preserver Order around her... neck. No wonder I was drawing attention.

Then, the carolers started to sing.

Their massed voices did provide a pleasant background noise as I mulled over books, enough to drown out the surprised mutters of recognition. Visha had wandered off to look at dolls. Those were fine enough gifts, but I was thinking of something a bit more educational for my nieces. Maybe I could find a nice age-appropriate history book?

Something a bit more grisly and bloody, for an older age, would probably appeal more.

I pulled out a young-adult history of the air campaign of the later Zioxan Front on the Third Great House War and frowned as I flipped through it. As such things went, it wasn't objectively terrible. Indeed, my inner cynic even went so far as to note that the jingoism and propaganda were minimized in the writing about as far as I could reasonably expect.

Then, I turned to the chapter on the war-ending Operation Sandalwood. Amidst all the heroic descriptions of the broader strokes, there were vignettes here and there describing lost pilots, shot down over those desolated battlefields. Each was only a few words, but even the shortest was more than IronTalon Cardino would ever get, not that a few words in a cheap book would bring Lady Adriana Melisande any peace of mind. At least she was talking to a Legion Counselor about it. Hopefully, she was getting better use out of their service than I had.

"Tauria, look at this!" Visha said, a strange joy in her voice. I looked up from the book and saw that she was holding a plush doll with a giant head covered in fluffy blonde hair, and poofy white wings protruding from its back. The doll was dressed in a familiar black uniform.

I stared. The soulless sapphire eyes of the doll stared back. Despite my profound hopes, the doll did not change. "Where did you get that?" I asked, and regretted the question as soon as it passed my lips. Stepping to one side, I could see a whole row of me-dolls. There were even some in nun outfits and frilly gowns.

My gut dropped.

"You didn't know?" Visha asked as she gave the big doll a playful squeezing hug.

"The likeness contract I signed doesn't require me to approve every design," I sighed and stepped up to the rows of dolls, even as my stomach did knots in my chest. In addition to the soft ones, there was a selection of more realistically proportioned porcelain-faced dress-up dolls. These came with even more clothing options, including an especially baroque Ritual Plate suit or a full blown ball gown.

"Oh? Well at least you're getting good royalty payments from it," Visha's voice was strangely distant as she picked up one of the nun dolls.

"Less goes into my pocket than you'd think," I absently said. In truth, I received nothing. Those funds went directly to an account established to help my patronage of orphanages, scholarships, and other philanthropic works. Records of which were all kept in meticulous order to strengthen my advocate's negotiating position, as it brought the Church and the Legions to apply their own subtle pressure to the Censor's office.

An Imperial Heroine using her fame to quietly support war-widows and orphans was the sort of pious thing someone in my position was supposed to do. I just wish it hadn't come at the expense of glorifying my name and spreading around my chibi-fied image for all to see simply for doing my job.

IronTalon certainly wouldn't ever see anywhere near the same renown, and she'd sacrificed far more than I had. I shook the thought from my head. Melisandre can carry her honor for her, and I know from personal experience that death need not be a true end.

I gave the dolls another look. Besides… I suppose I can grudgingly admit that the marketing team did good work here.

Visha gave me a warm smile.

"Oh, there's some of Fabia," I said, and picked one up and nodded approvingly at the iridescence on its plush wings. My tail curled when I felt a bit irked that some shippy in a gleaming white uniform was the most popular of the ranks of Imperial Heroines. At least there was a variety to choose from, as in addition to the military dolls were enough to make but the bulk of the Imperial family: Princesses, Daughters, and even the Imperatrix herself.

It was almost sacrilegious to see BlackSky's imperious, but understanding, expression on a soft doll with a far too large of a head crowned in ebony tubular curls. The DarkStar dolls, however, were a bit more questionable on those grounds.

"Are you going to buy that?" VioletBlood asked as she strode up with a basket under one arm. Somehow, it was already half-full with candles, boxes of chocolate, a string of sausages, and various other fripperies and sparkling decorations.

A harried salesgirl with purple hair and little bows tied to her horns plodded in the baroness's footsteps, pushing a cart that spoke mute volumes about VioletBlood's anticipated purchases. For a moment, gold eyes fixed on me, wild and hopeless, before they slid away as she turned to glance back. I followed her gaze, and saw behind her where… an entire horde of broodlings stood in expectant silence. All of them stared up at me with wide eyes.

Their attention then went to the dolls Visha was holding.

Tails quivered as dozens of bright, excited gazes slid back, focusing on me.

"Uh, Ma'am," the salesgirl said, her voice carefully calm as she put the wooden cart between herself and the terror of very excitable broodlings. Flimsy, as far as shields went; she looked as if she'd be more comfortable in a Ritual Plate all her own: for both the protection and the ability to retreat at great speed. The tension grew, as did the sibilant whispering. Taller and further back, their mothers looked imploringly upon us as if we could somehow defuse the situation.

Well… you've been in hairier situations before, Tauria, I told myself. It's like defusing a bomb… or talking down a mob. Well at least they aren't politicians, so I should be able to-

"Yes! Before you is the Jungle Fox! The Saintly Countess! The ace who flies with DarkStar's blessing!" VioletBlood abruptly cried out as she brazenly seized the opportunity, taking two blonde dolls from Visha's arms and tossing them straight into the mob of diminutive demons, like a fishing guide chumming for sharks. The broodlings were excited, and their fresh glee at seeing an Imperial Heroine did seem to displace a disappointment that had been clinging to many. Certainly, there was no sign of reluctance on any of those tiny fanged faces as they squabbled and fought for the dolls.

Tail freezing, I stared in a mix of horror and anger. My lips peeled back, but I barely managed to turn the flashing of fangs into a broad smile as I waved and nodded for Visha to get some more plush dolls, cursing an internal blue streak at the proudly grinning VioletBlood. She just had to use those DarkStar-cursed nicknames! The only thing that kept me from snapping at my fiancee was that she had not mentioned anything from our recent mission.

At least she's learned some manner of discretion.

My Vs each tossed a couple more dolls, enough to at least whet the ravening appetites of the aggressive broodlings, but there were still more covetous children than soft idols in my likeness.

In the face of dwindling rations, I was left with only hard decisions and bad choices.

Squaring my shoulders, I damned the fates and met my enemy head-on.

"Hello, it's lovely to meet you all," I said, summoning every etiquette lesson and scrap of decorum I had been made a subject to, every last dull minute contributing to the horrible smile slashing across my face like deep laceration. I also called upon some of the recent training Invidia had been so "generous" with; broodlings were hardly the biggest risk to looking past my pious mask, but they were very, very energetic.

"Have you all been good girls? I wouldn't want you to hear that you've been making things difficult for your mothers. What would Saint BloodRuby or DarkStar think?"

A few of the little monsters still felt the lashes of guilty consciences, at least, and guiltily lowered their heads and pulled in their wings, reducing the scrum's frenetic energy by a measurable degree. One particularly charitable or guilt-scourged broodling even handed a doll back to the girl whose arms she had stolen it from, an act of near saintly self-denial for one so young and savage.

Nimble of mind and immediately spotting the angle, the salesgirl rapidly overcame her shock and began distributing books and dolls and using the cart as a ready display stand. She gave the age of the audience a critical eye and added some more coloring books, crayons, and, with a bit of thought, went to the end of the aisle to get some chew sticks and other treats.

A deft mind on that clerk, I noted approvingly. She will go far.

With a cheery smile that did not quite reach her eyes, Visha handed me a pair of dolls. Small mercy, these at least had me in my Legion blacks.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cause a scene," I told the salesgirl.

She gave a small laugh and looked at me with golden eyes gleaming with the assurance of one who had more than met her daily quota in a quarter of an hour. "Oh, it's no trouble!"

I then noticed more uniformed salesgirls were coming out of the woodwork, and that the crowd of broodlings had doubled. Giving a glassy smile, I tossed out the two soft dolls.

"Still, this is distracting from DarkStar and Odin, and we do have to do our own shopping," I said to the salesgirl, watching with dull eyes and vacant smile as the books and toys were slowly depleted. Most of the broodlings were still lingering, waiting to see what I would do next.

"I can talk to the manager, maybe something can be arranged." Those golden eyes gleamed. Before I could protest, she waved to one of her fellow salesgirls, who scampered off to the back of the store.

"We should get decorations and gifts for the orphanage here," VioletBlood offered into the semi-silence that followed, her tone oh-so-innocent.

"Oh, how lovely!" the clerk clapped her hands, as her bows bobbed about. "You're too kind."

I shot the redhead a hard look, but my fiancee deliberately ignored other people's feelings in the way only a noble could. "You know... I noticed your Saint BloodRuby is tardy. Perhaps, a mere Countess can warm her seat until she arrives?"

"LoveBlood what are you-!" I snarled, but barely managed to start before Visha took my arm.

"She's trying to help," Visha whispered.

"But..."

"And do you really want to disappoint all these little ones?" Her quiet voice crawling into my ears and hooking my attention. It was dastardly, the way her thorns entered so painlessly, sweetened by her shining smile. Invidia herself could not have done a better job, not even with the assistance of a heated poker, a single claw, and a common desk drawer. "Is this not one of the many duties of a legendary Heroine? Is this not one of the responsibilities you swore an oath to?"

"I mean..." I frowned, a pall of disappointment hovering over the broodlings' heads. I suppose they were upset at not having the Saber Saint here to meet.

Visha's smile widened, knowing full well that her barbs had set too deeply for me to offer any resistance to the tug; I felt the relief that she still had me, despite all of my recent... actions.

I felt a bit better until I realized that VioletBlood had gone off to talk to a willowy-imperious woman with pinned up blue hair who had to be the manager. The woman, at least twenty years our senior, looked from me to the broodlings to the depleted store stocks and, with a broad grin, bowed her head in acceptance of VioletBlood's offer.

Shortly after that, I had to help everyone corral the broodlings to the front of the store, leaving the ravaged shelves behind as I took the empty seat between the woman dressed as DarkStar and the older human man.

The redhead in her gown made a point to fuss over me and say how proud she was of me. The crowd ate it up, and I could feel just how happy that recognition made them. Odin's lone eye twinkled as he gave a merry laugh while I used a commanding voice to marshal some order into the unruly mob. At least I did not have to change into some fripperies, though VioletBlood did loan me a pair of gloves.

From there, things turned into a blur of telling stories, giving out toys and treats, and listening to the concerns of a parade of broodlings. Of course, I failed to escape even being roped into taking photos with the broodlings, Odin, and DarkStar, depending on what was desired.

Visha felt the need to intervene to correct my smile to something "less overtly threatening." I had no idea what she could possibly mean.

Seeing a way to spin this dross into gold, I struck out to turn this surprise event into an opportunity for education. Each time a broodling came before me, I tried to dispense wisdom as much as I could while also practicing maintaining my nascent mental barriers. Even I would freely admit it was paranoia to think some telepath would be among these broodlings or their mothers, but it was good practice, and it helped distract me from the eager young faces.

While I did not crush any little girls' dreams of being a pilot, I took pains to point out that there were many ways to do great things beyond just soaring about in Plate. That there was more to life than excitement and derring do, and that many civilian options were perfectly fine and that the military life was not for everybody. I tried not to lecture the broodlings as a whole, but I did have a semi-captive audience, and if I could help them…

Perhaps there won't be so many Melisandres and IronTalons out there… My thoughts drifted again, this time to where it had all started in this life, Perhaps Mother Clementia won't have so lonely little orphans who'd lost their parents to Adventure.

I brushed the melancholy mood aside. It wouldn't do to upset the little one with my own insecurities. There were appearances to keep up, and those appearances were as much a duty and a weight as any other.

Speaking of, the little terrors were unending in their crushing volume; VioletBlood and Visha swapped off which of them stood by my side. Over time, the Baroness had accrued quite the haul of what could only be described as holiday loot. It was during a small break when I was taking a drink of hot chocolate that I realized she had sent a runner to our apartments.

She must have, because soon I saw my maid Reinhild was there in my shadow, helping to organize VioletBlood's vast haul. I made a note to get her something special when she met my gaze and gestured for me to come over, giving me an excuse for a momentary reprieve. Her niece Brabant, a petite white-haired kitsune who helped with the cleaning, was there next to her, pushing a large pram.

Inside, a litter of fox kits were peering over the side and watching me, their ears perked up and their fluffy little tails swishing. After dealing with a parade of broodlings over the last two hours, I thought I had been rendered immune to such adorable displays.

I was wrong.

And now VioletBlood had, after giving them some peppermint sticks, slotted them neatly into the line. My doom by cuteness overload was inevitable.


+++++


In my all too literal lifetimes of experience, waiting rooms did not change. In what must have been some kind of dreadfully mundane universal constant, waiting rooms for medical services across all my lives possessed the same slightly-shabby, insidiously-dull presence.

The trappings may have changed, but the feeling of isolation in wich to ponder one's mortality remained a constant.

At least in this particular waiting room, Doctrix Olivia OakStone made sure that the plants were well-watered, the ticking of the clock was neither irregular nor frustratingly loud, the chairs had a modicum of comfort, and the magazines were not horrifically out of date.

Despite that, the most recent publication on the coffee table before me was last week's issue of Mursam Minutes, a more generalist daily publication for news on this world and this locality of the Spine.

The other broadsheet for perusal was Legionary Letters, a distinctly more... earthy and direct publication that was the Legion's in-house newspaper. However, that was another week older.

The publications ranged from the banal, like Modern Whimsy, Frugal Cooking, and Fashionable Fatale, to ones that I had already read, such as the Journal on Air Combat and Fleet Chronicle.

Unlike many such waiting rooms, there was no receptionist. There was a small desk for someone to sit, but like every other seat, it was empty.

Seeing nothing else to do, I let out a little sigh and picked up the September issue of Fleet Chronicle and gave it a cursory perusal. While not officially published by the Household Fleet, the periodical had many contributors who were reasonably informed.

Happily, I found a surprisingly plain-spoken article about the tradeoffs of going from the Umbra to the smaller Spatha as a ship-to-ship cargo delivery platform. The thrust of the article postulated that for small formations using Kolibri patrol and Venture Scout airships, the hit in cargo capacity was made up for by the increased flexibility. Notably, it continued, smaller VTOL were far easier to land and takeoff on the tiny hangars of the Fleet's smallest airships.

I continued reading my article as the waiting room's inner door at last clicked open. From the corner of my eye, I saw a weary-seeming human in a green Auxilia tunic, with the flashes of a Magus Engineer, trudge across the waiting room, favoring his combat engineer's staff .

A couple minutes later, the inner door opened again.

"Prefect Centurion DiamondDust?" a woman inquired in the smooth Vanis accent of someone who had spent a fair bit of time in Vordurium.

Doctrix Olivia OakStone had golden hair pulled into a prim bun set with pins denoting her Legionary status. Her deep purple skin and pale green eyes complemented her ash-grey jacket, silver-embroidered bodice, and matching glossy leather skirt,

"Yes," I stood and put the magazine back onto the table.

"If it's not too much trouble, please come this way," she bowed her straight, pale horns at me in a formal greeting.

I followed her into her office, which was infused with a solid, thoroughly utilitarian air. There was a plain, sturdy desk with a tasteful drift of her notes across the leather writing pad, standing squarely before a set of filing cabinets and a single shelf heaving with well-thumbed reference texts. Despite the flowers in their pots by the window and paintings of cheery landscapes hanging from the walls, this was the workplace of a sober professional.

Instead of gesturing for me to lay on the couch on the far side of the room, Dr. OakStone motioned to one of the leather chairs in front of her desk. I appreciated that there was no pretense with her, there was no sitting around a coffee table with wine and pretending we were friends commiserating over the events.

She was a medical professional, and I was her patient. This was no different than having my bones X-rayed to make sure nothing was broken. Or in the case of our species, checking that nothing had set and healed incorrectly.

Taking my seat, I frowned at that analogy; badly healed bones were a known quantity, of course, but relatively rare to the point of quasi-obscurity, saved for situations of mass trauma and a lack of medical care. One advantage of our creation was that, given the chance, we could heal from most all injuries without any physical flaw or scarring. It was almost enough to make one think a Diyu Demon truly did live by the phrase "anything that doesn't kill you makes you stronger".

The key word being, of course, "physical". There were a variety of mental maladies and disabilities that our species could be afflicted by and trauma was the main, but not only, cause of them.

The point where Dr OakStone came in was when it became necessary to inquire into the healing of that other sort of wound.

"I suppose you'd want to ask about your subordinates?" the older woman said as she adjusted her wings to settle into her chair. This was part of our little ritual.

"Without violating any of your oaths," I assured, playing my part.

Picking up a set of steel-framed glasses off her desk, the woman slipped them on. They shimmered slightly as her gaze went far away for a brief moment. "Ten days ago was, for many, the first mission they participated in with casualties, unrecoverable casualties, sustained, they are doing quite well. That considered, they're handling the strain well."

I nodded. My senior pilots like GreyDawn and Charity had been Legionary Fliers long enough to have seen... many comrades die. Even Octavia, who was not that much older than Visha, had lost friends. Enough to build calluses on certain contact-points of the soul, I hoped. "I have two points of concern."

"Your greenhorns in Second Flight, and IronTalon's friends in Third," OakStone reasoned, her neutral tone betraying no similar concerns, but only an acknowledgment of the worries she knew troubled me.

"Yes," I admitted. "But, I'm wondering if by focusing on the obvious ones, maybe I've missed those suffering in silence."

"Your concern is admirable," OakStone smiled. "But I've read your evaluation reports, Tauria. You are a very thorough young woman."

Glancing at her pale green eyes, I could feel a slight buzz along my horns. The woman wasn't prying. The training the Lady Legate and Invidia had oh-so-generously sponsored me for left me well aware of that. On the one wing, it was good to have some counter-psionics training. On the other wing, that was a clear sign CSR intended for me to retain yet more secrets in the future. Furthering my paranoia spiral was the lingering thought wondering if the instructors were purposely learning my mental backdoors so that they, or some other tentacle of the CSR, could peer into my mind at their leisure.

It could be worse. The training wasn't extensive enough for specialist lessons that might truly open holes, there simply hadn't been time for it. Not with the encounter with the Fae knocking on our door. Unless, of course, that had all been planned from the start and- I shook my head. That way lay madness.

In all probability, things were nowhere near so convoluted. Someone in the bowels of the CSR, likely Invidia, had suspected I was being prepared for further advancement, and, as Tribunes were given all sorts of supplemental training, had penciled me in for anti-psionics training at some point in the future. Such arrangements were far from unheard of – I would be far from the first connected Legionary Flier CSR helped rise in ranks – and nor was it at all unheard of for an evolving situation to rapidly move some key piece of training up in the priority queue. Still, unless the Doctrix was far more skilled in the mental arts, she wasn't trying to rifle through my mind.

However, her ivory-colored horns were doing their best to read every scrap of emotional emissions I was broadcasting. I reminded myself that there was no need for anxiety, that I had no need to quail before her regard. This appointment was, at its heart, fundamentally no different from any other medical examination.

"I just don't want to let them down." I exhaled and kicked my legs, feet tapping the desk. "You know, any more. I couldn't bring everyone back."

"You did better than any other Squadron leader," OakStone noted, her clinical tone contrasting with a compassionate emotional pulse. "While I have not been told the details of your mission, I can count the number of patients we need to recertify for flight duty without difficulty, and can use an org chart with equal ease."

I squeezed my hands. And there it was. This prim, professional woman could, with a simple form, ground me or my Vs. Oh, I could lodge an appeal, if matters progressed that far. It wouldn't even be a particularly tricky thorn to pluck, particularly since many such orders could be lifted with a successful recertification, unsuccessful appeals be damned. After all, the Imperatrix was loath to permanently lose a pilot.

But that sort of gamble could backfire, should the appeal be dismissed with prejudice. While the Imperatrix might loathe the loss of an otherwise functional pilot, she would not extend the privilege of further service on her behalf to a Legionary who presented a real and persistent danger to herself or to her comrades. And the doctrix had more severe things she could recommend, beyond a disbarring of my certification. A missio causaria would require more effort on her part and would entail the filing of far more paperwork, but she could start a process that would end with my service to the Imperatrix cut unceremoniously and permanently short. While no official stigmas were attached to a medical discharge, I knew it would always be a cloud over my head and a blemish on my record in the eyes of all who knew what to look for. A symbol of a weakness so profound that I had been cut from a queen of the skies to a cracked menace at its mere identification.

Studying me, OakStone picked up a clipboard, leaned back, and jotted down a few notes.

I tried to reign in my imagination; this was not a good place for my mind to wander, but... would it be so bad to find an early discharge, even one leaving the oily soot of madness smeared across my service jacket? Given my history, maybe I could become a country noble, could do normal teenage things, whatever those might be. I could work on furthering my education, tend to my county, and pass justice on my subjects, ending my absenteeism at last. Would it be so bad? I had always wanted that quiet retirement.

But... I'd be leaving my Vs behind.

"I have a daughter your age, you know. She's a big fan," OakStone said, her voice soft. "Naturally, she doesn't know you're one of my patients."

Pondering her seeming non-sequitur, I thought back to VioletBlood's little surprise a few days past. "If you want, I could sign something. You could say you got it from Quirinus or..." I shook my head. Distraction. "Why did you bring this up?"

"It's not my place to criticize the Pilot Cadet Program, though I am happy that girls in your situation are... rare." She glanced at the small BlackSkyvian banner hanging on one wall. "You're feeling guilt for your actions out there. You blame yourself. But a lot of people look up to you."

"I was in command. Thus I am responsible. And I'm not feeling-" I cut myself off. Was I really trying to deny my feelings to someone reading them? I tried to follow it up with something better, but the words got caught in my throat.

"Of course you feel guilt, Tauria. You're not some monster lacking empathy. People you cared about were hurt. Some died. You yourself were even shot down." She gave me a sharp look over her glasses. "Frankly, I would be more worried about you if you didn't show any apparent trauma after your latest mission. Absence of symptoms does not, after all, mean an absence of injury. And a complete lack of empathy would be a grievous injury indeed. Potentially even career ending."

I took a breath and tried to relax my wings. I could feel my feathers ruffling up. It did not help that my Zephyr were picking up my agitation. "I'm handling it," I firmly said, and hoped that my declaration didn't sound overly stressed.

"You do seem better than you were last week, and even then you were composed," OakStone allowed as she flickered through the images her glasses were displaying. "Oh yes, you didn't call in, so no negative effects to the Benzodril?"

"Just a bit of dry mouth after taking it, just like you warned." I waved off before putting my hands on my knees. "It did settle my dreams."

My mind stuttered back to painful memories. The taste of my own blood and someone else's flesh in my mouth. The screaming of suit alarms. Golden beams across an azure sky. Looking out at a spinning night sky through a cracked faceplate. Feeling warm blood on my claws and my ears ringing from explosion after explosion.

Most of my dreams had a common theme. The worst part was that not all of them were nightmares. Oh sure, I woke up with a scream in my throat and rage or terror in my pounding chest some nights. But others? I rose to find a smile on my lips.

"The pills didn't do anything to settle Visha though. She still kicks and sleep-punches, and VioletBlood's snores are as loud as ever."

"Well, their dosage is different." The dark-skinned woman smiled as she made notes. "Good, I'm glad to hear that none of you are having any negative effects. We'll give it another week and see if we can give you something lighter."

I nodded.

"Anything you'd like to tell me about your Squadron? Not just your pilots but your Ritualista too."

"I'm not sure anything can rattle Gibbs," I said, laughing despite myself. "She runs a tight ship."

OakStone let the following silence grow for a moment. "But?"

I paused, wondering if it was really a good idea to bring it up. "It's not her, but some of the other Ritualista are spreading this idea… I'm certain that Melisande and Lucia are the ones responsible. I'm surprised it hasn't made it to you yet, in some session or another."

OakStone tilted her head slightly, and for a moment, I wondered who would win if she gambled against GreyDawn, Visha, or even Lucia.

"Some of, DarkStar's Blood, maybe all of, Flight Three's Ritualista want to retire Suit Number Eleven. That is, just skip over it and go straight to Thirteen on the maintenance logs and other Squadron reports."

"Ah. That's IronTalon's number. And you object?" OakStone asked, her voice dripping with the gentle kindness of a person about to tell a child that nothing more could be done for a beloved pet.

I stretched my legs but found them bumping against the desk, so I pulled them up so I could flex my ankles... "It's not that I don't respect her memory, or that I am willfully ignoring the potential morale implications. I know not to give an order that won't be followed. If I have to, I will turn a blind eye. I could have Visha give the bad news to the girls but..."

"But?"

"I don't want to make her do that. Yes, unit discipline is part of being an executive officer, but some things shouldn't be delegated. I can let being undermined slide, at least in this way, at least this once. I can even ignore that the other Prefect Centurions aren't retiring any of their Squadron's numbers."

OakStone gave a sad look, but I could tell that it wasn't prompted by me or by any of my actions. "So, with all of that said… Why do you object?" she repeated the question.

"As their commander I have to think about the long term implications," I stated flatly.

"Ah."

"It's not like that!" I snapped, bristling at that single, neutral word.

Calm down.

Taking a deep breath, I draped my arms over my knees as my tail curled behind me. I could feel the spirits swirling around me, looking for whatever threat had gotten me so defensive.

"I have to make these decisions," I began, speaking slowly, carefully, and without any hint of agitation. "I'm responsible. I have to look past the next mission and the mission after that. If we retire a suit number every time someone dies, then what happens after we lose another pilot? And after the next one? And the next?

"I have seventeen years left in the Legions. And if we are very generous and assume current rates hold, that means that my Squadron will be compelled to retire seven numbers by the time I'm out." I lowered my head to my knees. "An utter farce."

Putting her clipboard down, OakStone steepled her fingers. "That is not an unreasonable concern."

I looked up, surprised by the apparent vote of confidence. "Yes, but I can't just say that to my pilots. That'll damage morale worse than telling them they can't retire IronTalon's number."

"Oh, I'm sorry but we can't retire IronTalon's number because I don't want to make a habit of it when the rest of us keep dying," I thought bitterly, acting that particular line's delivery out in my head to a mutely dismayed illusory audience. I'm sure that'll go over well.

"In that case, what is your plan, Tauria?"

"Other than redoubling their training?" I sighed as I lifted my head and rolled my shoulders. "I'll have to play it by ear and hope I come up with a solution by the... next time I take casualties."

Oakstone made a thoughtful noise, as if assuming I was discounting the possibility that I could die. "I do wish there was more I could do for you." The woman smiled as she murmured her platitude, setting my horns tingling.

"You've done more than enough," I assured her, the false joviality hopefully obscuring the point I'd failed to entirely draw from my tone.

The Doctrix had access to more than just pharmacological treatments, after all, and broad latitude to pursue actions she could reasonably argue advanced the Legion's mission. Some of those actions required more paperwork and authorization to approve, of course, more than just the prognosis of a single doctor, but in cases of particular concern, there were... mental means of correction. Including many options that a mother could resort to in the course of rearing an incorrigible or troubled broodling. Use of those corrective means on an adult, however, even an adult only named as such by legal technicality in my case, would also require at least nominal consent on the patient's part.

I doubted that Dr. OakStone would advocate using psionics, Diyu magic, or whatever other psychic scalpels rested at her disposal to alter the minds of my pilots to remove their trauma which was... some comfort.

Or, at the very least, she wouldn't be so eager to conduct such interventions that I'd have to fight to keep the figurative icepick out of her hand.

"You do have quite a bit piled up on your plate," she sympathized, either a complete non sequitur to my current line of thought, or perhaps the first words of the formula that would see my career shredded and my liberty abruptly restricted to the gilded cage of a mental ward if I responded unwisely to her fishing.

"Nothing that I cannot handle," I declared flatly; my tail curled around my legs. "Sure, we might have kicked off the Fourth Great House War, but I heard Alecto is trying to mediate things."

OakeStone only gave me a thin mirthless smile at that. "How were the memorial services?"

"They were..." Resisting the urge to put my head in my hands, I leaned back. Seven banner-draped caskets came to mind. "Very respectful I hope they brought closure."

"What did it do for you?"

"I was too focused on keeping track of the censer and reliquary box," I stated, my horns feeling cold. I had tried to decline taking any special role in the ceremony. DarkStar's Blood, it was all I could do to attend in uniform instead of dressed as a Sister!

Making a couple notes as she studied me, OakStone's seeming sympathy grew. Of course, if I was a psychotherapist who specialized in the treatment of highly dangerous and potentially fractured military personnel, I would make great efforts to divorce any emotional emissions, facial expressions, or eye movements away from my actual thoughts or feelings at earliest convenience. "Did it help?"

"I suppose," I conceded, just a bit reluctantly. "My pilots seemed to be less distant in the days afterward. At least until Lucia had to write her letter to IronTalon's family." My own correspondence had proven was... challenging. What could I say? The secrecy removed all pretense. I could not tell any story of glory or try to give meaning to loss. All I could say was that their daughter won't be coming home.

"And how did that go?"

"It went. Apparently, some Volantes Legate up on Lantia already informed her family; adopted, not that that makes a difference. The letters are just a part of it." Teleport Gateways meant that major facilities had rapid lines of communication, at least for critical correspondence.

OakStone made a note. "And how have the debriefs been going?"

"Well enough," I wearily demurred, and was happy when the Doc declined to make me recount everything that had happened in excruciating detail, beat by beat. Security issues aside, I was eternally loath to repeat myself.

Especially considering how the formal debriefs had at least the secondary purpose of cultivating institutional knowledge. Our personal recollections, along with suit telemetry where available, other transcripts, and scrying intake, were all collated to log what happened. And there was much to learn, not just for air and ground combat but, in my case, to help give more data for our Pilot Survival and Evasion courses. Although, I suspected my experiences might be more of a cautionary example.

Simply repeating myself yet again in the supposed privacy of this office offered no such opportunities for organizational development.

"This was the closest you came to death, at least in the last few years," OakStone observed. "And yet you seem quite composed, especially for someone your age."

"Thank you?" I frowned. That sounded good, but my tail straightened in worry.

"It helps that you're not afraid of death."

I blinked. Where did she get that from? Yes, given that I had died twice I had some... assumptions as to what would happen if I died for a third time. But there was no way she would know that. Right?

"If I die, I'd let people down," I countered absently.

OakStone smiled. "Of course you care. You are afraid of failing your special people, friends, and comrades. And a corresponding fear of being without them."

"I suppose so. It's hard not to," I carefully replied, shoulders squared.

"Your faith is quite unshakable," OakStone smiled.

"No more than anyone else's," I eyed her. The doctrix was not one to give idle compliments. I learned to trust that much from her, praise from her had to be earned. What was her angle? Did she think I wasn't afraid of death due to religion?

Making a note, the doctrix thoughtfully adjusted her glasses.

"I mean it's not anything special," I covered. "It's just how I was raised."

She held up a hand in acquiescence. "It's not a critique, Tauria. Faith works differently for all of us and if you get strength from yours that is a good thing."

It's not complicated, I huffed internally, it's just... I may not know exactly where I'll go after dying, but I know for a fact I have nothing to fear. Not anymore.

The fluttering feeling ruffled over my hair and wings as OakStone studied me. Her expression softened. "I was a medic in the Third Great House War. You are right, people of your moral caliber aren't rare in the Legions. However- " she smiled. "The ones that truly excelled took the long term consequences of their actions into account. And your own mix of faith and prudence will serve you well, DarkStar allowing."

I wanted to pout; I wanted to smile. Looking over Doc OakStone, by my rough estimate, she could be in her sixties; she had the eyes for it. She certainly carried herself as a mature professional with a few decades in her practice. And she did not move with the effortlessly held power of a true Elder Demoness.

"I'm just doing my part," I deflected, trying to bury my growing anxiety. What was wrong with me? I could play the role of the Imperial Heroine to a terror of broodlings or to a pair of blood-thirsty fae, but a doctor is able to see past my mask?

"You are. Some may say you've done your part, but... I understand survivor's guilt." OakStone glanced out the window to look at the parking lot full of cargo trucks, the fence beyond that, and finally, the rest of the city around the base.

"I mean..." My tail flicked with agitation. "I guess you're right in that it's not dying itself that worries me."

"It is good that you have people who care for you. Did you get your holiday shopping done?" OakStone asked, once again abruptly changing topics. No doubt it was some strategy to get me off balance to gauge my reaction.

"Mostly." I shifted, not entirely comfortable with how well it was working. I tried to focus on the fact that it was all for professional purposes. "Do I have to go over the whole... thing?"

"You don't have to. Did anything stand out?" OakStone asked.

"It was fine," I stated, my wings fluttering as my tail curled. "I'm used to cheering up eager broodlings. It made their day and they'll treasure that memory."

"But?"

"I…" I went still, a chill in my bones as I made sure to pick my next words very, very carefully, "I'm sure in a few years some of them will do their part for House and Imperatrix."

The older woman chuckled. "Oh, so cautious. Do not fret. I know the value of propaganda. I may not agree, but at least with you it is not so repugnant."

I held my tongue. Elevating a child to an Imperial Heroine for what I did over Narvos was something many could call dubious. That my situation was considered merely "not so repugnant" was… not something I knew what to make of.

"This won't be your first holiday season away from home," OakStone noted, shifting to a safer topic.

"It's not," I nodded, relieved to be slipping into calmer waters. "I think I've spent more Saber's Watches and Feasts of DarkStar in some stinking FOB than at home."

"It's still hard for you."

So much for calmer waters… I grumbled to myself internally. I can't really complain, it is quite literally her business to ask these kinds of questions, and it's hardly unreasonable for the Legion to be worried about their murderous little investments snapping at the worst moment.

That doesn't mean I have to enjoy being pried open and picked apart.

Carefully stretching my legs to not hit the desk, I exhaled, there was no use in denying it. "I mean, yes. Things are different now, I'm not alone." I winced. Sloppy! I was being too unguarded. "That is, I always had my mothers but I wasn't adopted until after... well Narvos. And I'm now engaged."

"You've done a very good job at building connections," OakStone observed, her tone clinical as if she were recording my height or weight, which was preferable to being patronizing.

"It just happened," I deflected.

"You are a very reserved and humble young woman." OakStone sifted in her chair.

I sensed the other hoof was about to drop. "But?"

She put her clipboard down on her desk. "You have accumulated a lot of trauma."

Obviously. I've had two lives of war and a pair of traumatic deaths, I managed not to snort. "I'm not surprised. Will... will this be a problem?"

"Your self control is admirable, but there is the question if you are compartmentalizing or suppressing." OakStone glanced at her clipboard. "The latter is a greater problem."

"Are you worried I'm bottling things up? I'm not that secretive." I could immediately tell she saw through the statement even if it was mostly true.

The Doctrix chuckled. "Tauria, we know that's a lie. You're a Legionary Flier who just came back sponsored by some questionable... associates. Of course you're keeping secrets."

"Only the ones I must," My tone was cold. She knew as well as I did, that there were some questions she couldn't ask, not unless she got CSR's approval to get access.

"Of course." OakStone agreed, holding up a hand. "But what about your Vs? Are even they fully aware of what you're going through?"

"They've been alongside me, ever since the start. Of course they know!"

One of them has been with me since even before this start. She knows more than most could imagine, I thought.

Yet, traitorously, my mind couldn't help but remind me that I still hadn't told Visha everything. And what did it say that I allowed one of my Vs to know half my secrets, while I let my own fiancee think herself content only scratching the surface? Didn't VioletBlood deserve the truth too? She might be a bloody-handed stubborn noble, but she had managed to keep up every step of the way.

"You're there for them, and they're there for you," the Doctrix said.

"I don't want to be a burden for them, but..." I rubbed my arms as my wings drooped. "Yes."

After giving me a critical look, OakStone nodded. "That's very good."

"I think that's why VioletBlood has me doing 'Heroine Countess' stuff," I admitted.

I could just hear my fiancee's smug voice going, "I try my best; I know it's still hard for you."

"She does care for you a lot, which is good for her."

"Yeah, she's a war orphan too."

"You're fortunate to have her, and Victorious."

"I am..." I was struck by a profound melancholy. "For as long as I have them."

OakStone eased into her sympathetic posture. "It is a risk. And I can say without fear of violating confidentiality that both reciprocate such feelings."

"Well, VioletBlood does wear her heart on her sleeve," I chuckled. "But the fear of loss..."

"Quite," OakStone idly flipped through the notes on her display. "Neither of your Vs wants to lose you. Although one is... better at hiding the raw intensity of such emotions than the other."

"Well, she is a deft hand at cards," I admitted.

"So I've been told. Victorious is a devoted woman of many talents." Oakstone's tone indicated she had more thoughts about Visha, but her oaths kept her from fully expressing them.

"She is, and-" I exhaled. "You can see my concerns, given both she and LoveBlood are...:

"Serving in the same unit alongside you?" OakStone asked with the barest hint of distaste.

It seemed the good doctrix had reservations about the rather permissive rules regarding fraternization. Intellectually, I could agree with the concerns that having a... person you were very close to dying next to you would have. But given our species'... foibles, as my own experience showed, such relations seemed almost inevitable.

"And soon it might be a much larger risk," I murmured, pulling out the locket my mother gave me, my stomach turning cold as my tail curled.

"Ah yes, the rumors of a looming war with Elena."

"We just talked about the numbers," I said, my voice leaden. This was far from the steely, confident Imperial Heroine I pretended to be. Despite how I was clasping my fingers over my mother's locket, I wasn't even bothering with my pious mask.

"Losing half your Squadron before your term is up. Or your Vs's terms are up," OakStone added.

I lowered my head onto my fingers. "I will do everything in my power for them, for everyone," I swore, my will adamant as my wings fluttered and tingled. "By DarkStar's grace, if I can give VioletBlood a family and continue to pull Visha through hell, I shall."

I had spent too long being alone. And one day that might be my fate, to be the only pilot to return to the Ritual Plate maintenance bay, but I had beaten fate before. Being X had died by my hands. I had beaten the odds before; I had seen Visha through the other side of it. I would do it again.

I felt warmth between my hands as silver light began to escape between my fingers. I swallowed, realizing that it was not embarrassment that was heating my ears but a discharge of my capacitor earrings.

"Um... Countess?" OakStone asked, a ghost of awe in her voice.

"It's not faith! It's just my magic!" I assured as I held up the locket with its DarkStar symbol on it. And at that moment, my Zephyr decided to be helpful and push the locket up so that it floated on a slack chain before slipping out of my fingers and over to the doctrix. "And air spirits!"

"Yes, this is a very emotional moment," she allowed as she opened the offered locket and smiled at the tiny pictures inside.

"Exactly! And don't read too much into those earrings! Yes they're relics the church loaned me, but they're full of magical energy..."

"All very logical, but what about your wings?" OakStone asked.

+++++

Sometimes familiarity can be a comfort. In this case, as once again, a commanding officer had invited me to dine with her, the guidepost of experience provided just enough structure to calm my nerves. I was further calmed by the realization that I would not be attending this dinner alone; the four other Squadron commanders had also been invited to the same Paymonish restaurant Tribune Quirinus had picked months ago when this Demi-Wing had first been formed.

Stepping into an awning over the restaurant's entrance, I discreetly used my Zephyr to dry off my feathers. Not all of my etiquette lessons had been pointless tedium – some actually had practical applications. Besides, shaking one's wings as soon as you got out of the rain was the kind of clumsy mess-making reserved for rambunctious broodlings, not an officer with any self respect.

I rolled my shoulders and strolled up to the front door, the twin slabs of carved oak parting ways before I could even begin to knock. As the hostess quietly took my overcoat, I found myself thankful for the relative informality that allowed me to wear my Legion Blacks. While I had a mess dress uniform that VioletBlood assured me I cut quite the imposing figure in, I personally preferred the less complicated Blacks.

For all that, it was nice to have a dress uniform that was reasonably practical. It was also more convenient to be able to purchase uniforms in my size instead of requiring bespoke martial formalwear. Legion Blacks were flexible and, despite protests from some of my pilots, comfortable uniforms that could suit a variety of social situations. Situations like a modestly upscale restaurant just outside of downtown Victrix.

As I was led across an atrium deeper into the restaurant, a woman out on a covered portico spotted me. Her own Zephyr were playing in the cloud of blue smoke rising around her, making intricate wisps and whorls.

To the doubtless disappointment of the air spirits, she pinched the end of her cigarillo, and came inside. I gave her a thankful nod as both our Zephyr dissipated the woody, slightly cinnamon-smelling smoke. Such sins were not exactly frowned on among our kind, but our sensitive noses did result in the more aromatic vices being handled with a bit more care.

"Evening," Fabia Firmitas HarrowFang greeted, bowing her horns to me.

I returned the gesture to the iridescently blue-winged commander of Fourth Squadron. "A pleasure. You hear any scuttlebutt about tonight?" I asked as we fell into pace behind the hostess.

Fabia shook her head. "Nothing from the drones in staffing, which might be a good thing. Your contacts in logistics hear anything?"

Sighing, I let my splayed, empty hands provide my answer.

Fabia gave me a half amused, half resigned, grunt. "And any news on your replacement suit?"

I shrugged helplessly. "It's in process."

"Not going with a suit from the reserve crypts at the depot here?" A playful smile lit up her features. "Something fresh and new from those clever boffins at MuArc for the courageous Countess?"

I made a face at that, waving my hand like I was sweeping away a bad smell, "Nothing so grandiose, I assure you."

"Well, we can't all be content with the robust and reliable products from IBF's Tactical Aviation Division." Fabia managed to point out with a mostly straight face.

"Careful," I said, with a grin of my own teasing it's way onto my face, "if word gets back to Imperial Blimp and Freight that you took one of their suits into ground combat they'll add that to their brochures."

Sighing, Fabia turned thoughtful. "Still... that you're not in a rush to grab a suit, any rated suit, and launch yourself back into the skies... Well, that does have its ownimplications."

"I only just regained my flight cert," I pointed out.

"Congratulations," Fabia nodded to me. "So... if we're not getting any replacement Pilots or Ritualista, and we're not getting a larger stockpile of spare parts..." The woman frowned at her cigarillo before tucking it into her sash.

"Then we're either not deploying anytime soon, or we're being deployed as is," I replied, finishing for her. "Hopefully the latter option is not the case for this gathering."

Fabia's frown grew as she looked around the carved wooden accents, wall-hangings, and delicate painted screens of the restaurant. The artistic flourishes were far from garish, but their understated elegance was still a sign of opulence, even for a major colony. Despite their tasteful grandeur, her brow remained troubled as a waitress wended her way through the tables to collect us up and guide us towards the back of the hall.

Soon we were ushered into a very familiar yet very tastefully-decorated private room. Though a metallic wind chime now hung above a screen painted in a seaside landscape. Though Caenis and JadeTalon were already there, drinks in hand, our commander was nowhere to be found. Caenis seemed stoic, but JadeTalon seemed more morose.

Caenis's golden eyes met mine. "Quirinus just stepped out, but she'll be back"

I noted that there was a third glass at the table containing a deep amber liquid.

Fabia lightly smiled. "Understandable."

"Can I get you some refreshments?" the hostess asked.

"May I have some tea?" I asked.

"I'll have some plum wine," Fabia asked.

The hostess bowed and left the four of us. Fabia gave me a look, and we took our seats.

"Did the Tribune get a call?" I asked.

A small grin cracked JadeTalon's sober demeanor. "Of nature? Maybe," she gave a bitter laugh.

"She'll be back from powdering her nose," Caenis added.

"Or sharpening her horns. How is everyone?" Fabia asked as she sat down.

JadeTalon stared into the bottom of her glass as if it held any answers, idly swirling the chartreuse like it would provide divination. Looking at the grief on her youthful face, it seemed another reminder of the odd kind of curse laid upon our kind. For all her ageless vitality and physical beauty, no one could ever say that war had left her unscarred. The black-haired, jade-horned woman sighed. "I got the transfer list finalized. On the bright side... it's easier to slot in a replacement Flight than to do it piecemeal," she drawled out, her mild Luxon accent sharpening.

I tried not to wince. Second Squadron had taken some of the worst casualties over Harp's World. I couldn't say that the final butcher's bill was all that surprising, but that didn't make it any kinder.

The door opened, and Quirinus strode in with a waitress at her heel.

We stood and saluted. Junior Tribune Artemis Quirinus returned the gesture fingers to her neck. "That's enough of that," she waved off and stepped aside so the waitress could give Fabia and I our drinks and then pass out menus.

The green-haired officer with the star tattoos on her crimson cheeks sat down at the head of the table. "Let's order a few things first, my treat." She cut the air with the side of her hand to forestall any protest. "I insist."

There were some pro forma protests, but given how we all were already looking through the menus, those were merely part of the social dance we played.

As I went over the page of various and frankly decadent one-pot recipes, I made a note to see if this restaurant was still taking reservations for Saber's Watch. Visha had grown up not too far from Paymon, at least in this life, and I knew the right dish could tempt VioletBlood.

I decided to show some restraint and simply go with a shrimp soup with a savory broth and... maybe a fillet of mountain perch. I felt some reassurance in my choices as I saw the others, despite earlier protests, indulging a bit themselves.

Which I supposed was fitting, Quirinus was much a temptress as the rest of us. Besides, the protests had been more out of a general sense of cultural propriety than any kind of real restraint on our part. Never let it be said that a demon didn't have an appetite. Soon, we had ordered, and the room was just the five of us again as the hostess backed her way out, closing the door behind her.

"Don't worry, nothing tonight is all that sensitive. And tonight won't be like the last time we ate here," our Tribune assured as she took out a tuning fork. After starting the baffling field, she sipped from a tiny, fluted glass no wider than her thumb, and after finding its contents good, lifted it high. "To absent comrades."

We returned the toast. I noticed JadeTalon's motions were relatively stiff, and she was already on her second drink. Tail flicking, Caenis was also watching her, inscrutable behind her cool mask.

"I am pleased to announce that everyone has finished their medical evaluations, and that I have signed the last transfer papers for our Legionary Flies and Ritualista." The room fell silent after Quirinus's declaration.

I looked around the room wondering who would speak first. As the Tribune's executive officer, Caenis was too much of Quirinus's woman to take that line, and JadeTalon seemed to be in no mood to play. The silence was undercut by the metal tines of the wind chime gently ringing.

I glanced at Fabia and gave a tiny shrug as if to point out that I was as much the Tribune's protégée. The blue-winged woman sighed, resignation heavy on her shoulders. "What's the damage, Ma'am?"

"Among the Fliers, the medical and transfer requests add up to half a dozen, that's in addition to the killed in action." Quirinus dipped her head, "But then, we were all there for caskets' sendoff; you all know the blood-price tendered."

I couldn't help but wince, though my reaction wasn't near as great as some of the others. JadeTalon was the worst off, but even Fabia wasn't spared. I knew that Fourth Squadron, like mine, had lost only one pilot over Harp's World. I suppose Fabia had more of her Fliers transfer out.

The awkward silence between us drew out.

Fabia looked between us all and shrugged. "One of each: killed, medical, transfer."

"I had one transfer," Caenis admitted. We all knew she had three pilots killed so I suppose it was a blessing she retained almost all of her survivors.

"Three, in addition to the two KIA," JadeTalon sighed.

The other Squadron Commanders then gave me looks that bore the tracery of jealousy. They could count, between their three Squadrons was every loss the Demi-Wing had, IronTalon excepted. I sipped my tea, trying to not feel so guilty. It wasn't my fault my Squadron was full of bloodthirsty madwomen.

"It was a hard mission but we all did our bit," I said, the platitude slipping past my lips as rehearsed and false as if I were doing a propaganda reel.

The unimpressed looks of my fellow commanders told me exactly how well it had landed.

"Honestly, I haven't the foggiest idea," I half sighed, half groaned, and shrugged helplessly to further underline my incomprehension. "I'm surprised my noble brat rookies still have enough stars in their eyes to keep at it; I'm almost as surprised that no one ended up grounded, even temporarily."

"Could be their pride," Caenis ventured. "Too stubborn to back down when good sense says otherwise."

"Could be..." I allowed. "Noble brats can be headstrong fools like that."

A sudden cough escaped Quirinus's throat, and she took a drink of water before looking around the table. After getting nods from Fabia and JadeTalon she cleared her throat. "Nearly all of the transfers were Sarpedona pilots asking to be put into a conventional Infantry Legion."

"The supportive read is that they got a taste of protecting hoof-sluggers on Harp's World and want to focus on that skill," Fabia stated before nodding to JadeTalon. "Or want to go back to that more straightforward mission."
So the transfers were more driven by the more experienced pilots of Second Squadron as opposed to the greenhorn Fliers in Fourth, I studied JadeTalon's melancholy. But despite her being a greenhorn to command, the higher losses were not her fault. Lady Fate and Dame Luck were capricious bitches, as ever.

"None of you should feel guilty for this," Caenis assured us. While most of her attention was on JadeTalon, the Midlands officer was also clearly trying to reassure me.

Was it due to our ages? JadeTalon was young to command an RP Squadron, but not abnormally so, unlike myself.

There was a polite knock, and Quirinus welcomed in a pair of waitresses. The smell of the food did lift our spirits. Figuratively and literally, as I could sense our Zephyr swirling around the room, investigating the new aromas wafting off the plates and bowls.

My tea was refreshed with a new little porcelain pot, as well as drinks and water for the others. There were a few minutes of companionable silence as we ate. Many of our dishes were garnished with tiny flags on toothpicks, though my plate had a full blown miniscule sparkly pinwheel surmounting my salad. Erasing any doubt that the staff were aware of our companions was that they placed a small dish of sweet incense over a burner on a sideboard.

The simple joy at unexpected entertainment was a comfort.

"I do have a few pieces of good news," Quirinus announced, putting down her fork beside the bowl of a steamed then fried rice dish that had a blend of vegetables and spiced cuts of lamb

Apprehension filled the room as all our tails stilled. We all knew that, often in the Legions, "good news" was as such only in the eye of the beholder, who could reliably be counted upon to number among the Brass Horns and other senior officers.

Chuckling, Quirinus restarted the tuning fork's baffling vibrations. "I mean actual good news. When it comes to Ritualista our staffing issues are less acute. Yes, we received some turnover among our maintainers, but not above the expected percent."

I nodded along with the others. My Squadron's Ritualista had sustained only a handful of transfers, which out of a staff of fifty was quite manageable. It was good that, at least in this respect, my unit was typical. It also helped that our Ritualista had not taken any casualties during the mission, an outcome far from guaranteed in any frontline support unit.

"It is one less thing for us to worry about," Quirinus agreed.

"What of our Fleet Pilot friends?" JadeTalon asked.

A sense of loss radiated from Tribune Artemis Quirinus before she could control it. I knew she had been close to Lady Primus Felicity IvoryQuiver, the pilot who used Svalinna warding suit to save the lives of many of my Squadron. I still remembered the moment she sacrificed herself to cover us from the onslaught of Elenese lance fire. A brilliant star in the early morning skies before several more fell to earth.

"Or the ground team, or the Tarantula Hawk's crew?" Fabia added, sending a sympathetic pulse.

Gathering herself, Quirinus ate a bit more of her meal. "All in all, the shippies are doing well enough. They also have a larger pool of personnel to draw replacements from. Still, our ride will be spending a bit of time in drydock with some minor maintenance on their oh-so-special systems. As for the ground team..." The Tribune shrugged. "Missions like this are what they signed up for."

I spooned some of my soup. I suppose that was true enough. As a newly refitted assault carrier, the Tarantula Hawk was a part of that special division of the Fleet that specialized in metaphorically skulking in an alley, poison dagger readied. But despite that, the crew were still people. And even if the ground teams had made a career of doing CSR's bloody work, and Lares's presence put some lie to that, they too were people with their own lives, limits, and desires.

It was one thing to look at a Table of Organization and go "yes, we have the units and equipment" but it was another to actually have the trained personnel. That wasn't even getting into the matter of making sure those personnel were always in good condition themselves, ready physically, mentally, and even spiritually to do their duties. Just keeping them on board was an entirely different kettle of fish.

"But that's not the real reason I brought you all here," Quarinus brushed it aside, "There is more good news. And I don't just mean that Alecto has been hosting a summit with Elena on Dunwitch to try and 'ease tensions'."

Fabia did not snort but her expression radiated disbelief. Caenis did not even bother hiding it and made a disparaging sound. "How... helpful. Say what you will about Alecton assistance, it's usually preferable to their enmity."

Quirinus looked into her glass before meeting our eyes. "There is... chatter that Elena has some masks to return."

That heightened the tension in the room as we all stilled. Masks were key to Elenese culture. And there was a measure of... something almost like respect for the BlackSkyvian tradition of using death masks as our Ritual Plate faceplates.

I knew, all too personally, that great effort had been made to recover every casualty, especially the living. We'd done our best to leave not even the dead behind, but not every body had been found in time or had fallen in one piece.

"That is... a positive sign," JadeTalon quietly said, a dreadful tendril of hope curled in her voice.

"If it happens," Fabia cautioned. "That would mean they see our adventure on Harp's World as a legitimate action."

"Yes, that the families of our dead deserve to have their daughter's and mother's masks back." Caenis shook her head.

"It's not just the matter of the masks, though. That they picked Dunwitch for the handover is interesting in and of itself," I noted.

Alecto and Elena had joint claim to multiple worlds, but on those contested planets, Dunwich was the only sparsely populated minor colony. From helping cover our travel on Harp's World to providing information on the Onyx Institute and the Catalan Company's mercenary ships, Alecton fingerprints were all over this operation. They were... displeased with Elenese overtures to Trosic interests, but I suspected there was more to their ire than the largest Great House getting closer to Alecto's ancient enemy.

"The other options were Wayfarer, which is too close to Diyu, and... Harp's World," Caenis drawled, earning a round of dry chuckles. "I can see why they didn't pick the latter."

"True, and the Countess is right. Picking a quiet, out of the way world is a way to try to have a face-saving meeting, one where one of Praetor DawnStrike's diplomats can make her case... unofficially. Or at least that's the rumors I heard." Quirinus paused to have a few bites of lamb before continuing.

"But that's just a bonus, if a potentially dubious one. I really called you here to reward you all for you and your girls' sacrifices," Quirinus promised, her effortless charisma returning as she once again became the ambitious and skilled commander. "You will all host a feast for your pilots and I will reimburse you. And you will do this without complaint, because..."

The Tribune smirked, showing her fangs. "You will then announce that we have two months of leave."

Her amusement at our shock was palpable.

"That is... most generous, Ma'am. And we all appreciate the time off. What will happen upon our return?" Fabia ventured, playing her role as the one of us most willing to gently challenge her.

"We'll set about rebuilding my Demi-Wing," the Tribune said simply as she picked up her glass and sipped. "The time is as much to help you all unwind as it is to give me time to cast a net for replacement pilots, hopefully pull some strings while I'm at it."

I smiled, pleased at the situation despite myself. Yes, in the new year I would be busy, but that was in the future, still distant at least for this very moment. As the most intact unit, my girls would be playing the aggressor squadron to help train the other Squadrons. Despite knowing better, I allowed myself to have a bit of hope that we would have time to allow our replacements to gel into their new Flights and Squadrons.

I had no idea what sort of questionable operation we would be thrown into after replenishing our strength, but the prospect of future combat was far from a new concern. "Having extended leave before deployment is better than no leave before deployment."

"Well said," Quirinus teased, to my mortification as I realized I had spoken aloud.

"Will offworld travel be allowed for our leave?" JadeTalon asked.

The Tribune smiled. "Yes, back home to Diyu at least. At a service discount price too."

"Just remind any green-horns to add a couple days on both ends of their trip," Caenis added. "Standby travel is relatively cheap, but the shippies won't be able to guarantee a specific ship will have spare space for you."

"What about going to Lantia?" I asked, thinking of Lucia's Third Flight. Doubtless, they would like to go back, especially if Cardino's family lived up on that moon.

"That's cleared as well with the standard limitations," Quirinus nodded. "Anywhere else on the Spine will require my authorization. Taking a vacation to kayak New Lentia's Ivory Islands is one thing but a trip out to the Empty Quarter would be quite another."

There was a mix of dark chuckles and half amused snorts at that. No one in their right mind wanted to go to the Empty Quarter. Haven was the only marginally habitable world in that Dexter and Down corner of the Dimensional Spine, and it mostly served as a base for the Empty Quarter Patrol, the only multinational organization the Great Houses bothered to respect or second military assets to. The only reason they did that was because an entire sector of the Dimensional Spine didn't earn a name like the Empty Quarter because it was considered a luxurious vacation paradise.

The Quarter hadn't always been so Empty, but everyone prayed it stayed that way.

Tucking back into my soup, my tail swished as I thought about how my pilots and Ritualista would be happy to have their vacation.

I definitely need to get a reservation at this place for... The spoon nearly slipped from my fingers in realization. No, with this much leave, I could go back to County Larium, LoveBlood could go back to the Barony of Lilla, and Visha to visit her family on Amber Island.

It made me wonder. Would I go back to Larium? Was it even going worth back to visit a place I'd only been to a handful of times? Really, my seneschal, Alexi Frugi, was the one who ran things. Maybe I could visit my mothers? Clementia would be easier to meet up with, but I should make a point to visit SilverFlight, and she usually wintered at her ducal estate.

"Thinking of a nice winter getaway with your Vs?" JadeTalon teased.

"I guess they would want to spend their leave with me," I stated as the realization slowly dawned.

"Your baroness is not a subtle creature," Fabia chuckled. "Once you tell her, I'm sure she'll have all sorts of ideas on how the highborne properly spend the holidays."

"She had me buying Saber's Watch decorations when she thought we were staying here in our apartment. And now..." Nervously, I picked up my cup and drank some tea.

"Now, she has a countess's country estate to play with. You must be ready for her sending out all kinds of invites and fillin' up your social calendar," Caenis said, her Midlands twang in full blossom.

"Don't forget to bring your tiara, sword, and any holy regalia with you when you go back. Not to mention all sorts of pretty gowns, uniforms, and sisterly outfits," JadeTalon laughed, before going back to her duck. While I was glad her emotional state seemed far better, I wish she wouldn't use the buoyed mood to tease me.

"I don't think LoveBlood will let me ever forget that cursed sword," I grumbled, prodding a floating shrimp with my spoon.

"Not without reason. Jesting aside. You should be thinking of your social obligations," Quirinus reminded me. "This is the time of year with plenty of military, noble, guild, and religious events. It's not the Feast time, but the Sabers Watch has become a major saint's day and you can celebrate with your fellow Sisters."

I managed not to sigh, if barely, as I refilled my teacup. Not that my restraint did me much good.

"Oh cheer up, we know you like spending time with your family and not just the networking part. Besides, going home will give you more chances to do all those quiet acts of charity we all pretend to not notice," the Tribune said.

"Honestly, all three of you could do with following the Countess's example," Quirinus knocked back her drink. "We're not as bad of an Old Girl's Club as the Fleet, but networking is vital in the Legions."

Fabia was too disciplined to roll her eyes, but the emotions she gave off were more than enough. For a moment, then she became thoughtful and glanced at me. Her expression was easy enough for me to read. That dinner on Forlorn Prospect had made it clear that Fabia's own status as an Imperial Heroine was not just something she could ignore and deny. Especially if she continued doing madcap acts of courage.

JadeTalon nodded thoughtfully while Caenis simply gazed at the Tribune with sober agreement.

"I suppose I could have stayed on base here doing instruction and training. Even without a suit, but if I didn't have a replacement by December..." I picked up my cup and sipped.

"Ah, offering to stay back and let the rest of us go on leave? That is a way to get experience with Demi-Wing command. Even as a caretaker of a skeleton unit." Quirinus gave me an approving look, seeming pleased by my honest ambition.

"Alas, I must return to County Larium and thus the least I can do is extend invitations to all of you." I smoothly said pulling on my etiquette lessons. "Obviously your own obligations and families come first but you are all welcome to visit."

"Spoken like a proper hostess." Quirinus bowed her horns to me.

I returned the gesture and plastered on my warmest smile. At least I was going to be busy overseeing and organizing travel for the next few days.

End Chapter 32

So Tauria and her Vs are getting some well-earned R&R; nothing to worry about.Ch 33stands at one scene and over 2k written, and there is still some more upcoming art.

Thanks to Ahuva, DCG , ellfangor8 , Green Sea, Larc , Readhead, metaldragon868 , WhoWhatWhere, and ScarletFox for checking and editing this chapter and helping with this whole arc. And Special thanks Readhead for helping with the tone of Doc OakStone's scene and to ScarletFox for helping with the chapter the title

 

[Sunshine Temple]

Chapter 33 has over 9k words written and I'm on the last scene. The next main arc to Book 2 is shaping up well as it'll show Tauria back on the homefront for a bit.

But now, the art.

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First from, LauraCaroline a rendition of DarkStar in a formal gown that was previously seen here

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From Lexi we've got Tauria being tempted by Invidia of CSR versus Mira of the Palace Librarians. She is spoiled of choice.

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Next PlayerErorr404 helps fill out the cast. by showing Baroness SkySpear of VioletBlood's Noble Flight in some fancy gown that she finds a bit much. This also means that there is now art of everyone in Flight 2: VoiletBlood, Lavish, Pulivia, and SkySpear

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DP brings a very fun piece of Head Maid Reinhild SunShower doing a bit of business work to help balance the Countess's books. Or at least her petty cash.

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From ScittyKitty we have an adorable a sequel to this piece of Tauria and her nieces.
Now Tauria is teaching her niece Talia how to train her new Zephyr

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Also from Lexi we have Tauria and her Vs enjoying a night on the town.

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And finally also from DP we have two more pilots in the squadron Lady Adriana Melisande and Lucia Hood. Melisande is trying to cheer up Lulu, who for her part, is more focused on pouting.

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And with a piece showing Octavia that I have in the queue, there are just two pilots of Squadron 3 left to get art of: Charity of Flight 3 and the late IronTalon.

 

[Sunshine Temple]

The War Chronicles of a Little Demon

Set in the Diyu Demons verse
A Saga of Tanya the Evil fic.
By Sunshine Temple

Naturally, I do not own Youjo Senki. So here's the disclaimer:

Saga of Tanya the Evil its characters and settings belong Carlo Zen, Shinobu Shinotsuki, and NUT Co., Ltd.

Previous chapters and other works can be found at my fanfiction website.

C&C as always is wanted.

Chapter 33: Recreational Transit


"Transit synchronization delays to Baria have been resolved. Incoming transit will arrive shortly on platform three," a prim voice announced over the concourse speakers in a cool, but even, Lentian accent.

As the words echoed in the cavernous room, I shifted in the uncomfortable waiting chair. Glancing at my mostly untouched tepid coffee, I fiddled with the unread book in my lap. To my right, VioletBlood sipped at a small glass of sherry, while on my left, Visha was busily at work disposing of an entire basket of salted, cheese-covered new potatoes. As always, it was worrying just how quickly the young tubers vanished into the maw she had in place of a stomach. I could blame it on her demonhood, but I knew her as a human.

"Boarding for the thirteen hundred hours, sixteen minutes transit to New Lentia will commence on platform five. The twelve hundred hours,fifty minutes transit from Urik is on schedule and will be arriving shortly," declared the announcer.

There was a distant thud and the rising stench of burnt ozone.

From our seats, we had a rather nice view of the platforms radiating out below us. A single platform, number five, was occupied by a giant bulbous railcar, all rounded edges and truncated corners. Sitting on wide-gauge tracks, the sides of the car had been retracted, the glistening skin peeled away to reveal the innards and compartments below. Stevedores and Load Mistresses scuttled around the flayed beast like a century of ants, carefully inspecting every particular of the car to ensure that the rather worn down first generation Lavin battle tank contained in its bowels was lashed down with appropriate care.

"Can't we just get this over with?" VioletBlood complained, emptying her wineglass with a wince. "It feels like it'd be faster to take an airship back home."

"We'd spend even more time waiting to get onboard, and then longer waiting in the air," I reminded her before returning to my watch over platform five.

Further aft, lifts were hoisting up the last bits of cargo and fitting them between the standardized Ivywood crates which, like the tank, had been loaded aboard hours before. Also climbing aboard the specialized railcar were a line of people, all queued up before the single ramp leading into the passenger compartment ahead.

The tracks went out from the ramp and vanished under a set of armored doors; one of about a dozen that were set in the semi-circular fall wall of the concourse complex.

"I wish I could just fly back myself," VioletBlood grumbled.

"You're too young," Visha absently noted around a mouthful of potato before brightening. "Oh Tauria, you have to try this! The cheese is delicious!"

I eyed the glossy too-yellow substance poured over the potatoes while VioletBlood pouted. Something in that uniformly sunny smear spoke of old chemicals and strange alchemies forgotten by all save the warlocks toiling endlessly in the bowels of some infernal pasteurizer.

"I don't have to be an Elder to know how to teleport," Violet sniffed, trying to regain her dignity.

"But it is far, far rarer," I said distractedly, still trying to figure out how to politely decline the potato and cheese that Visha had offered. The spoonful did smell disquietingly appetizing in a "you will regret this in twenty minutes" fashion, only further evidence of the uncanny arts concealed in its industrial ancestry. Not a brilliant idea, given how Mother had cautioned me about eating before using a Gateway. If a Duchess could get teleportation sickness, surely the rest of us were even more at risk.

"And Ma'ams, young adults who can both pilot an RP and teleport would be quite enticing," Reinhild SunShower said. The kitsune looked all demure and polite; at least she, and the other elements of my staff, were wearing their reserve Auxilia uniforms.

It was an eminently practical look and one which I heartily approved. Not only did their military IDs make it easier for them to get onto the concourse, but their uniforms lent their procession something of a professional air. As if they were in the midst of executing some hideously complex mission requiring careful attendance and repeated checks. As the clear center of this operation, I was saved from the embarrassment of being publically swarmed by a pack of servants in full maid regalia.

Though I will say that the kabob-filled pitas the maids had snapped up were sinfully enticing, with a scent as greasy as was mouth-watering.

"Not to mention snapped up for all sorts of skullduggery and shenanigans, Ma'am," Gibbs dryly added, the last word dangling off her sentence like an afterthought. She and a couple dozen of my Squadron's Ritualista were also waiting in the rows around us.

I shivered at the thought. I had seen the "shenanigans'' that CSR could get up to with normal Legionary Fliers and Fleet Pilots; my traitorous mind was happy to supply me with multiple examples of the kinds of operations they might be running that could make use of Ritual Plate pilots capable of teleporting dozens of miles in the blink of an eye. "Be careful what you wish for, LoveBlood."

Still ignoring both the culinary temptations and "temptations", I ran the numbers, trying to estimate the bounds of the horrifying idea Gibbs had so deftly placed in my head. If teleportation is, for the sake of argument, a one in a thousand talent among RP pilots then... that would amount to about a Squadron's worth of Legionary Fliers and a reinforced Demi-Wing of Fleet Pilots.

There were rumors of such rarified units, of dread Squadrons held in careful reserve by both of the services. That said, I might have had more truck with such barracks room gossip if the whispers spoke of a single composite RP Wing, which seemed far more plausible so far as secret trump card formations went. That sort of concentration would allow for the deployment of a critical mass of force, all well-accustomed to operating in tandem and commonly equipped for maximal efficacy. Such deployments, adequately planned, could even see fairly regular operational use, though it was difficult to conceive of any such mission requiring more than a single teleportation-capable Squadron or two at a time.

And you'd be familiar with such a thing, wouldn't you? A traitorous voice in the back of my mind whispered. Old memories from a lifetime away came back, if only for a fleeting instant. The circumstances weren't exactly the same. My old 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion couldn't quite teleport, though the rockets the madman Shugel effectively provided us with the next best thing in strategic terms for the era. An elite core of airborne magical soldiers rushed from battlefield to battlefield in a desperate bid to turn the tide wherever and whenever we were needed.

And we were always needed, I shivered at the thought. The grim sense of dread that came as day after day, victory after victory, the Empire's borders only shrank, and the inevitable seemed to inch ever closer, all while High Command worked us to the bone on futile or frivolous pursuits.

Would that be VioletBlood's fate if she managed to join that rumored Wing of Elites? Wrung dry of all her potential by distant commanders who saw her as nothing more than a tool? Is that our fate in our current formation? Yes, we're on leave now, but what about the next shady CSR operation and the one after that?

I was pulled from my thoughts as the pressure shifted, like the feeling before a storm rolled in. Not even a minute later, the overhead speakers clicked on. "Incoming transit from Baria has arrived and will disembark at platform four. Final boarding for outbound transit to Bairia at platform three," stated the announcer.

One of the sets of heavy doors in the far wall slid open and a squat little shunter locomotive painted in an incongruous lime green trundled in, pulling one of the extra large railcars behind it.

The engine tugged the carriage over a switch and down towards platform four, rolling to a complete stop at the platform. After a shuddering moment, doors opened, ramps were put in place, and people began to swarm out while the stevedores started unloading a tithe of the cargo.

A s the new arrival emptied of passengers and cargo, its sister train-car on the other side of the concrete pier that was platforms three and four closed its doors shut and lurched into motion as another stubby shunting engine started to push it out towards the far doors.

"Boarding for the thirteen hundred hours, twenty-seven minutes transit to Diyu will commence on platform six," the announcer said.

"That's us!" Visha cheerily said, and then blanched when she gazed down into her basket and realized she hadn't finished off the last of her potatoes. Not content to leave her task half-undone, she stooped and set to mopping up the survivors with a ferocity I could only call worrisome.

Twisting away from the horrible sight of Visha mauling several small potatoes laden with not-cheese all at once, I stood and rolled my shoulders back. Kinks not yet fully worked out, I approached the guardrail lining this level of the concourse. With enough space to not be rude, I stretched out my wings to their full extent, groaning at the blissful release. This position, on the platform's brink, afforded me not only room to stretch but also a view onto the pier directly below us.

Behind a flashbulb went off, doubtless some tourists getting early pictures of their vacation. Though… my horns tingled a bit… Curious, I looked around for the source of the peculiar sensation. When I lowered my gaze to survey the platform on the lower level, though, the sensation and my curiosity about it faded away completely.

Down below, another railcar was arriving at the waiting platform. Some last-minute cargo was already heaped up, ready to be taken aboard the new arrival, along with a small group of "priority" passengers.

Dressed in a black dress with a veil concealing her pinned up blonde hair, Melisande soberly stood with Lucia in her legion blacks, holding her hand. Beside the widow, a matte black casket waited, strapped to a wheeled dolly for easy transport.

There's only one; in a statistical sense, that's a good sign, My clinically detached side noted before a more sinister internal voice spoke up. Is it though? Diyu-Mursam is the busiest connection in the House; this facility sees thirty transits per day, minimum. How many other trains left the station today with blackened cargo aboard?

Viewing the tableau from above, I felt like some voyeur to their grief, a spectator prying into one of the most intimate and painful moments of another's life. Free from the pain of the participants, aloof from the cumbersome weight of the coffin.

Guiltily, I looked away.

"What are those fat-tailed soft-horned idiots doing?" VioletBlood snarled.

Thankful for the outburst, I turned back to see what had so upset my Baroness. It didn't take long to discover the cause of her agitation; there, past the waiting seats my Squadron had claimed and just now rushing past the collection of concession stands and food stalls, were two Legionary Fliers.

Two Legionary Fliers as familiar as they were unexpectedly out of place.

As the pink-haired senator's daughter and her green-haired wingwoman frantically ran toward us, I sighed. "LoveBlood, I thought your subordinates were taking a transit later this week?" I asked, carefully modulating the acid in my voice

"SkySpear is staying here on Mursam," my Baroness growled as she strode towards the wayward girls, "but yes, those two made their travel plans to me quite clear. Or I thought they had."

"Visha, can you make sure everyone gets down to the platform," I requested as I set off a pace behind VioletBlood.

Primus Centurion Shadow nodded and started policing up our subordinates, retainers, and various dependents.

"They must have valid tickets for today," I observed, catching up with VioletBlood.

"Yes, otherwise they couldn't have gotten onto the concourse," VioletBlood agreed, and then pointed to her errant pilots across the circular concession area at the center of the upper concourse. "Lady Centurions Lavish RoseTalon and Pulivia VibrantFang! What occasion brings me the pleasure of your company on this fine day?" she demanded, pitching her voice to cut through the usual noise of the usual bustle without screaming.

The people around the concession area froze, immediately eager not to draw attention to themselves. There were more than enough service members, off-duty or discharged, and associated people in the throng to recognize an incipient dressing down when they saw one.

The pair looked harried, and each carried only a single personal bag. Glancing between the two, I saw Lavish appeared almost wilted, with her wings and tail hanging limp and her usual arrogance conspicuous in its absence. All but hovering nearby, Pulivia seemed almost protective of her.

I held up a forestalling hand to VioletBlood, who gave me a slight nod and, instead of launching into a public dressing down, strode over towards her subordinates: Pulivia, a daughter of a Duchess with considerable holdings in Lentia Province, and Lavish, a daughter of Belum Province's Procurator Senator.

The Curia had over half a dozen different types of senators, but Senator RoseTalon, as the consented proxy of the Belum provincial governor, was of the most important breed. Besides the honors of rank, both Lentia and Belum Provinces bordered Silvana and thus were critical industrial and agricultural assets, boosting both their mothers up the implicit chain of importance as well as the explicit rank table.

Not that I had room to complain about the influence of rank and privilege upon senatorial function; as a duchess, my mother SilverFlight was granted a Domina Senator in her own right.

"Care to explain this?" VioletBlood demanded, more quietly than before but still a long road from sotto voce.

Confusion briefly clouded Pulivia's nutmeg features before she regained control of herself.

It spoke volumes of my fiancee's command style that such august personages quailed before a mere provincial baroness. The two errant pilots also gave me respectful looks before saluting.

Still, they were Legionary Fliers, and they'd have fought over Harp's World, so they did not entirely wilt under LoveBlood's force of personality.

"Family emergency, Ma'am," Pulivia explained, squaring herself up after we returned their salutes. "As soon as Lavish got the telegraph, I used a couple favors to secure standby seats out of the block you have reserved for today, and even then the timing was... close."

Lavish seemed oddly meek but squeezed her wingwoman's hand in gratitude.

"And what happened?" VioletBlood asked, her posture not quite so hostile as it had been a moment before.

"It was a trolley accident in Belum city, my little sister..." Lavish's expression was painfully young. like a crying puppy first learning that not everyone was a friend and that people could be cruel.

Not that I was stonily stoic at that revelation. I had, after all, my own sensitivities when it came to rail-based injuries.

I could feel the pink-haired woman's raw hurt and affronted surprise like a humid cloud against my face. A common issue of our species, so gifted and so individually mighty, was that many demons operated under the delusion that death's embrace was not something they had to worry about, that our kind had grown so mighty as to be functionally immune to the end of all things.

This was a mistaken belief; accidents, violence, starvation, or even fatigue of the spirit claimed our kind every day. Even women who had trod Diyu's earth in the antediluvian First Epoch could die. This realization separated the public at large from the military, and from other subcultures that dwelt close to the precipice. Unlike the average demon, any who had served and had seen the teeth of war knew to their bones that death could come for them just as easily as it came for any of the lesser-framed species who we shared Diyu with.

Perhaps Lavish had hoped that, with her sacrifice, her family would be immune from such a fate, that she had purchased insurance for them with the obol of her soul. That death would follow her over to the out-world colonies and not stay lurking in civilized Bellum Province.

"Leilah's alive." Pulivia squeezed Lavish's hand back. "And we Wheatstone'd back that we're coming."

VioletBlood gave me a look. I could feel that her own anger had evaporated, but she didn't want to undermine my authority or me to undermine hers. "You could have messaged the concourse," she said, firmly but not harshly, "or sent a runner."

I nodded, sending LoveBlood my approval at her stance.

Pulivia blinked, looking hurt. "Ma'am, I did leave a message with the ticket office. Didn't they tell you?"

VioletBlood rubbed her forehead and began to mutter about shiftless railway ticket-punchers.

"I can get some refreshments? For us all to have something before the transit?" Pulivia offered.

"Are you sure your stomach is up for it? " I asked.

"Maybe some light pitas or other wraps?" the green-haired but not-so-greenhorn pilot offered.

"Tempting," VioletBlood conceded with a put-upon sigh. "And I do need to yell at some transit ticket-girls."

"We can deal with that later, we need to get to the platform," I turned to Lavish. "And you need to get back home to your sister."

"Leilah has her own job, she can go to the haberdashery and back home by herself." Lavish muttered, looking down. "Maybe she shouldn't have."

I was unsure how, or even if, I should respond to that.

"Come, let's get to the platform," VioletBlood said as she and Pulivia helped guide Lavish towards the ticket booth that gated the stairwell down to our platform.

Seeing that Visha had wrangled the rest of our party, I motioned for us to reunite. I did not know much about Leilah; Lavish was a prideful and prickly being, but she seemed to have a soft spot for that particular sister of hers.

"It's not fair, Leilah's worked so hard," Lavish was wailing to Pulivia. "She never wanted much, just to be..."

"She'll heal," Pulivia assured before VioletBlood pulled her to one of the last food stalls before the check-in line and bullied up to the counter.

Lavish was also drawn in the redhead's wake. "But what if she... what if she's worse? She can't live by herself as it is! What if she loses what little independence she has? And that's before my mother reacts to all this..."

"That... that will be very hard," I said, floundering. "I knew some girls at the orphanage with similar challenges, but they were adopted and prospered." There was a ghost of jealousy in my voice, like a faded scar, not that I got those anymore. Among the girls my age, I was the last one to be adopted, and that was only after earning the House's highest award for gallantry. I knew what it was like to be passed over by others, to be seen as... deficient.

"Leilah was adopted, rescued from an orphanage far worse than yours, Countess. Mother has really done a lot for her..." Lavish gave a soft smile as we shuffled forward as the line advanced. "The rest of her daughters are a fair bit older, and more established, than Leilah and I."

I nodded. I only had some experience when it came to the political intrigue family dynasties got up to, but a younger, and arguably spare, daughter as a dashing pilot had obvious utility, to burnish the credentials of a key senator in the Curia. And a... a very cynical person would look to caring for someone like Leilah as a way to display compassion.

Tail flicking, Lavish's face clouded. "It's not like that," she defended, so rattled that she barely managed to be offended by my unspoken implication.

I held a hand. "It's really not my place to say or critique such a thing. I'm happily adopted myself."

Lavish studied my expression and nodded, relaxing slightly. "Thank you, Ma'am."

"At least eat something," VioletBlood grumped as she returned with Pulivia in tow and handed over some greasy collection of meats on a skewer from a bucket her subordinate carried.

Lavish automatically tore into the snack. I was still hesitant about eating before boarding myself, but the food seemed to help calm her.

And then VioletBlood handed me something fried on a stick. Reservations about eating before a trip were pushed aside by the delicious scent and social compunctions. Everyone around me was eating, and even Lavish was being made to eat to help settle her nerves. At this point it would just be rude of me not to partake, potential stomach discomfort be damned. Biting into it, I was pleased to find it was poultry of some sort with a garlic, cumin, and cayenne spiced breading.

A nibble couldn't hurt.

The line kept marching forward with the people in front pulling out their tickets and identification: military IDs for the members of my Squadron and library cards for their dependents.

By the time I got to the ticket counter, I found that the surprisingly satisfying treat was all gone. The waiting Visha plucked the empty stick from my hand and tossed it in a receptacle near the ticket counter. The clerk checked my papers and buzzed me through the turnstile.

VioletBlood was behind me and, as her paperwork was studied, another bored clerk handed her a message slip. The Baroness's eye twitched as she nearly tore up the too-late missive announcing her subordinate's revised travel itinerary.

Leaving my angry fiancee to vent her spleen on the hapless employee, I went down the stairs, content to leave her as somebody else's problem to appease. Stepping off the stairs at the new level, I looked ahead, then back. It was a bit overwhelming to see so many people at once, even if I held twice as many under my command. At least I could console myself with the knowledge that most would split up and go their own ways once we arrived in Silvana.

By the time I got down to the platform, the pier had started to fill up with waiting passengers, including the "special passengers" I had noticed earlier. Seeing Lavish's state Melisande beckoned her and seemed to comfort the distraught pilot.

"Milly has a big heart," Visha noted as she pulled us aside to make way for some final cargo loading onto the rail car.

"That she does," I agreed distractedly as I gave the crowd another once-over, running through a mental headcount. All present and accounted for. Then, I turned my attention to the waiting train car. It was an immense beast whose large width somehow conspired to give it a low-slung, slumping appearance; up close, it was imposing, almost menacing, for all the solid dark railcar slept unmoving in its rails.

The glossy blue-black bodywork was chased in gleaming brass fittings and powder blue piping. Hissing vents and thick cabling were visible all over the single large railcar that thrummed with power even when stilled. The front half had hooded windows, while the back half could be peeled open to allow for oversized cargo, such as the tank. It resembled nothing more than a great bear, somnolent for now but containing a vast and motionless power held in the offing, ready to lash out in an instant.

"I just checked with the porters! All our bags are loaded and secured," VioletBlood chirped as she came up beside us, her tail swishing in pride.

"Now boarding for Diyu," a conductor in a double-breasted navy-blue uniform with shiny buttons announced as she walked up the platform and, with great ceremony, opened the passenger door.

Boarding was efficient and happily bereft of any great fuss. At the edge of the platform I paused for a moment, then briskly walked up the boarding ramp, VioletBlood guiding us towards our seats. I shook my head, shoving the brief unease I'd felt when I approached the train-car away. The trip by rail was the safest leg of this whole journey.

Strapping in, I smoothed my uniform top and frowned, still haunted by the vague disquiet. Eager for distraction, I looked to my left, grateful that VioletBlood had managed to get us window seats. There wasn't much to look at outside, but it beat the uncharacteristic tightness of my skin.

Is this claustrophobia? I wondered, running an eye up to the compartment's low ceiling. No, that doesn't feel quite right either…

The half-dozen or so rows rapidly filled up as the freight was double checked and the cargo door behind us was closed.

My subordinates took up only about half of the seats but soon almost the entire compartment was full as other passengers filed in to fill the gaps. As they found their seats and my stomach gurgled, I rolled my shoulders and shifted my tail, striving to scrape out what little comfort I could find in this chair.

Melisande had insisted, in an only slightly muted display of her usual ebullience that Lavish and Pulivia sit next to her and Lucia. An offer the junior pair of fliers hesitantly accepted at VioletBlood's nod. They seemed to be providing some measure of comfort for each other.

The conductor stepped up to the ramp and stood halfway in the rail car. My tail curled at her casual disregard for her own safety. "Final boarding for thirteen hundred hours, twenty-seven minutes transit to Diyu," she announced, inspecting her pocket watch.

After looking around to make sure we were all secured and that the platform was clear of any last minute boarders, the conductor nodded. Closing her pocket watch with a carrying click, she stepped back onto the platform, pulled the ramp back after her, and pulled the door closed, sealing us inside.

It was just us passengers aboard the train-car as the shunting engine grumbled to life behind us and began pushing us forward. It felt like the rumbling purr of a waking leviathan, shaking the frame of the car and pushing us forward. The concourse with its two levels and splayed platforms retreated behind us. As our single car and engine lumbered forward, another car slipped up to take our berth, the new arrival identical in every way to our own steed. Another cog in a vast, endlessly complex machine, through which fragile lives passed without leaving the slightest mark.

The doors in the large wall ahead of us slid open revealing a long hall-like chamber. Heavy power cables and trunks of cooling piping all snaked towards the center of the hall where an intricate scaffold-like structure.

Resembling the ribcage of some giant metal beast the railway tracks lead straight into the opening in the center of the construct.

The blast door slid back into place behind us with a dull, booming, clunk. As we drew closer, the Gateway grew larger in the front-facing windows and the air became thick with coiled energy. It was like stepping out into a thunderstorm.

My horns tingled as our railcar began to slide under the rune-inscribed ribs of the gateway. Even in an idle state, the air over the Gateway's struts shimmered like heat rising off hot asphalt. This close, I could make out a ghostly double of the enchanted ribs.

That was the thaumaturgical connection bleeding over. On Diyu was another Gateway, the exact twin to this one. Both had been constructed at the same time, from the same set of components, and the same artificers engraved them together. In a very real way, there was only one Teleport Gateway. It simply existed in two places at once.

This was a major limitation of such travel. Transiting a gateway would only take a person to its twin. Which was why the Mursam Transit Concourse connected to four distinct Gateways.

Reinhild's and all the other kitsune's ears quivered as the Gateway powered up. I supposed they were just as sensitive as the rest of us, perhaps moreso.

"Why is this taking so long?" VioletBlood complained as the rail car came to a stop. We were now entirely within the dozen or so scaffolding ribs that made up the Gateway. There was a thud and clunk as the small shunting locomotive disconnected and trundled back down the tracks.

"We're going to be there soon enough," Visha assured as the vibrations grew and the glowing within the Gateway increased.

"Do not leave the chamber. Ready for transit," the announcer said via the speakers in the ceiling of the rail car. "Please secure all high evocation systems and ready for transit."

My tail curled as the energy grew. It was like being on an airship before teleport but more... focused. A Gateway's main advantages over a Teleport Rune-equipped airship were range and frequency. The former was not applicable as Mursam and Diyu were within one airship jump, though the other three worlds were much further out on the spine. But the lack of flexibility was the system's main disadvantage.

"Transit in three. Two. One."

There was a flash and a buzzing in my horns. For an instant, it felt like I had been catapulted into the sky while my stomach stayed on the ground. Then the pressure subsided, and I blinked out the window. For a gut-wrenching moment, I cursed my hubris in not following mother's advice. Thankfully, I managed to get control of my nausea.

We were still within the rib-like struts of a Gateway, inside a cavernous concrete room very similar to the one we had just left. VioletBlood gave a quick glance out the windows, then tilted her head back to give me a skeptical look, utterly unimpressed.

"Welcome to Silvana, local time is ten-hundred hours, five minutes," an announcer smoothly stated in the same bland, vaguely Lentia provincial accent.

"See," I assured and then pointed out. "Look around: the ceiling here is lower and the support cabling and cooling lines are in different locations.

"I suppose so," VioletBlood conceded with poor grace, and crossed her arms.

"It is a fast way to travel." Visha smiled as our rail car shuddered as a new shunting engine drove up, coupled, and withdrew the car out of the Gateway.

"And the longest leg of our journey is over in the least amount of time," I announced, looking over the seats and out the window as our car was pulled through another set of blast doors and up to the Silvana Fleet Port's concourse platforms.

"It will be nice to come back home and check in on my cousin," VioletBlood said as the rail car approached the platform.

Visha's tail flicked.

"We've invited your family over for the holidays," I assured her. They would have a lengthy journey ahead of them if they meant to accept that invitation, though; Amber Island was about twice as far from Eastern Province as Silvana.

"I'm sure they'll be able to make the trip," despite her sharp smile, VioletBlood's tone was reassuring.

Visha's face showed naked, but happy, shock at the gesture.

"Oh Islander Girl, it was going to be a surprise," VioletBlood gave a haughty laugh as the engine slowed and we stopped at the platform.

"That's very kind of you, LoveBlood," Visha acknowledged after a pause, and smiled graciously.

The baroness waved it off. "It's the least I could do. Getting your mothers to accept the tickets as a gift was the hard part."

The door opened, and a new conductor stepped in. She wore the same overly ostentatious uniform as her dimensionally-separated sister. "Welcome to Silvana. Please gather your personal belongings and disembark in an orderly fashion."

We stood up and exited onto the platform as bidden by the voice of uniformed authority. As we stepped clear of the shuffling queue, Melisande and Lucia stopped to say their goodbyes to Lavish and Pulivia.

I gave the quartet a private moment before approaching, my Vs falling into position behind me. With most of my subordinates splitting up to find their own tracks back to their homes from here, this was my chance to send them off on a high note. The four paused their conversation to stand to and salute. I returned their formal gesture and, when they relaxed, gave them a sympathetic smile before turning away.

Their time and, more importantly, their bereavement and pain was their own, beyond the chain of command. Yet, I was their commander, and Melisande and Lucia's loss was red ink in my ledger. Even if their grief was their own, I took a piece with me when I left them on the platform, for it was mine, bought and paid for. That was part of being a leader, and so it was a pain I could not share with that bereaved pair, two where once had been three. That was also part of being a leader.

I hoped that my smile conveyed to them that I at least understood their pain, even if I could not share their grief. If that sentiment was missed, and all they took from it was an obligatory platitude duly rendered, that would be fine as well.

Duty done, I turned to my V's and smiled more warmly. With them, at least for now… I was free of rank, and of command.

I was on leave, and I had come home at last.

+++++

The Oily Lemon was much as it was months ago. There were more grandiose wine bars in Silvana, of course, drinking holes drowning in frippery and bristling with carefully curated collections managed by the finest vintners money could buy. But, out of all of the establishments in the city, this was the chosen haunt of the Fleet Pilots and Legionary Fliers, separated from the Imperial War college only by a short walk up-slope.

Despite location and a clientele consisting of troopers, journeymen, artificers, and other hard-working, hard-partying folks, the Oily Lemon enjoyed a somewhat surprising reputation as a quiet and discreet venue, where one's mild pleasures could be indulged without fear of commotion or discovery.

"My Lady, are you receiving guests?" a waitress in a brief yellow uniform said, after giving me a slight bow. She stood at the doorway to our private covered patio, almost vibrating with eagerness to be useful.

"May I ask who they are?"

The tall amber-haired hostess approached on dainty hooves and deposited a pair of calling cards on the table before the couch I was lounging on with my Vs.

Blinking, Visha looked up from her fragrant shellfish soup while VioletBlood set her brandy glass down with all the smooth grace of a born and bred noble. Gibbs, not too far away from us, put her clay pipe down, her sour expression flickered before she clamped it down with a mask of neutrality. It even seemed like the patio next to ours, separated by billowing drapery, had quieted down with anticipation.

I could understand my companions' reactions. Both cards were rather plain and straightforward. The first Fabia Firmitas HarrowFang's card was refreshingly blunt and to the point, although I realized most would have considered that "
rude" for our rung of society; Mila Caenis, at least, had sprung for some decorative scrollwork and a tasteful watermark of swirling air in the corner of her card.

"Yes, of course. Please send them in," I directed, nodding to the hostess. As she bustled out, I tried to conceal my mild unease. It was somewhat strange that they would seek me out, but we were still in the early stretch of our leave, and it was no secret where my party was staying tonight.

Best that their business be handled now, I thought, That way, they can go away and I can enjoy the remainder of my vacation in peace.

"Maybe they just arrived today?" VioletBlood offered.

"Or sometime yesterday after our teleport," Visha offered.

"At least they caught us before we went to the opera." VioletBlood smiled with anticipation.

"I'm just happy you found a show that wasn't based on religion or war," I said, not bothering to conceal my evident relief.

"The Markswoman is a romantic opera," my fiancee purred.

I raised an eyebrow. The play was a Diyu adaptation of a centuries old Germanic Opera, and my knowledge of the source material inclined me heavily towards skeptical disbelief towards the claimed romanticism. "The play focuses on shooting contests, forestry management, and magic bullets."

"And Maxine wants to get engaged to Agathe!"

"To get the custodianship of the lands Agathe's mother holds. It is a pure business arrangement," I sighed , feeling the first twinges of a headache beginning to brew behind my horns.

"Is that not romantic?" VioletBlood pouted. "Besides, it ends with a wedding!"

"One of the brides accidentally shoots the other in her wedding veil!" I countered. "Hardly the sought-for conclusion to most romances, I should hope."

"I thought the opera was more about not hastily making deals with Elder Demonesses," Visha amiably said, adding her own opinion to the simmering pot.

"And a lesson about why only a fool would use Elder Magic to cheat in a shooting competition, especially when a Daughter is judging," Gibbs remarked with a thoughtful puff on her pipe.

She sat some distance from us, at the far end of the patio by the railing overlooking a garden. With both her daughters deployed, Legionaries seconded as ship-board security as part of a patrol far Up-Spine, she had elected to spend her leave at my estate. A choice that a handful of our Ritualista in similar situations had elected to avail themselves towards as well. The bonus pay for their maintenance duties was enticing, but not as much as the chance of a comfortable billet or a trip home.

"Could just be a social call. Before all you fancy fliers scatter to the five winds," the chief Ritualista said.

I pondered that. Four of my pilots and over a dozen Ritualista, were staying on Mursam. Meanwhile, the other four pilots who traveled with us yesterday, well, five, if IronTalon was included, had continued their journey.

That was a somber note.

On another down beat duty of command, Pulivia had promised VioletBlood to keep her appraised events with Lavish's sister.

"Maybe they heard about you getting your new suit... mostly," VioletBlood smirked as she swirled her brandy before taking a sip. "I bet they're just eager to hear the details."

"It's not even complete," I stared at her. "And the... upgrades I've seen so far are..."

I looked to Gibbs for support. DarSkStar's Blood, didn't she claim the suit was really hers and I was just the meat component? Of course, she had... concerns of her own.

VioletBlood also glanced over at the Ritualista, who pointedly returned to study the garden's pond and babbling brook. Perhaps she wanted to avoid discussion of subjects above her station; perhaps she would rather be in the next patio over with the other Ritualista. If that was the case, Gibbs could get up and pass through the privacy drapes whenever she wished. She showed no signs of movement, though.

Laurentia and Flavia from my maintenance team, as well as three Ritualista from VioletBlood's crew and one from Visha's, were having a rather relaxing time on the other side of that curtain. I had looked the other way when they'd arrived with dates on their arms, as well as when they had ordered seemingly every intoxicant available on the Lemon's menu almost before they were even seated. I was hardly ignorant about what soldiers got up to on leave, especially ones of our nature, but as long as things were done responsibly then I could hardly kick up a fuss. Especially since I had Visha and LoveBlood both practically hanging off me, the latter who was enjoying a bottle herself.

So long as I didn't see any of those partaking first thing in the morning in the company of a pair of civic constables, or Shore Patrol shippies, I would be happy to keep that blind eye well and truly turned.

"Your new armor is very impressive," the redhead was pouting. "And it'll be even more impressive when it's complete."

"If it's ever complete. They still haven't given me my mask back," I said, not at all petulantly. It had taken much to keep that mask, and myself, from being some Elenese trophy. Having it out of my control for this long made me... uncomfortable.

"I'm sure it just takes time, Countess," VioletBlood said in a reassuring voice.

"Reinforcing damaged structure, proofing runes, and certifying displays on a face mask is indeed a lengthy process," Gibbs stated as she glanced at the doorway. We could all hear our guests approaching.

"It's been two weeks," I grumbled. The MuArc facility here should be more than capable of making the changes in this much time. Especially as the mask part of the faceplate could, with great care, be detached from all the structural, optical, and enchanted components.

Really, what could possibly be taking them so long?

VioletBlood looked out into the garden "Perhaps there's a large queue?"

Eyes down, Gibbs had redirected all her attention towards refilling her pipe.

"LoveBlood…" I began, recognizing the caginess in my Baroness's voice, "What do you know?"

"Only that the mask may not be at a... standard repair location." She flinched slightly under the weight of my unimpressed glower.

"Oh? How intriguing? So, where is it, hmm? And how long were you planning on sitting on this information?" I asked with an edge to my voice.

"It wasn't my idea! It was a surprise. And besides, Honestas and SapphireFiligree do wonderful work," VioletBlood said nervously.

"The same people who made her crown?" Visha asked, looking up from her soup at the familiar name.

As soon as I recognized the name a kind of numb dread filled my gut. The kind born from the realization that something terrible was going to happen and you were far too late to do anything about it.

"Of course it is," I sighed.

"I'm sure they'll make time for us to visit their shop so you can see their accent work before we go to the train station tomorrow."

"I thought it was a surprise?" Visha asked.

"I'm sure they'll make an exception for a Countess," VioletBlood evaded before gulping down the last of her drink. Relief filled her green eyes as a chipper hostess escorted Fabia and Caenis onto our patio.

I straightened up and idly adjusted my uniform top to be as presentable as possible. Visha and VioletBlood certainly didn't giggle, not at all.

"Countess, Baroness," Caenis bowed her horns in greeting.

"Primus Shadow, Centurion Gibbs," Fabia added. "Thanks for having us."

"Please, sit," I gestured to an open couch opposite our low table.

My fellow Squadron Leaders sat down. VioletBlood nodded to the waitress still hovering by the door. She took out a pair of glasses and filled them from the Baroness's bottle.

"Please order whatever you like," I warmly told the pair, and countered their protests with polite insistence until they relented.

The waitress nodded as they picked items off the menu and scampered away with new lines on her notepad.

Caenis raised her wineglass and gave an appreciative sniff before sipping. "Sorry to impose."

"Oh, it's no imposition. It's good that we could meet up. Are… you going back home as well?" I asked with mild trepidation. I knew Caenis had a… complicated relationship with her family and her home county and was unsure of whether I should be opening that line of questioning at all.

"Aye, she's going back down to the Midlands. I'll be heading further down south to Danum ways to enjoy some warm beaches."

Visha's smile grew at that. "That sounds lovely. Will you be doing any boating? Oh, maybe some swimming! I've heard they have some beautiful reefs down there."

"I was debating going fishing," Fabia admitted.

That seemed to get Gibbs's interest. "What type, Ma'am?"

"Spear."

Everyone nodded to that while I tried not to shake my head at the casual lust for unnecessary violence of these crazy demons. It's not like I'd never heard of spear fishing as a human, it was just… so woefully inefficient, not to mention excessive.

Well, far be it from me to bemoan the impractical rituals of blood thirsty demons, I sighed internally. I myself would be far more content with a nice, civilized, and relaxed rod and reel.

"We should go hunting when we get to Eastern Province," VioletBlood abruptly declared. "Maybe Reinhild can arrange something. Oh! How about Fiona RedTail? In addition to being a great cook, she supposedly was training to be a groundskeeper and good with broodlings; she'll surely be of great assistance!"

"Neither are from Eastern Province," I countered, though I was impressed that VioletBlood had started to learn more about the servants as people. Reinhild and the other maids had the d ay off seeing the sights of the capital and were going to have dinner on their own. The plan was that later tonight they would catch up and we would go to the opera together. Well, most of the kitsune would be coming with us; the kits and an adult as babysitter would remain behind at the hotel.

VioletBlood shook her head at me. I wondered if she was still pouting that we were not dressing up for the show tonight. "Yes, yes, your Forest Person friend would know the area, but we can't assume he'll be available, but the maids will be with us."

I blinked. "That's... true."

"And, either way, we can make a day of it. I'm sure you have lots of interesting game trails in your county," Visha added with her typical diplomatic touch, smoothing the brief conversational rough patch.

"I mean..." I looked to Fabia or Caenis for help and found nothing but smiles, both apparently far too amused to bail me out. "I suppose we could do something…"

"Both common folk and nobility can enjoy a good woodswalk, I'm sure," Caenis drawled. "Course, in the former case, it's less sport and more sustenance."

The waitress arrived, and clearly, Fabia was thinking of her own vacation destination as, in addition to white wine, she had ordered a plate of spiced kebabs laden with chunks of grilled tuna garnished with lime, onion, and tomato. Caenis's own order, cider and a pita with cubed fried pork, was more humble but smelled no less appetizing.

"Have either of you heard from Julia?" I asked, inquiring about our Fourth Squadron Leader.

"Last I heard, she's still on Mursam," Fabia shrugged.

"She'll be going somewhere nice," Caenis assured me.

"Good, she could use some time away to relax too," I nodded, trying not to look too covetously at Fabia's meal.

There was another polite knock, heralding the hostess's reappearance. Her tail flicked as she held out two more calling cards.

As I took the ornate cards, Visha quietly took her aside and ordered us a set of kebabs. I smiled at her initiative as I glanced down at the new cards and read the names embossed upon them, all gilt scrollwork on textured stock. They were very impressive, but I had been given the calling card of one of the Imperatrix's Daughters. Compared to the enchanted calling card of Aedile Felisia, these were nothing special.

With a fresh glass of brandy, VioletBlood leaned over, nearly draping her head across my shoulder as she tried to get a look at the cards. "Well, well, well, more guests!"

"How does everyone keep finding me?" I asked, waving the cards.

"This was the first place we looked. It was where Pilots would hang out when I was at the War College," Fabia revealed with a relaxed smile, clearly enjoying her wine.

"May I ask who?" Caenis nodded to the cards.

"A couple of Legionaries from the cadet Squadron we taught last year," I said as the hostess went off to escort them in.

"Maybe it's a coincidence?" VioletBlood offered. "Our cadets were going here long before we started! Some have been patrons of the Lemon for a very long time indeed." She gestured to Fabia.

"I'm not that old!" Fabia grumbled while Caenis chuckled.

Wanting to avoid the attention of irritable officers, Gibbs wisely focused on her pipe.

As if to contrast the most certainly not "old" Fabia, the hostess returned with a pair of young, painfully-eager-looking Legionaries.

With dark lavender skin and slim pointed horns, Lady Marilla Balbina was a wispy daughter of the head of the Mason and Runewright Guild, whose aetherial nature was underlined by her breezy cobalt blue dress. According to the pins in her braided silver hair, she was in the Scouting Branch and held the rank of Volantes Centurion. She stepped into the room with a demure elegance.

At her side was the shorter, and more pugnacious form of Armis Centurion Baroness Cornelia SpiralHorn. True to her name, her horns curled like mine but were far thicker. Her ash-colored hair was cut in a short pageboy. From her unit markings, she had been assigned to the 18th Heavy Armor Legion. It was a venerable Legion and, critically, not the one commanded by her mother, a Lady Legate.

The pair took in our own uniforms and hair pins before saluting. "Thank you for having us, Ma'am," Cornelia said in a prim voice that was the clear result of many careful elocution lessons.

"Especially when you were already entertaining," Balbina added, a little bit perturbed at being in a room with three Prefect Centurions and two Primus Centurions.

I returned the salute. "No, it's a pleasure to catch up. Please make yourself at home and allow me to make introductions."

That seemed to ease the tension a bit. Fabia and Caenis helped by not being in "intimidating commanding officer mode", Visha helped by ordering more food, and VioletBlood even pitched in by ordering a round of drinks.

By Balbina and Cornelia's pleased reactions, it seemed that my Vs had remembered their preferences in both meat and drink. Cornelia sipped a wineglass of amber fluid which was apparently a mix of white wine and blackcurrant liqueur while Balbina enjoyed a repast of champagne dashed with absinthe.

While I was still eager for my own set of kabobs, though Fabia was nice enough to share one of her own with me as I waited, I did appreciate Visha ordering things the kitchen could whip up quickly for our new guests. Having some refreshments and sitting down on the last couch, my former cadets seemed eager to talk.

"We were meeting up as both of us were in the city for a few days and decided to catch-up, and well... we heard that you three were also in tonight, Ma'am."

I managed not to rub my face in discomfort. It was not like I was planning on traveling covertly, but it was a bit disquieting how easily I could be tracked down in one of Diyu's largest cities.

"How have you two been doing?" I asked in a bit to change the topic, adding, "I see you've both secured some very good postings."

I was trying my best to be sincere and gracious, especially with Cornelia. She had been one of the more tragic washouts of the cadet program, subject to an inner ear deficiency that only came out under extreme maneuvers, much to hers and everybody else's surprise. Basic flight lessons in a trainer RP were not enough to trigger the vertigo and motion sickness. The training scenarios in my lesson plan were a different matter.

"Good!" She answered with commendable enthusiasm and only a shadow of hurt at being surrounded by RP pilots. "I'm a commander of my own Lavin Mark 4 and have one of the best crews around! I'm working my way up to commanding a troop of four tanks once a slot opens up."

"Impressive, excellent work," I saluted with my glass. And it was true. I had given her a good recommendation, and Cornelia's mother was a tanker herself. However, such connections would at the most net a green-horned mediocrity command of a Vestal Light Tank.

Nepotism alone would be enough to ensure the greenhorn's first command would be nothing less than the most recent version of the Vestal, instead the casement armed bone-yard candidate their skill and experience more justly merited. But connections only went so far in the Legions, and past a certain point a wink, a smile, and a tail swish ceased to carry much weight. The other heavy armored vehicles in the Legions were more specialized, expensive, and bulkier. And in an air-mobile force, such assets were quite valuable. Too valuable to entrust to a talentless fool, no matter how well-heeled.

And yet, no less a fine mount than a Lavin had been entrusted to Cornelia.

The pinnacle of armored vehicles in the regular Legionnaire services, the Lavin was a main battle tank that possessed a formidable balance of mobility, protection, and firepower. It was more than capable of handling all the usual targets of a tank, such as infantry and other armored vehicles, but it even mounted respectable anti-air countermeasures. Enough to satisfy the judgment of BlackSky's air-dominant legions.

All of which came at the cost of each Lavin weighing in at no less than seventy tons attached to an equally weighty construction and maintenance price tag. A valuable resource to any formation, let alone one built around air dropping every pound of kit. For such a force, not an ounce of airlift capacity could be wasted.

"Have you gotten any chance to field-test it?" VioletBlood asked with a fang-baring smile, her tail eagerly swishing.

Cornelia shook her head regretfully. "We haven't had a full deployment of the Legion. My Cohort, the Fifth, and also the Sixth Cohort participated in some peacekeeping support work out on Laotia, but that was a glorified deployment exercise. We hardly even fired the Minerva rotary canons."

I raised an eyebrow. Her Legion only had a couple dozen Lavin battle tanks. The commitment attached to that "support operation" included a third of the 18th's heavy armor. "How long were you there?"

She shrugged. "Felt like we spent more time on the two Cerberus class airships than we did groundside. Plus, we were all split up with the bulk of our centuries on the troopship following along."

"I can believe it. Laotia is what, a week out from Diyu?" Visha asked.

"Almost," Cornelia agreed.

Caenis and Fabia shared a curious look with me. I nodded in silent agreement. As a Long Range Insertion ship, the Cerberus class was a battleship-sized airship built for one purpose: rapidly deploying tanks into a combat zone. Thus, it carried tanks, the heavy dropships to land them, and extra RP to provide escort.

If the intent of the mission planners had been to simply transport a couple Cohorts worth of heavy tanks from one secure base to another, then a single Palisade armor transport could have done the job. That class was designed to transport two armor Cohorts, including all their armor, Legionaries, artillery, cargo, and support vehicles.

A Cerberus, let alone two of them, would have been a massive over commitment for such a mission. DarkStar's Blood, there weren't even a dozen such leviathans in the whole Household Fleet

"I kept count by the number of different meals the shippies served us. The Fleet really does eat well," the Armis Centurion said guiltily.

"Even on a Venture they really try. I'd know a scouting patrol would end after the fourth time we were served sorbet and iced Camporelli biscuits," Balbina agreed, her tone wistful with the remembrance of sumptuous meals served on the Fleet's dime.

"Oh, so you've done an offworld combat drop exercise? How was it?" Visha asked, having made the same conclusion as the rest of us, but true to her nature focusing on the positive. "I always thought it would be really impressive to land all that armor at such speed, but also quite intense. Not much room for error or any time for correction."

"It's not that far of a drop," Cornelia said, her pointedly casual air an implicit swagger at having done something even Legionary Fliers found risky. "The Pugio comes in pretty low and the tank's mounted on a pallet with 'chutes. The Lavin is a sturdy girl, between the suspension and spirits, she can handle it."

"And it was a quiet deployment?" I asked to confirm.

"Yeah, everyone says Laiotia is a 'future flashpoint' or whatever term Legionary Letters uses, but that far out most of the Elenese colonists are too busy surviving than causing trouble." Cornelia shrugged, then tossed back the rest of her drink.

I shifted slightly on my couch. "Future flashpoint" was putting it mildly. Far from Diyu, Laotia was the only world we shared with House Elena, and could very well present a choke point for further explorations up the Spine. Though that, of course, depended on what new worlds the Cartographer's Guild found out there, in the inky dark...

And on nothing finding us instead…

"Most?" Caenis casually asked, not missing a thing.

"There's always some rabble-rousers but BlackSkyvian armor put the fear of the Imperatrix into them!" Cornelia proudly declared. Then she coughed. "Or... they put their heads down until it was time for us to leave. Whichever."

"It's a Legionary's lot to go where we're told regardless of logic or reason," Fabia said philosophically before going back to her meal.

Caenis nodded in agreement, but I could feel her pensiveness. Was that display of heavy armored mobility part of our Harp's World operation? Or just some other bit of off-world saber rattling?

"How about you? How's Scouting Branch treating you?" I asked Balbina to Cornelia's poorly concealed relief, happy to have had the officers' attention no longer upon her.

"It has its moments," the young pilot nodded.

Oh DarkStar, when did the greenhorns start to seem so young? I thought to myself as I took a drink. And how bad will it feel in a couple years when they actually are younger than me?

"Where are you stationed?" Visha asked, with the friendly smile that opened hearts and loosened tongues across worlds and lives.

"The HFV Coxswain, which, as far a Ventures, go isn't so bad," Balbina assured, though the way her wings unconsciously stretched a bit put some lie to her statement. "Since she's part of Northern Approaches' dedicated recon force, the Coxswain doesn't have a teleport system."

"That would save some space," I admitted, a touch belatedly. A swishing of tails from the servers had distracted me. Blinking, I turned my mind back to what the young scout flier had said.

With a total complement of under sixty, the Venture class was the smallest airship in the Fleet. It made sense that such a lightweight vessel had been stripped down to the bare necessities of military life and function. There were versions that had the extra expense, tonnage, and cost of teleport runes such as the HFVTamora from my last mission, but those were dedicated scouts for mobile fleets, flotillas, and the like.

"Most of the weight and space we saved just got used up carrying extra spare parts," Balbina admitted before brightening. "But, Cargo Hold Two did have an extra refrigeration unit installed! So having more good food did make the rather... cozy berthing space and all those draining patrol flights a bit more tolerable."

All of us nodded with sympathy. A Venture was little more than a mobile hangar, barracks, and maintenance bay for six Ritual Plate, Ritualista, and the ship's crew. While the airship itself had its own quite good scrying systems, its main role was housing the RP, who used their own scrying suites to extend the picket's range of detection. Depending on the loadout of the Venture in question, the resulting coverage could grow quite broad. Even a Polydora at sedate cruising speed had a combat radius of over seven hundred fifty miles for a four hour mission, which meant a lot of telemetric intake from the diminutive mothership.

"It's funny, Ma'am," Balbina went on, sounding more than halfway nostalgic. "Back at the Adria Testing Range, under your training, I was so jealous watching you and the other instructors go north to chase off those Elenese pilots, but after months of patrolling the western half of our border with Elena..."

"You find yourself repenting of your old wishes?" VioletBlood smirked as she nodded to the returning servers, holding out a glass in the full expectation that it would be taken, refilled, and returned to her.

Fabia and Caenis looked between each other with amusement. Given their backgrounds, I could see how they found young noble officers shamelessly expecting to be waited on hand and foot to be sufficiently noteworthy as to be an amusing novelty. Where Gibbs seemed utterly indifferent towards VioletBlood's attitude.

The purple-skinned pilot nodded. "I stopped wishing for exciting patrols early on."

"Ah, wisdom dawns," I quipped as a maid – at last! – handed me a platter of kabobs. I smiled and dug in, after repaying Fabia for her loan by letting her take one of the fresh kabobs.

"It really does stress things," Balbina sighed. "Mostly for us pilots but everyone else too, to some extent. It's really trying for our Ritualista in particular."

Gibbs puffed her pipe. "That is a big weakness of that class. Keeping a persistent air patrol is an exercise of trying to run up a muddy slope. Any slipup and all your progress is gone as you tumble downhill."

Recognizing the chief maintainer from her former days with the cadet Squadron, Balbina grimaced while we pilots all nodded in sympathy. "Um... yes, Centurion Gibbs, we try to do our best for our Ritualista, but a three shift schedule is hard for everybody. For us Pilots and, of course, for the poor short-staffed Ritualista crammed in that tiny maintenance bay."

"And there's no margin if one suit gets a maintenance casualty due to something breaking and it can't be repaired in the hours before it has to fly again," Gibbs half grumbled, narrowed eyes set on some distant horizon where her work was never finished.

"Honestly, I sort of prefer the missions where the Coxswain is short-handed on RP," Balbina confessed, looking down into her glass. "Those times, the ship itself is the sensor platform and we're just support. Even then, though… Just four pilots split up across the shifts, all in readiness to scramble? It's pretty tiresome."

"That's why it's best to have multiple Ventures, or on a true patrol, mixed Ventures and Kolibris. I mean, that's why the Kolibri is called a patrol craft," Gibbs stated, "that way the maintenance staff, both the Ritualista and on the airship crew aren't being worked to the bone."

"Starting out in Ritual Plate did make me far more accepting of the maintenance needs of my tank," Cornelia admitted. "But you have your own bunks at least, right?"

Balbina laughed, "Kinda, but privacy isn't a thing on any airship, there's no pretending when it's just a couple dozen of you on only a couple decks. You know everyone, and you know everything they're into."

"Still more space than inside my tank," Cornelia countered.

The recon pilot flicked her tail. "I dunno. I heard you girls have fold-down bunking in the back of the hull where the secondary-gunner station is."

"Bunking is generous," the stoutly-built centurion assured, with the voice of cramped experience. "I've seen mortuary slabs that looked more comfortable."

"Balbina, what are your plans after the Scouting Branch?" I asked, finishing off my first kabob.

It went without saying that the Scouting Branch wouldn't be the end of the line for the rookie pilot, and nobody would expect her to stay long. The normal career path for a BlackSkyvian RP pilot was to start out in a low risk role that would rack up plenty of flight hours. A posting on a humble Venture would guarantee plenty of opportunities to gain those hours as well as build familiarity with the Fleet's most numerous airship. The next smallest and next most common model, a Kolibri, was the other traditional stepping stone for Fleet Pilots and Legion Fliers. As House BlackSky had plenty of borders, sky, and colonies that needed patrolling, the appetite for Venture and Kolibri based Squadrons was bottomless, no matter how green the fliers in those Squadrons' ranks.

"I would like to go to a more Legion-supporting role. I've got a Gorgon Rig on my Polydora and have been training to get into an Occultia class," Balbina said with pride, her bright eyes seeking my approval.

I gave it to her with a nod. "Good. That is a very difficult role, but you were at the top of your training Squadron in regards to scrying operations and interpretation. Play your cards wisely, and I suspect you will fulfill your dream soon."

"The Occultia is rare but its sensor capabilities are critical to the Legions," Fabia agreed. "A very honorable post indeed."

"How have the patrols been?" Caenis asked, her tone casual.

"Well... Elena has been getting more active in patrolling their side of the border. According to the old salts, we're seeing more Zana bombers in the air now than in the last few years," Balbina's tail flicked.

"Those ancient, fuel-gulping beasts? Someone in the Elenese Strategic Air Group must have the Coordinator's ear to get her budget increased," Caenis mused. "What kind of missions are the bombers running?"

In a world, multiple worlds, where airpower ranged from titanic airships to the wearable Ritual Plate, heavy bombers were often caught in a bit of a limbo: requiring far larger airbases and support than tactical aircraft, let alone RP, while having far less endurance and range than an airship. Getting a bomber offworld was a complicated evolution involving at least partial disassembly unless the largest of cargo airships were used and, the destination world of course had to have infrastructure adequate to support the bomber. Combined with the considerable cost of research and development for the massive beasts, it meant that most Great House militaries didn't bother trying to burden themselves with maintaining any kind of significant strategic bomber force. Of the ones that did, House Elena topped the list.

I leaned forward with interest to indicate I too was curious. Outside, I could hear children playing in the garden.

"Nothing too provocative. Looks like standard patrols and training missions. No flying along the border or playing games on the North Atropia Sea. But they're getting more flight hours too," Balbina admitted.

"Maybe training up more pilots?" I ventured, giving Visha's hand a squeeze.

"And more of their ground crew and maintainers," Gibbs added. "Perhaps our rivals to the north are expanding the number of skilled airwomen across the board?"

"I know they're old and obvious targets to any Harmonia, but when it's just you and your wingwoman and a Venture scout that's slower than a flying freight-load of Torpedoes, it can be intimidating," Balbina admitted, cradling her glass in two hands.

In form, the Zana strategic bomber was nothing exotic. It was less expensive than an airship with an equivalent munitions capacity, and was faster and smaller, though at the cost of increased operational fragility and a reduced range of mission profiles. House Elena mitigated the decreased endurance and flexibility by basing their bombers near or in their own territory. The concept was to have the airstrips a bit more defensible while still allowing the bombers to be used to strike targets on Diyu. Given its age, the Zana was vulnerable unless escorted, but even with this resource cost, the bomber still freed up Elena's smaller airship fleet for use in offworld and other high endurance roles.

But the Zana was not Elena's only heavy bomber.

"What about the Perchta?" I inquired. If the Zana were the bomber version of the Perun RP, a cheaper, aging, but still capable platform for heavy strike, then the Perchta bomber was akin to the Volos RP, a highly-veiled, very expensive platform.

Balbina frowned. "Only saw a few of those. More of them recently, but obviously they don't like to get near where a sensor platform can try to track them. If the rumors about their veiling are true, though, some might have gotten uncomfortably close."

We nodded. Much like the Volos, Elena tried to keep the Perchta away from prying eyes. Though "close" was a decidedly relative word to apply to the situation, given the large cruise missiles the chiropteran Perchta could carry in its belly.

"Flying more of both their old birds and the new pampered hangar-queens?" VioletBlood asked leaning on me and stretching out a bit to get comfortable. "The mask-lovers are really getting aggressive."

"It's not an aggressive posture exactly. There's more bombers up there, but more... training for a future fight," Balbina pondered.

My tail curled as I pondered what Elena could be preparing for. All across the Dimensional Spine, the resounding thump of the war drums seemed to grow louder by the day. My two former cadets were far from the only quietly anxious Legionaries observing the mounting tensions. I was certain that everyone assigned to a border post would have similar stories, quietly shared with friendly company in unofficial meetings like our own. And then, there was the whole matter of Harp's World and that damnable mirror.

On the other wing, there were those "peace talks" out on Dunwitch. For whatever those were worth.

The servers flitted busily in and out of the room. They were all quite diligent and attentive in their efforts to keep everyone refreshed, and were thankfully very unobtrusive, save for one aspect: their tails were rather distracting.

I shook my head. At least the noise level outside our private patio had eased as some parents had gotten their young ones under control.

"It's getting a bit crowded in here," VioletBlood pointed out, fanning herself dramatically as if she were about to swelter and faint. "Maybe we should open the drapes and merge with the Ritualistas' patio?"

"We can do that," Miss SunShower bowed her head, ears perky, her three fluffy tails wagging. "What do you think, Mistress?"

"I was led to believe you and the other staff had the day off," I stated, taking count of the number of kitsune busy at work on the patio.

"We were going to see the sights and have dinner, Ma'am. And you did say this was a good establishment. Besides, we were going to meet up anyway before the play tonight," Reinhild said, and gave a fittingly vulpine smile.

"Ah."

"It's efficient," VioletBlood nodded approvingly. "They get to have a nice meal, and we get some attentive service."

Draining my glass, I stared at my fiancee. "They can't serve us and eat."

Both my Vs and... everyone else on the patio gave me incredulous looks. From noble to commoner, from Ace Imperial Heroine to greenhorn tanker they all acted as if I had said something foolish. Gibbs shook her head and muttered something I chose not to hear.

"My dear Countess." VioletBlood patted my hand.

I steamed under the sunlamp of her condescending smile. "It would be disorderly!"

"Disorderly, she says," VioletBlood repeated, amused exasperation alight in her gaze.

I mutely grappled with the best words to voice my protests, but found to my frustration that wrestling my own tongue was like wrestling with deep-born kraken.

"Oh, let them open up the next patio over; it'll give them more room. Besides, our Ritualista found some very fine dates for tonight," Visha assured me. "It would be a shame to leave them out."

Reinhild bowed her head. "The kits have been playing out in the garden but they will need to sit down and have some food soon, Mistress."

"Fine, fine, make a party of it," I huffed, honestly feeling as if my input was more for appearance's sake than anything else. However, as someone with plenty of experience as an imperial officer, I knew the importance of making a proper appearance as well as what a losing battle looked like.

Thus, as the kitsune opened up the patio, I squared up my shoulders, straightened my uniform top, and leaned back on the supple leather. Flanked by my betrothed and my mistress, it was easy to play the part of a confident noble officer. I was a Mistress of the Air, doted upon by loyal servants whilst lounging in a salon surrounded by her protégées, peers, servants, subordinates, and guests.

From across the patio, Cornelia and Flavia's eyes met. The tanker's tail curled as she stiffly nodded to my Ritualista. Whispering something in her date's ear, Flavia downed her wine glass but, after a moment's hesitation, waved the shorter centurion over. I had heard rumors that Cornelia, before she transferred out, had played cards with some of my subordinates, at least until Visha stepped in.

Now that we had two patio alcoves opened up, there was more space for the kitsune to circulate. The Ritualista, having a surprisingly relaxed meal, looked up and raised their cups to us. Their mirth was sincere, especially when platters of food and bottles were brought in.

"I know I'm a demanding commander," I said, pitching my voice to carry on the patio. "Perhaps I overcompensate for my age, maybe I'm too hard, no? I'm sure any of you could ask the two other Squadron commanders here, and they would give you a... categorical answer."

This drew some chuckles.

"But," I continued, "I know that if my girls have good food, then my girls are happy. I know that cheerful attitudes and high morale are critical for success, that such memories carry the spirit through long hours crammed into a suit or spent keeping said suits running. High morale is equally important in a tank or even in a trench. Sadly, I can't promise to always keep you fed on the finest of vittles when the Imperatrix calls upon us."

Recalling my etiquette lessons, I held out my glass and Reinhild most obligingly filled it to the brim. "But when we're on leave, that is a promise I can make," I saluted with the glass with a polite cheer. "To your health, ladies! Eat to your hearts' content!"

To my pleasure, I saw the crowd relax after my toast and begin to mingle, with people wandering between both patios.

Taking a sip, I raised an eyebrow and compared the color of the drink in my glass with one across from me. "This is the same cider that Caenis is drinking."

"Oh, live a little," VioletBlood wrapped her tail around my waist, a bit higher up than Visha's tail. "Take some of your own advice, Tauria."

"We have plenty of time tomorrow," Visha assured.

I leaned back, snagged a bite from my fish, and took a thoughtful drink. My Vs were right, I could relax here. Besides, this was supposed to be a vacation.


+++++

I looked out the window of our sleeper car suite. Over the past day, the whispering chatter of the rails had worn itself a groove in my waking mind, sinking down into the firmament until I could scarcely even notice it as background noise.

If only all auditory annoyances were so easily ignored.

We were rounding the eastern edge of the Lesser Romwell Alps now, still plodding along the iron-railed path. Our route east out of Silvana roughly hugged the foot of the Alps, so that path ran under the conifers marching up the slope of these, the final worn-down remnants of a mountain chain that marched nearly two thousand miles across the breadth of House BlackSky.

The sky had grown grey with increasing cloud cover. As the light faded, I put my book down on the little table bolted under the window between two sets of luxurious leather seats; no sense in straining my eyes.

Opposite the windows, VioletBlood was stretched luxuriantly out across the bed. Curlers in her hair, she had a lacquered fan out and was sprawled with an utter lack of ladylike grace, massively enjoying having a berth to herself.

It was not that she was unused to spending time in close confines with myself and Visha. Compared to some of our past deployments, the day we had spent in one of the Bovitar Silvana Condanium Line's sleeper cars had been nothing short of luxurious. Still, my betrothed enjoyed being able to stretch out freely, unconstrained by the worry that a questing wingtip might find an eye.

And space to stretch out like that was a relatively rare treat aboard a train. Even in the dining car, such displays were seen as uncouth.

"Oh drat, feels like snow," she languidly pouted as she drew herself up from splayed to a more... artistic pose, perhaps sensing my attention. Her tail flicked in annoyance, and one of the curlers seemingly unwound from her crimson tresses.

I eyed the landscape rushing past. "Perhaps. What makes you say that?"

"My Zephyr are getting giddy," she grumped before flicking the fan and, with a gust of wind, two more curlers obligingly twisted and plopped onto a small pile.

"Maybe it's because they know we're almost at Bovitar?" I replied eying, the book I had been reading. It was a guide on the northern half of Eastern Province. It even had a chapter on Larium County.

Pausing halfway done with her hair care, VioletBlood smirked at the small pile of books. I had gotten bored with JanGaurd's Fighting Airships 433AR and had started reading something more relevant to my county. "You are such a bookworm."

There was a rumbling sound as a westbound train on the parallel track went past and blocked the view of the landscape. I studied the hopper wagons full of grain, tank cars containing all sorts of chemicals, anonymous boxcars, and flatbeds with lashed-down crates, vehicles, and industrial equipment.

"Ah, some variety. It's not another train with nothing but lumber or cattle cars," VioletBlood muttered.

"Livestock is a vital industry, particularly for our very literal neck of the woods," I replied as the bright caboose at the end of the freight train went past. "I for one find it hard to believe that you of all demons would object to the prompt delivery of beef on the hoof to the capital."

"I can't believe all this heads to the capital," VioletBlood angled her head to watch the end of the train.

I waggled my hand. " Hmm… I doubt it's heading to Silvana directly, even if it is the major regional industrial hub. My guess is that particular train is likely headed to Solva just a ways west, or perhaps more likely, to Celeia in the south. That is big trade city, and it straddles the gap between the Greater and Lesser Romwell Alps."

VioletBlood rolled her eyes. "Obviously. I mean, unless for some truly soft horned reason you wanted to waste your time and money going through Andromachin and Luxon territory to cut around it, hitting Celeia is all but inevitable. Not like there's many other major rail and river nodes this side of Vyhraj mountains. How else is one supposed to get from Lacus Superum to the Gaurida Sea in affordable elegance?"

I raised an eyebrow. The chatter of the rails grew as we hit a rougher section of tracks, and I could just hear the ghostly sound of someone practicing a harmonica down the car.

VioletBlood stretched her back before reaching out and picking up the guide book. "I can read a map, my Countess, and, I can read a railway timetable," she purred, inspecting the book before smirking. "My, my, a rather... elementary reference on my piece of the Province."

"I've had Larium County for three years and I've hardly been there," I defended. "There's no connection for me, I feel like an absentee landlady."

Tossing the book onto the bed beside her, she smiled when my eyes followed it. "I sympathize. I've spent a lot of time away from my barony." Her tail flicked. "But... those are my family's ancestral lands."

Sensing her mood lower, I decided to try to cheer her up. "Will you be meeting your cousin?"

"That's the plan," VioletBlood brightened. "I can't wait to show you off to LavenderFang."

"Another day of being arm candy?" I laughed. "Not that I minded last night, we did make for a very dashing group in the dining car yesterday." And the meal had been a very nice sendoff for Fabia before she parted ways with us to take a Great Southern line all the way down to Danam.

"No, no, no. That wasn't you being arm candy." VioletBlood wagged a finger as she rolled up and gave me a toothy grin. "Last night, I was your arm candy."

I leaned back in my chair. Idly, I noticed that whoever was practicing that damn instrument in the background had finally stopped. "And Visha?"

"An Imperial Heroine who needs a noble betrothed and a mistress? My, how virile. We put on quite the show in the dining car, almost as good as the opera the night before that." She leaned over put her hand on my knee. "Besides, I want you to show me off, and not just to high society. There's one high ranking noble in particular..."

Tail flicking, I looked down. I knew LoveBlood wanted to prove herself in the eyes of my Duchess. "It's not all a show."

"I know. I respect your piety and I..." VioletBlood's prideful expression slipped. "I... we're still a bit young to get married."

I bit down on my first response about how the Church was not quite that restrictive, which allowed me to focus on what she said before that. "I'm not that pious."

"It's just the two of us," VioletBlood said, a touch sharpish.

"I'm serious." I held up a placating hand. I tried to keep in my annoyance, particularly as that damn music had returned. "I know what people with real faith are like, and I don't have it."

"Please, if DarkStar walked through that door, which of us would accept her without question and offer her our sword?" VioletBlood asked with a snort.

"I'd have more than a few questions." I shot back.

LoveBlood rolled her eyes, "Oh, don't tell me, you have a whole gospel filled with annotations just waiting for her clarifications?"

I opted not to answer that. Instead, I let the passing view outside the window snag my attention, turning my eyes to look at the mountains. All the deciduous trees were already stripped of all leaves, and the further the forests got from the fir trees the more it looked like winter in anticipation. Soon, snow would be coming.

A quiet sigh by my side tugged at my focus, "You're not some fanatic, Tauria. Besides, you didn't deny that she will return."

"I... believe the odds are slim that she'll come back in my lifetime," I stated., hedging as best as I could.

The redhead sat up.

"That's not your heart talking. That's your mind. That's you measuring the millennia since DarkStar died and figuring out the probability that this is when she'll return."

"There's too many unknowns," I admitted unhappily. It vexed me to admit as much.

"You are a very rational commander. You know 'the book'; you've helped write the latest version of 'the book'. You can teach 'the book' extremely well. But you train us to develop our instincts to build that gut feeling to know when 'the book' isn't enough," VioletBlood pressed, her green eyes gleaming. "When you don't have all the information and have to make a decision right now."

"That's not quite how I'd put it. I only helped Quirinus propose a few edits to some proposed revisions," I cautioned, feeling like I was trying to hold back a landslide. "But, fine, I understand your thought. How does it apply to DarkStar, though? Does it apply to DarkStar?"

"Why not?" VioletBlood shrugged. "Besides, you already made one key assumption, that DarkStar will return to us. Is that a gut feeling? Faith?"

"I suppose," I sighed, feeling like I had just lost some verbal game of chess I'd blundered right into without any real intention to play. There was a lesson here about trying to deal with nobles.

"It's like with the Islander Girl," VioletBlood said, her voice quiet.

I frowned. Those two seemed to be getting along, but LoveBlood could be very prideful. "Pardon?"

"You went from corresponding with her in some Journal on Air Combat to taking her into your Flight. You kicked out Octavia to make room for the Islander Girl! And she has been with us since Vualia!" She pulled her knees up and leaned over on them. "You knew there was more to Centurion Shadow."

"I..." I exhaled. I hated keeping secrets from her, from any of the people I cared about. "I have an eye for talent."

"Obviously; you picked me. Not to mention the rest of the Squadron," VioletBlood's pride returned.

"Yes, I did pick all of you," I said with more confidence.

Straightening herself up, VioletBlood put on a thoughtful expression. "It's a useful ability."

I tilted my head. "You have an idea."

"Depending on your seneschal... Alexi Frugi. I believe her name is?"

"That's her."

VioletBlood nodded. "Yes, depending on Frugi's actions and the condition of your manor and its grounds, you may need to hire more staff. Or replace some. Or some other emergency."

I kept my composure. Frugi may be mousy and demure, but she was competent and, in a return of the same nepotism that merited a well-connected greenhorn a tank, had come recommended by my eldest sister. "Don't borrow trouble, LoveBlood. We'll find out if things have gone bad."

VioletBlood gave me a cynical look before shrugging. "We'll see soon enough. It's not like our arrival will be a surprise."

Both of us tilted our heads as a familiar presence tickled our horns. "Do come in, Islander Girl," VioletBlood announced just as Visha knocked.

The door slid open, and Visha stepped in. Her tail happily swished as she bowed her horns to VioletBlood before closing the door and taking the seat opposite mine. Her bag, once small enough to sit reasonably on her lap, was plopped on the floor with a definitive thud.

"Looks like you had a profitable time," VioletBlood noted.

"It was entertaining," the brunette allowed.

I studied her with a frown. Visha knew most of my secrets, but she did not know all of them. Did she have... suspicions? She had first hand experience with the advantages of being a reincarnate. My tail stilled with the concern that was always slithering in the back of my mind.

All Visha had to do was compare any suspicions Lieutenant Serebryakov had about Tanya von Degurechaff's uncanny wisdom and experience with the uncanny wisdom and experience Centurion Shadow possessed.

"I'm glad you had a good time," I said, trying to compartmentalize my concerns

For a bare moment, Visha's eyes were unreadable. After what seemed like an agonizing silent interrogation, her warm smile blossomed. "We should probably get ready and pack up the cabin," she said, looking out the window. Flurries were starting to hit the glass, where they melted and streaked down.

I followed her gaze. We had left the Lesser Romwells behind us and were now rolling down through flat terrain that had increasing numbers of fields, pastures, and hamlets.

"We'll be in Bovitar soon enough," I agreed before wincing as the eerie mournful noises returned to scratch at just the edge of my hearing and my sanity. "That blasted harmonica!"

My Vs exchanged a look. I was a bit jealous that they could so easily ignore the noise masquerading as music. LoveBlood sympathized with me, but I could tell she was playing it up. "It really is rude that someone keeps playing at all hours. Shall I repeat my displeasure to a porter?" VioletBlood asked, her voice oddly sincere.

"I did just see a steward on my way back, and she swore it was someone one car down who has since been quieted. The poor dear swore up and down that Conductor IronDove runs a tight and proper train," Visha added.

After a moment, the talentless novice ceased her practice, and the cabin was silent save for the chattering of the rails. "Don't bother," I huffed, annoyed, but not to the point of truly making a scene about it, "we're almost at our station. But we really should pack."

"Maybe we can have the maids do it?" VioletBlood airily suggested.

I raised an eyebrow at her.

VioletBlood gave a tiny sigh. "I'm saying you're a bit... frazzled. And if Reinhild helps me pack up our things the Islander Girl can take you to the club car to get something to eat. Unless… maybe organizing your luggage will help relax you?"

"I'm fine," I assured her and got up to start packing. Thankfully, I just brought an overnight bag into the cabin; the rest of my luggage was in the baggage car.

The train began to slow a bit as it turned in a southeast direction. The terrain flattened out as the tracks descended. Orchards, pastures, and towns became commonplace.

Closing her oxblood leather weekend bag, VioletBlood wistfully glanced out the window and said. "It is good to be back."

Bovitar lacked the tiers of indulgent and ancient architecture and greenery of Silvana, the raw industry and bold, exotic Art Deco of Vordurium, or even the frontier gumption of Victrix. However, Bovitar had a clean, sleek charm of Art Moderne buildings: handsome structures without being ostentatious or expensive.

"It is a pretty city," Visha agreed, buttoning her own bag shut. More rails joined with our track. A few ran parallel to ours, but most switched onto our track. The steady slope became noticeable as the train spent its final miles to descend level with the lower city.

A major trade city, Bovitar straddled the Lethe River. While the major military base of Castra Bovitar and the airfield were on the upper elevations overlooking the river, the central train station and its freight yards were down in the valley, close to the port facilities, river docks, and depots.

Shortly after feeling a stranger approach, there was another knock on the door. "Final stop, Bovitar. Final stop, Bovitar. Be ready to disembark," the conductor said in a sing-song voice before she went to the next cabin to repeat the ritual.

"Thank you!" Visha replied through the door.

"Check to make sure everything's packed up," I said, putting my bag by the door next to VioletBlood's leather and brass-trimmed confection and Visha's canvas rucksack.

The train slowed as it ran over the girder-framed span of a bridge that arched over the Lethe. Disturbed by our passage, a small flock of blackbirds cawed and took to the wing. We all paused to look down at the wide waterway filled with laden barges and the occasional fishing vessel trawling about in the light snow.

Not far past the bridge was the station, tucked away in the expected snarl of tracks crisscrossing about with various sidings, lines of freight being shunted about, and other passenger trains.

Preparing to disembark, I opened the door to our cabin and, to my mild surprise, found Reinhild SunShower and two more maids waiting in the corridor. I couldn't help the little sigh that escaped when I saw that, unlike our previous brief train ride two days ago, my servants were back in full maid regalia.

My rank, it seemed, had rediscovered me.

"Mistress, may we take your bags?" the kitsune asked, her three tails swishing.

"Well..." I hesitated before VioletBlood elbowed me in the side and Visha seized my bag from my unresisting hand and handed it to the head maid, neatly resolving the brief social snarl.

I held my tongue. Trying to press the issue would only make things worse. The light from the empty cabin's window dimmed as the train slowed and passed beneath the arching iron and glass overall roof that enclosed the passenger platforms.

Reinhild smiled. Her promptness sprung from experience. Any Legionary, or Auxilia, knew there were two ways to leave a troop-train: either be the first off and avoid the queuing, pushing, and struggling in close confines, or wait and be among the last ones off, trapped with the lost bags and stray hats.

The train stopped, and railway porters overdressed in their ridiculously formal uniforms opened the doors. Stepping off the train and onto the paved platform with its generous skylights, I pointedly strode forward and off to the side, away from the bustle sure to swamp the rapidly emptying car. Thankfully, the air was still reasonably warm in the vast echoing space, free of any errant drifting snowflakes.

Then, once I was sure I was no longer in the way, I turned around. I saw that the rest of my... party had also endeavored to exit as early as possible. Our heavier pieces of luggage were being unloaded and placed onto dollies. The various footlockers and seabags were far too bulky to move around without wheels, not to mention the Ritual Plate caskets and the collection of blocky crates.

Gibbs must have been in the baggage car supervising the unloading as she and the other Ritualista were already out on the platform inspecting the seals, locks, and the status of the crates and RP caskets. Given her sour expression was at its standard level of irritation and I did not feel any specific anger radiating from her, I presumed that nothing had been tampered with

I stopped to look at the collection of subordinates, servants, dependents, and growing baggage train and wondered when I became the kind of person who traveled with such an entourage.

Even among the bustle of embarking and disembarking travelers, we stood out as new arrivals. Bovitar was no Silvana, so there was a bit less high fashion. Unlike the gaudy styles of the capital, which encompassed a bracing range from decadent gowns akin to ruffled airships, complete with internal structural frames to sleek evening wear with corsetry and straps that were as equally difficult to move in, but for the opposite reasons, things were more understated here. So much so that myself and my entourage, especially VioletBlood stood out. Not the least because few people around here wore traveling silk dresses with matching full-fur coats and had a gaggle of uniformed maids.

To say nothing of garments that had to be painted on, both figuratively and all too literally, or outfits that were more jewelry and ornament than cloth. Even in Silvana, most folks wore clothes with some concession to reality. Only the nobility, those with means, actresses, or dedicated companions could dress up in such excessive pageantry on the regular.

As "the gateway to the east", Bovitar was a major trade hub to Andromache, RedStorm, Luxon, and all points beyond. That placement imbued the civic personality with more of an eye to brisk trade, punctuality, and only a bit of gimlet suspicion for foreigners who could, of course, be here on matters of business. All together, the folk of Eastern Province tended to be a bit more practical than people hailing from the core capital-adjacent provinces.

I eyed the amount of people in fur-trimmed winter coats, smart suits with bodices under thin-lapelled jackets with matching pencil skirts, hosiery, heels, and prim hats perched between horns. I found myself envying the comparative simplicity of their outfits.

But, dress however they might, all the other travelers seemed normal, at least enough for our standards. My tail flicked with a slight anxiety. At least Reinhild had packed enough clothes for the various upcoming events. Yes, everything was fine. Now, I had to...

"Breathe, Countess." VioletBlood squeezed my hand, the tips of her talons gently pressing into my palm.

"But we need to catch our connecting train, and go north up to Switchbend, and from there hire transport to County Larium," I stated, my voice being calm and even, however, I nervously looked up at the skylights above which were starting to get spattered with melted snowfall.

The Bovitar central station was larger than the stops since leaving the capital, but it was more functional than the others. "If the weather turns, we might not be able to get enough teamsters willing to make the trip and we'll have to spend the night," I added, my mouth running away with concerns and contingencies.

"Switchbend has perfectly lovely hotel," VioletBlood calmly stated as her grip softened. "The whole town is rather nice. Your mother even has a hunting lodge out by those parts, if I remember her latest letter to me."

"You've thought of everything, LoveBlood," Visha cheered.

My betrothed puffed up with blatant pride at the horn-stroking. "I do try. How could I not be a good hostess and guide to my part of Eastern Province?"

"Thank you for your help," I said, trying to feel out my anxiety. It was a familiar sensation, one that reminded me of standing before a much taller figure who I was loath to disappoint and wanted to...

My horns buzzed. Tail going straight, I looked across the busy concourse.

Another noblewoman and her entourage were approaching.

VioletBlood's green eyes sparkled as she lifted the hand she held mine in and gave a subtle wave of recognition. "Now, Islander Girl, I trust you can be your most charming self? We want to make a good impression with Duchess SilverFlight and assure her that she was right to grant permission for our claims on her daughter."

"Of course Baroness," Visha sweetly said as she bobbed her horns.

I frowned between my Vs. "What did you do?"

"I just asked for some local help in making travel arrangements," VioletBlood assured with a sharp smile.

The crowd parted as the entourage approached. As the distance closed, my own subordinate straightened up with the Ritualista standing to one side in a row while the maids made sure the kits were quieted down before taking their own positions.

A quartet of cat-eared maids orbited around their mistress in a revolving constellation far less casually set up than their initial formation would seem. In lace ruffles and fripperies, the two slender and delicate-looking ones carried large lavender hat boxes secured with quick-release snaps. Iridescent shimmering patterns were sewn into their little gloves with silver thread. Their skirts were gathered at waist-height, and an entire myriad of implements could be lurking within that abundance of silken folds. Beneath bouncing curls, their expressions were playful, as long as one did not linger on their hungry eyes.

The other feline pair were far larger, with muscles clearly visible through their uniforms. Those uniforms were of a more practical cut and consisted of reinforced bodysuits, with frilled skirting and jackets added almost as afterthoughts. Forgoing the maid caps of their more domesticated partners, they wore their hair in long, wild manes, full of body and personality, that tumbled down their backs. These latter two had large parasols folded at their shoulders and had elegantly tooled leather shoulder holsters that were not so much concealed as complimented by the cut of their jackets.

All four had slitted eyes that studied everything with a lazy, predatory confidence matched by their flicking tails.

In a dark purple side-slit evening dress with silver accents and gathered shoulders, Volantes Tribune, Rorarii, Duchess SilverFlight approached. My adoptive mother was a tall woman with silver-grey skin and cobalt blue hair. Her wings were broad, her tail long, and every inch of her dripped in noble bearing.

My tail swished as her eyes fell upon me and my Vs. She smiled.

Two of my sisters stood in her shadow.

I immediately recognized the leanly, stark form of Volantes Prefect Centurion, Rorarii, Lady Castellan ArgentShroud, standing nearest our mother. Taking after my Duchess, the main difference my sister had from our mother were her hooves and that her tail bore a fur trim. The heir apparent looked slightly amused at the tableau before her. I counted myself lucky that none of her daughters were here; the younger ones were quite the handful.

Opposite her, on our mother's left shoulder, and standing almost literally in Duchess SilverFlight's shadow was Doctrix Countess RedWing. A pale russet, a golden ribbon perfectly matched to her eyes pulled her hair back. She decadently filled a flowing stola of pale green silk with silver thread to her best advantage. Over the pleated robe hung a dark cloak with stark ivory trim. The fingers of one slim hand curved around an ashwood staff with an obsidian orb and layered gold inlays.

More academically minded than the rest of our family, RedWing held a research fellowship in the Applied Scrying Department in the Imperial University of Belum. Naturally, a pair of intricate runes were tattooed on her cheeks. She had consulted for both MuArc Amalgamated and Inter-House Mercantile Aviation, but last I heard, she was currently working with Imperial Blimp and Freight's Tactical Air Division on some entirely mundane and routine audits of calibration tests. Granted they were very involved tests which required such an august personage to spend so much time at an IBF laboratory. With all her research work, my sister was almost as absent from her county as I was.

Despite being three times my age, Doctrix RedWing was still one of the Duchess's younger daughters. Her almost pinkish smile quickly grew larger when she saw the Ritualista, Polyxo, and their Gorgon Rigs that I had brought.

Behind them all was the slim, quiet form of Miss Alexi Frugi, Seneschal of County Larium. With short black hair and a neat grey suit whose green bodice nicely complimented her midnight blue skin, she looked every part the demure administrator. Carrying a top-clasped leather case, her amber eyes lit upon me and she gave a slight bow.

I returned the gesture and looked past the seneschal to see that three more people had been loosely pulled along under the tug of my Mother's social gravity if not quite pulled fully into her orbit. They were... somewhat perturbing.

Looking at my mother's maids, VioletBlood sent me a quite smug emotional pulse. As if to say that her birthday gift of a servant was "the best thing ever!" I also had no doubt who had suggested to Reinhild the uniforms for the rest of the trip.

"Daughter, it is good to put eyes upon you again," Duchess SilverFlight declared as she swept me up in her arms, her wings folding over my own.

Her pride of bodyguard handmaidens dutifully moved around to envelop the three of us in their protective domain. The four servants eyed the skulk of kitsune warily; the smaller of the felines seemed spirited by their stances and swishing tails, while the larger two seeing potential challenges were more... frisky.

"Thank you. It was an... eventful mission," I admitted, a purr growing between us as I put my head on her shoulder.

My mother held me for a moment, her tail helping pull me closer before her wings opened and she let me go. The hugs my big sisters gave me and Mother gave my Vs were a bit less intense but were no less heartfelt.

The Duchess looked us over. A frown flickered across her face. "Perhaps you can catch me up on your travels tonight? At least about the things you can talk about."

"Tonight?" I asked, the twice-bloodied officer of war trying to scrape together what remained of my professional composure even as the rest of me couldn't decide between vibrating in place from excitement or trying to grab another hug.

"Someone reminded me there is a charming restaurant by a certain hotel in Switchbend," Mother said, her eyes falling implacably on VioletBlood.

My betrothed bowed her horns. "Yes, Your Grace. Ward's Hardware and Vittles specializes in freshly caught local game and fish."

One of the women in the trio waiting by the side, and, I noticed, rejoicing in a rather fancy hat, gave a little smile at the name.

"You've been talking?" I asked my mother and my betrothed, mildly horrified.

"Since I knew you would be too hesitant to ask about how to move so many back to your estate, I took the liberty of asking someone who would know how to do so." VioletBlood gave me a toothy smile that covered up the diffident humility she was truly feeling. "You don't have to do everything yourself all the time, my Countess."

"Hmmm...I suppose, you've thought of everything then," I bowed my horns to my Vs. It was nice that they were trying to make this vacation easier for me. It helped to think of it in those terms and not that they were taking charge of things for my own good.

"Everything?" Mother chuckled as her eyes flicked up.

I looked up to the skylights and saw more snow blowing about. It would be quite impossible to see any protective Ritual Plate through that swirling mess. Unless in a monumental clusterfuck, the pilots behind the controls managed to stop , cut veiling, and all but crash directly into the station for good measure.

Of course, Mother's mercenaries were far too professional to make all those mistakes. And if she was willing to call in air support then that would explain why Mother was also going about with only her close protection detail in sight.

Lowering my gaze, I saw that Reinhild was quietly chatting with one of the petite feline maids. Good. "Is there reason for concern?" I asked my mother.

Duchess SilverFlight waved my worry off. "Oh, just business, Tauria. That is why I was happy to run into your seneschal."

My sisters exchanged a very subdued set of looks. "Perhaps more introductions are due?" ArgentShroud ventured.

"Quite so!" The Duchess spun around and bowed to the trio standing by but not with the group. "I do apologize, Ladies. I was catching up with my youngest."

"No apologies necessary. Family is important, especially when a daughter continues the... family business, yes?" the blonde of the group purred, her deep voice oddly-inflected. Her short hair was two-toned, with platinum streaks over a brassy bold color. Her smile was sharp with neat, pointed teeth, and her eyes were flat red pinpoints. She had tall horns that arced back and a long tail that slithered behind her.

"And Ward's can dress a catch and cook it with reasonable skill," the pale-haired woman in the hat drawled before putting her case on the ground, doffing the head covering, and bowing to us. Her hat was matte-black and wide brimmed, complete with a ribboned hat band holding a small bouquet of white roses in place. Her white hair was cut in a tousled pageboy. Looking a bit of a mix of the outdoorsy with the fashionista, she wore a dress whose gathered skirting gleamed with gold trim, a cloth bodice over a ruffled top with gathered sleeves, an oilskin coat cut for winter working, and leather boots that, despite their somewhat pointed toebox, were at least sensible enough to walk beyond a paved path.

"Your Grace, Ma'ams. If I may make introductions?" the demoness asked, picking up her long leather rifle case. Her tail had stilled with nerves, and her pale wings were folded close to her back.

The Duchess included her head. "You may."

"I am Mistress RainsFord Songstress, I am a... guide for the Forestry and Mines Guild."

"Miss Songstress is one of the best hunters east of the Vyhraj Mountains," ArgentShroud provided.

"You are too kind, I'm perhaps the best in Eastern Province," RainsFord said in a loose, easy Midlands accent.

"We were looking to do some hunting," VioletBlood noted.

"Charmed," I bowed my horns to the hunter.

"I'm also new to the province. What brings you here?" Visha asked, her tone all innocent. It was only by spending two lifetimes with her that I knew that there was more to her probing question. Centurion Shadow must have felt there was something untoward with the hunter.

"Oh, same as the rest of us, supporting the railroad," RainsFord said, and glanced at her two... companions? No, there was no trust between these three women. Business partners at best, and probably only drawn together by circumstance at that.

"It is important work," the blonde huskily noted, an almost feverish gleam in her crimson eyes. Even to someone who appreciated logistics as much as did, she seemed very... passionate about the railroad. "We are making great progress."

"And you?" I asked, turning my attention to the still nameless demoness. "You are?"

"Oh, I'm with the railroad," the blonde waved off my question, a greasy smile crossing her thin lips. She had a bold crimson jacket over a charcoal bustier and matching red skirt with pinstripes. Her sling-back heels were a bright glossy red that reflected the station's lights. "I wouldn't dare to interrupt a family reunion. I've left a calling card with Miss Frugi. Perhaps you can arrange a meeting, at your convenience."

My Seneschal gave me a meek nod.

"And what line are you from? Great Southern, BSC, a local line?" I asked, pressing against the non-answer.

"It is a kindly offer, but I'm not sure that is needed," Mother interrupted, giving the blonde railway representative a nod. "We will need to consult potential routes. There are many development options in the Duchy of Argenia."

"Of course, your Grace, we all must strive. Ever onward and ever upward," the lady from the railway agreed amiably, though her red eyes flicked hungrily.

"And this is Miss Crow," Mother said, introducing the final woman.

Miss Crow, an alias if I ever heard one, was a pale woman with long black hair falling over one yellow eye. She wore a black suit under a glossy coat that ran to her ankles. Her features were sharp and angular with an avian sensibility that seemed quite fitting, considering her sobriquet.

Unusually, despite feeling like a Diyu demon, she had taken a human guise or at least had hidden her wings, horns, and tail. The style was unusual, but she still had the same scent and emotional signature of one of us.

"Thank you, your Grace," Miss Crow bowed her head in the same gesture as if she had horns to present. "I am a private security agent and investigator, bonded and certified with several Provincial Guilds. I have experience working for various timber and orchard concerns and, of course, the railway." At the last, she nodded to the blonde lady from the railway.

So a private sector spook for the railways. I reasoned, gut already curdling.

"Charmed," I replied and studied the trio. "Mother, is this about what I think it is?"

Duchess SilverFlight nodded. "I do apologize for springing this on you so suddenly and adding weight to your holiday leave."

"Is this a rail extension?" VioletBlood asked.

"Quite so, my bloody baroness!" the railway representative crooned, speaking out of turn. "If your lady plays her cards right, she can get a line going right past her county seat. That would make travel far more convenient, yes?

"The geological surveys, aetheric assay, and land appraisals show some promising routes," Miss Frugi happily added.

"But the negotiations are in a delicate stage. The northern part of the province is ripe for development," ArgentShroud exhaled. "However..."

"Some malcontents disagree," Mother stated.

My tail stilled as I evaluated my Duchess meeting me here flush with mercenaries and a sketchy trio of... troubleshooters.

Duchess SilverFlight gave me a sober look. "I've charted a couple cars going up to Switchbend. We have plenty of time to get to platform six and load our baggage, plentiful as it all is."

Doctrix RedWing tittered at the unintentional joke.

Mother eyed her daughter before speaking in a measured and very prim tone. "And then we can talk... business on the way up. The railroad has some proposals that bear hearing out."

Mother must have read my skeptical mood. "And once we arrive, we can catch up for dinner, as a family." Her gaze swept over her daughters and my Vs.

I was too busy trying to contain my trepidation to be amused at LoveBlood's vain preening at her inclusion. "Of course, Mother. Shall we then?" I asked, gesturing down the concourse to our destination platform.

End Chapter 33


Nothing to worry about Tauria, nothing at all.

Thanks to Ahuva, DCG , ellfangor8 , Green Sea, Larc , Readhead, metaldragon868 , WhoWhatWhere, and ScarletFox for checking and editing this chapter and helping with this whole arc. And Special thanks Readhead and MetalDragon for helping with tone of some of the characters, especially the latter with LoveBlood, and once again to ScarletFox for helping with the chapter the title

Speaking of ScarletFox, check out the latest omakes on SB, especially Omake 20: Gibbs's Rules.

Chapter 34 is going well, with nearly 7k words written. I've also got a bunch of good art pieces to post.

Ever onward, ever upward!

 

[Sunshine Temple]

I want to thank everyone for reading and supporting this story. Little Demon wouldn't have gotten as far as it has, or have been as good of a story without the work of readers, commentators, and editors such as: Ahuva, DCG , ellfangor8 , Green Sea, Larc , Readhead, metaldragon868 , WhoWhatWhere, and ScarletFox


Chapter 34 stands at 11k words and I'm finishing up the last scene, so hopefully that will be finished and with editors soon.

But first some art! Including Tauria's new Ritual Plate!

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First from Lexi Kimble we have another piece showing the meeting between Countess Tauria and DarkStar, where Tauria insists she is not that pious.

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Next from Scitty Kitty we have the captains of the HFV Tarantula Hawk and the HVF DarkStar. Praefectus Commodores Valentina SharpTail(Left) and Countess SunsetFrost (Right).

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And from Laura Caroline we have this lovely piece of VioletBlood being her charming self.

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Also from Scitty Kitty we've got Octavia and Tauria. This is the first piece of Octavia, one of the normal, but skilled, Fliers back from Tauria's Flight Leader days. The Countess is proposing one of her entirely sensible plans and Octavia seems skeptical to say the least.

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Next to last from PlayerError 404 we have how VioletBlood's meeting with DarkStar will go. Namely in the squared circle with DarkStar doing a DFA from the top.

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And book ending from Lexi Kimble we have Taruia's mothers doting over her new Polyxo RP suit. Some of the visual upgrades include the headdress, ornamentation, and her repaired mask.

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[ellf]

(Realized I forgot to post this here)

Knight Sirens Chapter Two

The Mountain felt empty with everyone gone. Nightwing and Artemis were back in Gotham, Kid Flash was in KeyStone City, Zatanna was visiting friends of her father, and Red Arrow was dealing with some of the fallout that came from the reveal of his status. It made it hard for M'gann M'orzz to sleep without those comforting presences. Sure, Kaldur and Connor were still in the Mountain and that helped, but the absence of the rest of the team ached.

Kaldur was asleep in his room; she could feel it. He'd spent a good portion of the day training, and M'gann couldn't fault the Atlantean for taking his rest when he could get it. There wasn't any major mission that the Team was needed for at the moment, but she knew that could change at a moment's notice. M'gann almost hoped it would. After all, the Mountain would be full again, and the familiar minds would help her rest.

She wandered into the kitchen, careful not to make much noise, and she considered what was available. Perhaps some cookies? She might wake someone up if she overdid it, but at least they'd have some sweets to offset any upset they might get. Wait, was that correct phrasing? Well, perhaps not, but it wasn't like she was trying to be perfect. After all, cookies just needed the right amount of love, combined with the recipe, in order to sweeten the pot.

M'gann mixed her ingredients, accidentally dropping one of the metal bowls before she could catch it. Perhaps she was trying to alert someone to her presence, just so she wouldn't be alone. There were those with enhanced hearing in the Mountain at that time, after all.

M'gann felt Superboy stirring from his room, and a private smile came to her face. He'd enjoy the cookies, but even more, he'd enjoy helping. Or at least licking the bowl.

He made his way into the kitchen, dressed in shorts and a muscle shirt. "Guessing you couldn't sleep?"

M'gann couldn't help her eyes tracing his form, but she simply smiled at him, turning her private one toward him directly. "Not really. With everyone gone, it's quiet here."

"Yeah, it is," Connor said. "With Wally Artemis and Robin--excuse me, Nightwing, back at their homes… I can only hear you and Kaldur. I guess you've gotten used to all of us."

M'gann nodded. It wasn't that she hadn't been alone before, but the comfort of others, others who were friends and willing to not only put up with her, but welcomed her in their presence… she felt spoiled by it. Still, Superboy's presence was comforting. As it always was, these days. She smiled at him. "I'm sure I'll sleep eventually. I just need to tire myself out."

"How can I help?" Connor asked.

M'gann directed him, and soon the two fell into an easy silence, anticipating the needs as they went along. The recipe was easy enough, as M'gann had made it before, and soon enough, they had the cookies in the oven.

As they cleaned up their preparatory dishes, the Zeta-Tube console and reception area activated, lighting up in preparation for transit.

"Odd time of night," Connor said, frowning as he stepped toward the Zeta-Tube, placing himself between it and M'gann. He wasn't wrong. Usually, the League would call before directly coming over. However, it wasn't like exceptions hadn't happened.

"I don't think we're expecting anyone," M'gann said. She frowned, glancing toward Aqualad's room. "Do you think we should wake Kaldur?"

"Not yet," Connor said. "No messages came in. We'd have heard it, with us out here. We can buzz his communicator, but he doesn't need to "

M'gann nodded. The rings on the Zeta-Tube started spinning. Before she could respond to her friend, the console announced the arrivals. "Recognized, Nightwing, B-01. Guest User BlackFire, A-08. Guest User FrostShadow, A-09."

Connor and M'gann shared a look of confusion before looking toward the Zeta-Tube exit. Guests were not unheard of in the Mountain, but they usually were somewhat known. With the names given, clearly they were of the more masked variety and not civilians.

Nightwing was a familiar mind to M'gann. She gave him a brief telepathic greeting, a brush across his mind, before directing her attention to the people he brought with him. An initial brush indicated a lack of humanity. Not that they had ill intentions or anything, but they certainly didn't feel the way humans tended to. Nor, M'gann noted, did they feel Martian.

Whatever they were, she could feel a psychic resonance within them. A sort of telepathic and empathic link connected the two visitors, and as she reached out to them, they started to reach out back. The way they felt was almost familiar, familial, yet it was different enough that she pulled away after the first touch, out of an abundance of caution. Whatever they'd done, it had been instinctive.

Nightwing brought the pair out of the Zeta-Tube, a pair of winged humanoids, one with leathery wings, the other, smaller one with more feathered ones, and the two of them seemed somewhat disoriented at first.

Then the disorientation shifted to something worse. It was as if a dam had burst, and a psychic scream echoed throughout the Mountain so loud that M'gann almost didn't hear the vocal one that accompanied it. It pushed her down onto a knee, slamming into her own psychic defenses, weighing her down. The pain, the immense, overwhelming pain. It was theirs, she felt it pressing down upon her, everything they felt. The two had fallen, nearly catatonic themselves.

"M'gann!" Superboy was at her side in an instant. He wrapped an arm around her, and she felt more than saw him look up at Nightwing. "What's going on, Nightwing? What did you bring here?"

"I didn't know this would happen!" Nightwing said. "They were fine back in Gotham! Miss M! M'gann, are you okay? What's wrong?"

"Hurts…" M'gann said, focusing on the familiar minds nearby, trying to push away the ocean she felt flowing through the guests. Her skin rippled near her forehead as she almost lost her form, but she adjusted it back. It wasn't her pain. She could block it out, now that she knew where it was coming from. She let out a sharp breath. "I'll be fine. Thank you, Connor. It's your guests that I'm worried about."

"I don't know what's going on," Nightwing said. "They didn't seem too worried about the Zeta-Tubes when they came, but… this…"

"What are they?" Superboy asked. "The feathered wings on that one… well, she's still got too many other features to be a Thanagarian…"

"They said they were from a place called Diyu," Nightwing said. "Demons or aliens, given that it's an alternate plane of existence or something. Batman believed them, and he asked if they could stay here."

M'gann turned her attention closer to the supposed demons. She carefully, without lowering much of her shields, touched the barest edges of the minds. Empathy. Both were highly empathic, but the smaller one was even more so than the larger, given her longer, curled horns. Add whatever happened with the Zeta-Tubes… "It's too much. Too much input. They can feel all of Happy Harbor… from here. Oh… wait. Huh. Hello, Megan! The solution's simple!"

"What?" Connor asked.

"The bioship! It can help block out the excess emotions and help them!" M'gann looked at her friends. "Connor, do you think you could carry them both there? Nightwing, check on Kaldur? I think he should be awake for some of this."

Nightwing nodded. "I really should be getting back to help out--" At M'gann's sharp look, he held up both hands in surrender. "Fine. I'll go see what he's up to."

"You know where the room is," Connor said, and he scooped up both girls with ease. A brief shudder went through him as he touched their skin with his own, maybe something to do with the G-Gnomes? He shouldered them and glanced at M'Gann. "They're not that heavy. Do you really think the bioship can help?"

M'gann nodded, floating alongside her friend as he carried the guests. "If it's not enough, some distance should help some more." She was worried a little about them. Their eyes were open, darting around, yet not focusing on either Connor or herself, and their tails thrashed back and forth while they were carried. It was lucky that Connor was harder to hurt than a normal human, but it helped that neither one was using their clawed hands to scratch at him, instead mostly being limp in his grasp. M'gann hadn't heard of any species like them, nor had she heard of Diyu at all. Demons, aliens… something that could be considered both?

Of course, given Mars's isolationist state before her uncle arrived on Earth, it was possible that someone had encountered Diyu before. She just hadn't heard about it. M'gann adjusted her mental shielding as they came upon the bioship's hangar. She couldn't help them if she fell back into the same state as the guests.

She gestured for the ship's boarding platform to lower, and she led Connor inside with the girls. "Place them down on the ground, anywhere that looks comfortable."

"Sure," Connor said, following her command. "So, you were saying something about excess emotion before?"

M'gann nodded, using the biomorphic properties of her ship to generate a safe area for the two alien girls to rest. Once no longer in Connor's arms, they thrashed about, their bodies trying to latch onto something. As their mouths opened, M'gann noted the sharp fangs in each of their mouths, matching with their horns and tails, somehow. She carefully moved, placing a hand on each of their heads, shivering at the touch. The raw emotion filtered through them was almost too much to handle, even with her shields. "Something happened during the Zeta-Tube transit. I suspect that normally, they have some sort of mental shields to block out emotion, sort of like my own, but both are very empathic and slightly telepathic. Something disrupted those shields when they went through, and it overwhelmed them."

Connor frowned. "And the ship can create its own shields to help them?"

"That's the theory," M'gann said. "It does have a sort of shielding, but whether it's enough… "

Connor nodded. "Do you need me here with you to help them?"

"Not exactly," she said. "They should hopefully come back to themselves soon enough, and Nightwing trusted them enough to take them with him here. But if you wanted to…"

Connor smiled, placing one of his hands on her own. "I could. NIghtwing and Kaldur can wait, and if they're hostile…"

M'gann met his smile with one of her own, and she patted his hand with her free one. She then turned her attention to the Diyu aliens. Diyuvians? Close enough. With the shielding up, they started to still. M'gann ran a hand through the powder-blue hair of the smaller one, careful not to dislodge the hairpins she had placed there.

Now that they were in the shielding of the bioship, it didn't seem as if either was telepathic the way Martians were, but there was a form of something akin to it there, in addition to the empathy. The girl's eyes remained unfocused, roving around the bioship. M'gann felt a little guilty over what she felt she needed to do, but if she was to help them, she needed to see what she was working with.

So she delved into the girl's mind.

The imagery of a great forest flickered before her, the vast reaches of space, and then M'gann's eyes locked tightly on the girl's. The blue pools, almost like ice crystals, held shadows within them, flitting about, never quite the same as they were there. The blue eyes overtook her entire vision as she delved further into the girl's mind.

The girl, FrostShadow, had a mind full of secrets, ones that M'gann instinctively avoided, but she still saw. She held herself to a high standard, with a desire to help people that permeated throughout. She saw a city of trees, a key. A gate. Shadows and ice, and storms surrounding her and her older sister. Death. Destruction. She saw a massive battle, a series of massive battles. Deaths, and then a need to pull back. She was more affected by it, and… then M'gann was forced away, but she found herself hugging the girl tightly, and the emotions grew more intense. The selfless actions, even in the face of adversity, meant that the girl was good.

Then, like a moth to the flame, she probed the second girl, meeting her pair of burning red eyes in the process. BlackFire's mind was much like her younger sister's, full of secrets, full of battles. She'd been affected by what they'd needed to do as well, but she worried more about her younger sister, about FrostShadow's health. It was BlackFire that suggested they take a break and the way it happened. She loved her younger sister very much, and the two were bonded. M'gann could tell how close they were, but where FrostShadow had ice and shadow, BlackFire had her namesake. Flames surrounded M'gann, but somehow her normal fear never came. The flames wouldn't harm her. Not here. They faded away, revealing the alien girls themselves.

She hugged them both, as Connor watched.

"Whoa, what's going on, M'gann? You okay?"

"I'm fine," she said, hugging the two tighter. "They've just… they've been through so much."

He frowned, nodding. He fell into a defensive stance as a rumbling sound started to come from the girls. They started to snuggle into M'gann's embrace, and it occurred to her what it sounded like. Purring. They sounded just like cats, and they even somewhat looked like them too with their graceful movements and the way they moved their eyes.

The smaller one slowly blinked, pulling slightly away from M'gann as she did so. Her eyes seemed to regain focus, and she looked around the cockpit of the bioship, curiosity wafting off of her. The smaller girl's eyes paused on Connor for a second before coming back to M'gann and meeting her own.

"Huh," said the girl as she tilted her head to the side. Her horns glinted some in the ship's lighting, and her eyes seemed to glow blue as they caught the light. "You are… new. Both of you. Perhaps, you are friends of the Nightwing?"

The girl's sister seemed to come back to herself, and she nodded.

"I'm not sure you could call us friends," said Connor, and M'gann shot him a glare.

"Of course, we're his friends," she said. "I'm called Miss Martian, and that is my friend Superboy. Who is indeed friends with Nightwing."

"Some of the time," Connor added.

The older of the pair let out a snort. "Clearly. My name is BlackFire, and she's my younger sister, FrostShadow."

M'gann heard the way she stressed the names and adjusted accordingly. BlackFire, not Blackfire, FrostShadow, not Frostshadow. It was important enough. "Nice to meet you both."

"Indeed," FrostShadow said, a smile playing cutely on her lips. "Though I did not expect to meet other nonhumans today, let alone end up on… a Martian ship?"

"Yes, this is my ship," said M'gann. "You were affected by the Zeta-Tube transition and needed some psychic shielding."

Both girls nodded. They spoke in unison for a second. "That makes sense."

"It was a form of teleportation we are not used to," FrostShadow said. "The method probably interfered with us metaphysically."

"We'll be prepared next time," BlackFire added. "And… Miss Martian and Superboy, huh? You do have… other names, correct?"

FrostShadow reached over M'gann and poked her sister in the shoulder. "BlackFire! That was rude. You should not just ask about something like that. Secret identities are secret for a reason."
BlackFire made a comment in a foreign tongue that sounded almost like Latin. That explained the accent that both had. It reminded her of the humans from Italy. Her tail swished from side to side.

FrostShadow replied in the same tongue and then nodded to both M'gann and Connor.

BlackFire sighed, and she nodded. "Apologies, Miss Martian, Superboy. My sister isn't wrong about the politeness. I managed to refrain from asking the same question of Nightwing and Batman, but in my defense, both were human. Despite my surprise about Batman."

"I did tell you," FrostShadow said.

BlackFire shrugged.

"It's okay," M'gann said.

"Sort of," Connor added. "It's not like we haven't been asked before. You were tamer than some."

"Curious," FrostShadow said, her lips quirking into a smile again as her tail swished. Amusement wafted off her. "Of course, those names are hardly the most creative that could be used. Miss Martian and Superboy? A girl from Mars and a boy with superpowers, I suppose. Any relation to Superman?"

Connor looked down, clenching his fist.

FrostShadow held up a hand. "Apologies. I did not mean to bring up something distressing."

"Kryptonian, but only partially," BlackFire observed. "That explains it. You are part human."

"I am," Connor said. "I'm a clone, a mix of his DNA and a human's."

"We see," said the girls. "Apologies again. We did not wish to cause you pain."

He waved the unclenched hand. "It's fine. Fine." He looked at them, cuddled up to M'gann and nodded. "I'm assuming FrostShadow and BlackFire aren't codenames?"

"No," said BlackFire. "They're actually our names."

"Then you can call me Connor," he said. "Just Connor."

"And my birth name is M'gann M'orzz," said M'gann. The purring sound from them, which hadn't stopped, got louder at that.

"M'gann… M'orzz… Connor…" the girls almost tasted the names.

An involuntary shudder went through M'gann, albeit not of disgust. She wasn't entirely sure, but something about the way they said her name caused a telepathic ripple, yet not an unpleasant one. It was actually the opposite of that. She wasn't sure what they did, but they were… there.

FrostShadow blinked, tilting her head to its other side. "Oh. Right. I apologize. You are… It just… Never mind."

M'gann pursed her lips, and then she reached out with her mind. Whatever had happened between the four of them had been interesting, and she needed to find out more. Unfortunately, as she brushed FrostShadow's mind, she immediately was assaulted with a pair of icy eyes that chilled her to the bone. If she pushed, she got the feeling that it would simultaneously be the best and worst decision she made that day. It certainly was tempting.

"Careful," BlackFire said after a second. "Dipping into my sister's head is a recipe for madness, and the protections she has…"

The accent was more pronounced that time. M'gann wondered where they had learned English, as for the most part, their diction was good, but the accent came through at times. More so with the younger of the pair. "I'm sorry. It's been a few months since I've been around other telepaths."

FrostShadow nodded. "I understand, but please ask permission before you try and listen in. We have strong defenses on our minds, most of the time."

"You mentioned that the Zeta Tubes disrupted those defenses," Connor said. "How are you going to be prepared for them next time?"

"We know what they feel like now," said both of them at the same time. It was a little eerie, as their voices synchronized and harmonized. "We can adjust accordingly as we prepare. We may need to study some of the literature on the technology to make sure our calculations are correct, but it should work."

"I see," said M'gann. "Do you think that your defenses are good enough to leave the bioship now? That you won't be overwhelmed?"

"We should not even be 'whelmed' about it," said the girls, smiles playing on their lips as their tails swished in unison. "Especially with the two of you there."

"How am I helping, exactly?" Connor asked.

"You both are familiar to us now, as Nightwing is," FrostShadow said. "We can use your emotions as an anchor, if it comes to that."

"Perhaps it won't," BlackFire added. "But it's good to have backups."

M'gann nodded. She could understand that, and given what she had seen from the two of them before, she was pretty confident that it was worth helping them out. She stood up and offered each of them a hand up, and so did Connor.

The two paused for a moment then with solemnity they took the hands, standing on their taloned feet, and together, the four of them left the bioship. As the four of them made their way into the hangar, both FrostShadow and BlackFire immediately sniffed the air. Curious, they must have had some sort of enhanced sense of smell, compared to that of humans or Martians.

"So, where are we, exactly?" BlackFire asked. "Batman just called this place the Mountain."

"I'm not sure if I should say," M'gann said. "We do keep locations secret, for safety reasons. Maybe if you stay longer, or we hear from some of the League, we can share it."

"It's an older League facility," Connor added. "That they repurposed for our team. I'm not sure how much you know, given what Nightwing mentioned."

FrostShadow waggled a hand. "We have heard of some of the Justice League, but how much of our knowledge is accurate is unknown. Some of the heroes had partners in our intelligence, but I am uncertain as to how much veracity it contains."

"You did research on us?" Connor asked.

BlackFire shook her head. "Not as such. We read some passing reports on various Earths as they come through, and this isn't the only one with a Justice League."

"Various Earths?" M'gann asked. "Your species does dimensional travel?"

"It is how we arrived here," FrostShadow said. "We will need to recalibrate some things to attempt a return home, but much of Diyu does reach out to extradimensional areas. Our nation even trades with multiple Earths."

"That could be interesting, I guess," M'gann said. "So you haven't encountered the League yourselves before, just in intelligence briefings?"

"Something like that," BlackFire said. She tilted her head as they made their way into a hallway. "And… it looks like the only other person here is awake now."

"That would be Aqualad," Connor said. "He spends the night here often enough."

"Any relation to the Aquaman?" FrostShadow asked.

"He's a subject of Atlantis," said M'gann. "But we'll let him introduce himself properly."

The four of them fell into a comfortable silence the rest of the walk as an ease settled over M'gann in their presence that she hadn't really felt since she left Mars, save for around Connor at times. They seemed to anticipate the directions that M'gann and Connor both wanted to go, and both Diyu-vians had no issues navigating with their help.

When they made it into the Mountain's lounge, both Kaldur and Nightwing were sitting on the couch, deep in conversation. Nightwing gave a nod and a smile upon spotting the girls up and about.

"Glad to see the two of you are feeling better," said Nightwing. "Aqualad, those are the two I was talking with you about. Meet FrostShadow, the smaller one, and her older sister, BlackFire."

Kaldur stood and bowed to the guests. "A pleasure to meet you both. It is always good to meet someone under peaceful circumstances."

"Indeed," FrostShadow said, returning the bow, dipping her horns to Kaldur. "M'gann said that you were a citizen of Atlantis. I am curious how you decided to fight for surface dwellers."

"I merely followed the example of my king," Kaldur said. "What affects the surface can affect Atlantis as well."

"That makes sense," BlackFire said, also bowing her horns. She stood up, and smiled. "And as Nightwing introduced us, I want to make it clear that those names are actually our names. We do not have the same sort of codenames as you do."

"They're soldiers," Nightwing said. "In the general sense of the word."

FrostShadow nodded. "More specifically, we are pilots within our country's Fleet."

"So, why exactly did you come here then?" Connor asked. "And by yourselves…"

"Technically, we're on a temporary assignment to a testing facility," BlackFire said. "We were in the process of testing some new hardware, and we went somewhere we… normally would not have. In order to avoid a dangerous situation, we did a blind transition and ended up in Gotham City."

"It may not have been the smartest move, but it was necessary," FrostShadow added. "We will need some time to calculate the best route back home. Batman's offer was generous, but Nightwing made it clear that it was not up to him."

"They helped with Solomon Grundy and the Joker," Nightwing said. "While wearing their power armor."

"Ritual Plate," FrostShadow said. "It requires innate energies of the pilot to help operate, whereas power armor would have a separate power source."

"If it looks like a duck, quacks like a duck," Nightwing said… He shook his head. "But yeah, they don't really have a place to stay. I know we have room here, but it'd be up to you three."

"I have no objections," Kaldur said. "I would be curious to discuss these energies with you both."

M'gann nodded. She was curious to learn more about both of them as well. Plus, being with other telepaths was comforting in some ways. It reminded her of home in the best ways. "They can stay."

As everyone looked at Connor, he raised his hands. "I don't really care either way. How long are you planning on being here?"

"As long as necessary to get our bearings so we may return home," said BlackFire. "We can, perhaps, help some if you require it."

Connor nodded. "Then sure, you can stay, for now."

"Thank you, Connor," FrostShadow said.

"If you are staying, I'll introduce myself properly. I am Kaldur'ahm, of Atlantis. You may call me Kaldur in private, but I am Aqualad in the field," said Kaldur. Everyone turned to look at Nightwing.

He raised his hands and shook his head. "Sorry. We just met. Maybe after we get to know each other more, we can share that, but I'm fine with you just calling me Nightwing."

"NightWing is a nice name," FrostShadow said with a swish of her tail. Perhaps she found something amusing. "It is surprising that we have not met someone with that name before now, but I suppose some mothers would rather choose other names."

"And NightWing chose his," BlackFire said. She glanced over to her sister as FrostShadow started to yawn. "Perhaps we should retire to bed. Frost and I would like to share a room, if possible."

"You can have the room next to mine!" M'gann said with a smile. It was so nice to have additional telepaths here, and girls to boot. "I'll go ahead and show you where it is."

"Until tomorrow morning then," Kaldur said. "Nightwing, are you going to stay as well?"

"Not tonight," he said. "The new Robin's probably getting restless with Batman out alone. I should help him work off some of that stress. I'll bring him with me when the rest of the Team meets up tomorrow."

Kaldur nodded. "We will have to ensure his readiness. Hopefully he… will be better prepared than the last."

Nightwing grimaced. "Yeah. See you."

"Good night, NightWing," said the new girls, and M'gann led them into the room they would be staying in.

The room next to hers had been empty since Artemis had moved out of it entirely in favor of a room closer to Wally, but it still had a couple of twin beds, a dresser, and a mirror. The beds had the most basic of bedding on them, pillows and a light comforter. Immediately, the Diyuvians pushed the two beds together and climbed into the bed. They smiled at M'gann, and a wave of tiredness seemed to overtake them.

And her, for that matter. She was going to say good night, to head back to her own room. But something made her linger, and as she stepped closer to the bed, the girls pulled at her mentally. When she got close enough to them, FrostShadow's hand lightly landed on M'gann's arm. Somehow, she found herself lying on bed between the two of them, and before too long, sleep claimed her.

In a way, it was the best sleep she'd had since setting foot on Earth.

 

[Sunshine Temple]

The War Chronicles of a Little Demon

Set in the Diyu Demons verse
A Saga of Tanya the Evil fic.
By Sunshine Temple

Naturally, I do not own Youjo Senki. So here's the disclaimer:

Saga of Tanya the Evil its characters and settings belong Carlo Zen, Shinobu Shinotsuki, and NUT Co., Ltd.

Previous chapters and other works can be found at my fanfiction website.

Interim Fanfiction and Fanart

C&C as always is wanted.

Chapter 34: County Encounters


The seat of Larium County was a charming little town named Jopecott which nestled snugly in a valley on the banks of the Veltian River. Surrounded by farms and lumber yards, roads radiating out from the town to connected of the little outlying hamlets and smaller towns to the main north-south provincial turnpike that ran right past the tiny little High Street mercantile and entertainment district, whose two bars and lone proper hotel stood ready to extract denarii from the pockets of the road-weary and the thirsty.

It was all quite pastoral, with plenty of outstanding landmarks. After all, what lucky visitor to Jopecott would ever forget such eminently memorable sights as the grain and timber exchange, the local church, a central library, the tavern square, the "meat market", and the docks?

Sarcasm aside, at least the Great House War museum and memorial lent some credence to the idea that Jopecott was an actual town and not just another provincial backwater.

All of those intricacies of status and municipal pride were somewhat lost on me, though; trapped as I was in a stuffy second story room in the county hall, itself right next to the far more grandiose county courthouse, I could only wish the architects had put less thought into making an appropriately impressive facade and more into ensuring the rooms were adequately ventilated.

A large table held the pride of place in the room, a topographic map the size of a tablecloth draped across it. The sprawl of Larium and adjoining counties was pinned down on the table, trapped within the boundaries of the CSR-issued fifteen minute quadrangle.

I tried to dismiss the way the logo in the map's bottom left corner made the skin on the back of my neck creep. The Office of Cultural and Strategic Reconnaissance did more than conduct shady off-world operations. Such maps were part of the public-facing role of that particular office.True to their name, they had a lot of cartographers in their employ and made some of the best maps on Diyu. While I had excellent reason to remain wary of Invidia, CSR in general were loyal subjects and servants of the Imperatrix.

I hoped.

It was that lingering uncertainty that prompted me to wonder if anything had been... omitted on this 432 AR issue map. It wouldn't be difficult to make sure any inconvenient little details went missing or were distorted out of all recognition. And that went double for the rest of the accumulated information heaped up on the table and surrounding the map. On sideboards were stacks of folios detailing each of the routes, each with exhaustive lists and diagrams of any bridges that needed to be built, grades that needed to be cut, analyses of soil composition and formation, and records detailing the ownership of all county-designated parcels along the lines of each route.

As the folios encircled the map, the table itself, and by complete coincidence, was encircled by representatives from the railroad, lobbyists from the timber concerns, august members of the county council, the property assayers, and assorted land surveyors with mud still on their boots, all of whom watched me with varying degrees of skepticism as I stared down at the whole pile.

Their skeptical regard was hardly surprising. I was the absentee landlady, a purported Imperial Heroine from the big city who had been given their sleepy county to oversee as part and parcel of her noble elevation. Now after so long spent away in the classified service of the empire, here I was, showing up at the seat of their power in a fancy suit with Legion pins in my hair, a mistress and maid-servant diffidently in tow. I had hardly spent a week here, far from enough time to establish any real presence but plenty long enough to threaten the local potentates' unchallenged dominion over the local levers of power.

A War Heroine absentee landlady was all well and good for the county's reputation, as long as she stayed away and left things to a sober-minded seneschal.

"I can see why this is a thorny issue," I stated, putting down the last folio. "Between the Imperial lands, the lands held in perpetual trust with our allies, the forestry lands, and the various freeholds, merely disentangling the ownership of all involved parcels will be… complicated."

One of the town clerks muttered something derogatory about knives and ears, which was doubtless an expression of irritation directed towards the local Drow community. The other two likewise muttered, something about stating the obvious in connection to my comment. While the animus of the former clerk was clear, I was not sure their two fellows' issues were with my age, my sudden appearance, or some misconception that I was an uninformed hoof-slogger only aping a feeble grasp on civil administration.

While I could, and indeed, would, hold their lack of discretion against them, I could hardly blame the clerks for their skepticism. I was essentially upper management, suddenly showing up out of the blue to take charge on a major project, the arrangements of which had all been arranged entirely absent of my participation. Not exactly the kind of thing that inspired confidence. Worse, they knew I would be gone in a matter of months, called back at the Imperatrix's command; I suspected they planned to endure my interference, wait me out, and then return to business as usual as soon as they saw my back, wings, tail, and all.

More fools, they.

The head surveyor was a wiry woman whose sharp, angular face mirrored the precise lines and measured angles of her trade, the tools of which – pens, dividers, and rulers – bristled from the pockets and straps of her vest. "That's only part of it, young miss. I mean," she hastily corrected, "you're correct, my Lady. The grade's not terrible, but there are a few rivers that require bridging, starting with the one right in town, not to mention the swamp up north that will also have to be crossed."

"And the routes have to match up with those labored upon by the next county over," the lady who had been sent to us from the railroad purred, her red eyes taking in the map as her tail swished like a hungry cat, eager to pounce. "No, it simply would not do. We must have a clear right of way all the way from Bovitar down south up to the very border in the furthest north."

I nodded to the blonde woman, ignoring the frustration building behind my horns. We had been flying around in circles for over an hour. "Yes, and that is the problem, Madam. Some stakeholders want the railway to go directly past their lumber yards for easy spur lines, while others think the terminus at Switchbend is already too close."

A councilwoman with gold glasses, a tight cobalt bun, and a ruffled dress that was as flattering to her form as it was several seasons out of date inclined her spiraled horns. I inwardly cursed, even absent LoveBlood's influence remained. "We are a plain folk in Larium, my Lady. Faithful and dutiful to the Imperatrix, but some... worry about getting a square deal." The council woman's oily smile faltered as her eyes flicked to the Lady from the Railroad.

Said Lady gave a bored laugh as she brushed imagined dust from her crimson suit jacket and retrieved from the coatrack an overcoat of some dark and luxurious fur, which she draped mantle-like over her shoulders. "That worry, eminently justifiable as it is, of course, is why the Duchess SilverFlight, in her Grace's great wisdom, asked you to spare some time to assist in this minor matter."

My eyes went from the map to the lady who had been sent to my county and found burning-crimson pin-like red eyes, and wondered which company it had been that had sent her as my Duchess had sent me. Surely I had been told as much, somewhere in the welter of introductions, but I couldn't quite recall that little detail. "I'll see what I can do. I can talk to some of my tenants." My gaze went to the lands held by the Lares and his people. One of the proposals cut across the bulk of their territory, but if just ten or so miles were added then the railway could curve around much of it. "A shorter path through their lands would mean the railroad pays less in leasing fees. How much variation is allowed in the routes?"

"Oh, as long as the waypoints are met, does it matter?" the lady who had come from the railroad asked in a bored tone, dramatically straightening the drape of her sumptuous black fur coat across her shoulders and giving everyone in the room a broad toothy smile. "Just consult with that one." The blonde waved, her shadows stretching over the room, to the head surveyor. "She knows the Railroad's demands. There are hundreds of miles of track to lay, and time is slipping. We must press on, you see. Ever onwards and ever upwards," the blonde airily stated as she strode to the door.

And with that as her goodbye, she was gone. Far from surprising the others, her sudden exit seemed expected. It was not, however, anything like how I expected a railway official to act. Again I found myself questioning just who had sent her, and from whence she came.

She had given no other detail than to say that she'd been sent by… the railroad. But a project this large had multiple sponsors. So, which line? Which office? What railroad?

I barely felt Reinhild's alarmed spike of anxiety, well-concealed as it was. Turning back, I saw that my maid had kept her placid, dutiful expression firmly in place, but her furry tails had slowed their customary near-hypnotic sway. They hung still in the air, almost like antennae searching for some disturbance in the conference room's stuffy air.

The whole room seemed to exhale in relief once the blonde railway representative left.

"It's not only the rail line expansion," asserted the councilwoman, breaking the silence and returning to the business at hand. "There's wells, electrification, cairns that need their stones re-pointed, enchanted, and consecrated. Satisfying the local spirits alone..." her voice trailed off as she adjusted her gold-rimmed glasses. "But with both the Great Southern and BSC lines sponsoring this work, leases on the right of ways, and Imperial and Provincial loans, we will have plenty of... support."

I frowned. The rates on such loans were not insurmountable, especially for those of us with access to the Legion and Fleet Bank. Suspicion of usury, however justifiable as it may be, was often a stated reason for reluctance to finance provincial development.

With her own Legion hair pins, Visha, in a nice leather bustier and matching skirt, looked every bit the part of a noblewoman's paramour. She gave the assembled table a winning smile. "Perhaps my Countess could have some copies of the main route plans made, so she can convince the necessary locals at her convenience?"

"Oh, yes! Of course!" the councilwoman said as she gestured to a clerk and a surveyor. Her tail flickered nervously; doubtless, she was still anxious after having had to deal with the representative from… one of the two or three railroad lines. "We wish you the best, and maybe we can discuss things... tonight?"

Reinhild handed the valise she was carrying over to Visha, who then gave it to the surveyor. I managed not to roll my eyes. Mostly by picking up one of the smaller maps and adding my own annotations to the proposed routes and property boundaries.

"I don't have any objections," I said. Not that I'm in any place to object without looking like a blundering fool, I thought while giving a self-deprecating smile. "I'll see if I can find any concerns or questions my tenants may have and pass them on to you. Not at tonight's dinner of course," I laughed. "But it will be nice to have you over for dinner."

"Thank you for your help," the councilwoman gave an unctuous smile as the surveyor fed more paperwork to Visha.

"Similarly, if you have any questions for me, you can call upon my manor," I said as the valise snapped close, before Reinhild helped me put on my coat.

There was more lingering relief as I made my farewells. I could sympathize; that railway representative seemed to be quite the vexing task-mistress.

Leaving the planning room we passed the county clerk's office and went down the stairs, left the administration building, and stepped out onto the town square. There was a second-story balcony where we could have flown out, but that would have left Reinhild behind. The square had a fountain, empty for winter, flanked by a pair of statues. One was a worn old stone carving of the Imperatrix who bowed her head in respect to a bronze figure of a weary Legionary.

The square was bordered on one side by the riverbank, and while there were a couple bridges arching over the sluggish flows of the Veltian, it was narrow enough that most could comfortably glide across.

It was an overcast day with a breeze coming from the west. "I think VioletBlood will be helpful in all this," Visha said as cawing blackbirds wheeled overhead, seemingly irked at having to share the sky with bundled up townies making brief flights.

I was not sure why they were so upset. Demons rarely hunted them, as killing the dark birds, much less eating them, was as sour as an omen could be. Even rambunctious broodlings too young to understand such truths were normally too clumsy in the air to catch a raven or a crow on the wing.

The corvids landed on the bare branches of a large sycamore tree in one corner of the square green. Under that tree was an empty set of stocks. There were no gallows, but that was because Eastern Province preferred the firing squad over the rope or beheading.

After being cooped up in the county building, my Zephyr rushed out and proceeded to explore, blowing around bare trees along the sidewalk, which set the birds squawking anew.

I gave my wingwoman a skeptical look. "LoveBlood isn't the most... diplomatic of people."

"Assuming diplomacy can remedy these events, Ma'am," Reinhild murmured.

I turned my gaze to the kitsune, eyeing her closely and not for the reason so many demons would. Only with the benefit of long familiarity could I still see the lingering anxiety buried behind her usual composure.

"You noticed their concern as well, did you?" It was more of an observation than a question, and as we stepped around a family coming out of a used bookstore the kitsune nodded her quiet assent. The passing family's two broodlings had scarves tied around their tails and knitted caps with holes for their horns. Personally, I thought it wasn't cold enough to justify being so wrapped up, and by their fidgeting, the broodlings agreed with me, but I also knew that most mothers would disagree.

"I would be more worried about the county to our south, but it isn't hard to see how fractured local opinion is here," Reinhild shrugged, the almost careless gesture she affected at odds with that lurking worry.

"VioletBlood's barony will probably remain calm," Visha asserted confidently. "With only a spur passing across the edge of the fiefdom, they have nothing to complain about and much to gain. And since the Baroness has every right to anticipate calm, she's offered to help you; besides, she knows the area like only a truly local member of the gentry can."

I gave my consort a rueful smile and looked up at the grey clouds. "I'm sure she'll pick my mind about today's meeting to fill out her cursed list... as long as the storm doesn't delay her from returning with her cousin. The roads between here and the Barony of Lilla aren't the best. At least my sister RedWing is taking the turnpike so she should arrive tonight without issue," I murmured as we walked.

"Surely either will call if they're running late? That is why you got a line installed." Visha offered.

"Hopefully," I agreed as we stepped around another bustling family accompanied by broodlings swaddled with equal thoroughness to the first. For a weekday, the center of town was fairly busy, with knots of people going about their business and the occasional lumber truck or cart lumbering down the street. This busyness didn't extend to the docks, which remained fairly idle, with only a single lumber barge moored in place as plank after freshly-sawn plank was loaded aboard its broad, flat deck.

"Shall I go rendezvous with Brabant and fetch the caravan?" offered Reinhild.

Once, not so long ago, I had talked down Pulivia for bringing a luxury motorcar with her to the capital, mocking the very idea that a cadet would have any use for such a vehicle. Now, I was the debatably proud owner of a fancy Mammon Motors extended touring car all my very own, complete with driver.

"We could get lunch," Visha offered, distracting me from my brief despair.

My tail flicked; now that Visha had mentioned it, I was a bit peckish. "Excellent idea. Where to?" I asked, looking around the town square. Brewers Street, where most of the wine bars and alehouses in Jopecott were, was close by.

"Maybe something warm and filling?" Visha asked as she adjusted her jacket.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, Alexi mentioned there's a stew-shop near the town-green. It should be just a left at the intersection ahead and two streets over," said Visha happily.

"Well, lead on," I agreed. "That doesn't sound far."

"Nothing is far from anything here; Jopecott is a nice little town," Visha said as we stopped at the intersection. The wait was brief, and we quickly crossed smooth bricks underfoot.

We passed under the shadows of the tangle of overhead cables going into the brick edifice of the town's telegraph office. It was quite modern; they even had phone booths and provided an answering and forwarding service for both calls and text that used a group of receptionists and runners.

Reinhild's tails swished. "That's relative, Ma'am."

"The 'nice' or the 'little'?" I asked as we turned down a new street.

The maid gave a small shrug. "I'm sure this town is quite charming, but 'little' is relative."

I nodded as we passed by the town's "meat market" with its rooms that could be rented by the hour. The Market was a place where locals, mostly human and, mostly guild members, could earn a living, or supplement it, satiating the hungers of others. Provided, of course, they submitted to Provincial Food and Safety inspection and had their hours and clients logged. Clients also needed to be in good standing and could be blackballed if guild members complained. My personal issues with the institution aside, the regulations went both ways, giving some protection to both laborer and consumer. It was not like carnal commerce was something my species would turn their noses at.

And when it came to consuming life-force, I was hardly one to be squeamish over a consensual business transaction. And if there were issues... well, we were a rather litigious society, and, jokes aside, a House that had an abundance of demon lawyers seemed better than the alternative methods of adjudication. Though once one got past the county seat, I wondered how many conflicts were really settled by arbitrage, let alone courts. As a countess, my "court" docket was rather light, though who would want to submit their claim to the judgment of an absentee Legionary Flier?

Around the Market's front doors, people of various species were chatting on their smoke break. Some gave us appraising glances.

Visha simply returned the probing interest with a friendly wave while Reinhild gave the lordly disdainful sniff universal to servants borrowing their employer's authority.

"At the meeting, those townies thought that Bovitar was the 'big city'," I surmised as we waited to cross the street, trading smirks with my small entourage at the sheer provincialism.

"And you grew up thinking Silvana was the 'big city'?" Visha ventured, puncturing my enthusiasm only slightly as we stepped aside to let a Forest Person pass. Said Forest Person reminded me of Lares in the set of her face and scent; maybe a cousin of his? He was supposed to be arriving today, though, and perhaps I was just seeing his face in expectation.

"Yes, with all the impressions of power, decadence, and control inherent in the City of Trees. But here?" I gestured. "The imperial capital is a distant concern while the Provincial Governor and her assembly in Bovitar loom over the province, hence that's the 'big city'."

"Meanwhile the folks in the hamlets and communes out in the hollers and hinterlands of your county think Jopecott is 'the big city', Mistress," Reinhild concluded with perhaps just the slights brush of condescension, in the way only a professional servant could truly convey.

"Making them very suspicious of a one-horse burg that could fit inside a troopship, and not even the largest ones, with room left over for their tractors and livestock," I agreed, murmuring to keep from being overheard. "But... Perhaps they have reason to be suspicious of Jopecott for now; after all, this is where the people whose signatures the railroad needs to put their plans into action are, and those plans determine who will get their lands squeezed out." Eminent domain was a… complicated mechanism, especially for those who had traditional ancestral lands like the Forest People or Drow, but even a citizen freeholder could draw out the legal process if she so desired.

Despite the advances of the Fourth Epoch, much of Diyu's populace was still rural, and that was true even in the more developed provinces of House BlackSky. Eastern Province may be on the border region, but it was on two borders flush with trade and had reasonably rich and accessible land.

"Who's the local senator?" Visha asked in a tone that could have been mistaken for idle curiosity, as if she were still playing the role of a mere consort. "What's her role in this?"

"Everything from Switchbend all the way up to the northern border falls under Senator Plebian Claudia ViceWind. It's odd that she wasn't mentioned during any of the meetings. I didn't expect her to show up or even send an aide, but her claws should be all over this project," I mused as we neared what had to be our destination, at least from the growing delightful scents.

"Maybe she's been eclipsed by a higher up?" Visha ventured. "Like the Senator for the whole province or the Senator Domina for the Duchy."

"I wouldn't be surprised if Mother's pet senator is the one advocating for all this 'progress' in the Curia back in the capital," I exhaled, tail flicking. I knew the idea of a relaxing vacation would be a mirage, they always were, but I hadn't expected the headaches to come from my own mother.

But isn't this a good thing? The silken voice born of spreadsheets and charts whispered in my mind. This is your land, and you know its potential. Why not seize this chance to develop and improve the lives of these hearty folk?

Better you than some flunky of the railroad.

My two companions gave me questioning looks.

"I'm not against improving and expanding the transportation network," I said, defending myself against criticisms whose source was more likely between my ears than either Visha or Reinhild's mouths. "There's a lot of untapped potential in this county, but I can still have concerns about the implementation."

When neither spoke to chide me for my treachery against all I had once held dear, I huffed and stomped up to the threshold of the Woodhall Social Alehouse, trying to leave the voice of a man lifetimes away from me behind in my dust.

It was one thing to bootstrap this county into a more profitable, and hence more comfortable, retirement. I would hardly be squeamish if the development ended up costing a little coin or blood either; such was the price of progress. The problem lay in the fact that I sincerely doubted the exchange would play out as simply as a little pain and suffering now purchasing a great deal of luxury later. If I netted myself a tidy profit for myself in the short to mid term at the cost of the undying enmity of every stakeholder county-wide, what kind of retirement plan was I ensuring for myself out here? I had enough enemies in other Great Houses without adding more to my own backyard.

The alehouse was a three-story brick pile roofed in verdigris-greened copper and lined with tall arched windows. Unsurprisingly, the structure also served as a guildhall and exhibition piece for the local lumberjills, timbermen, and woodcutters. We walked down a short flight of stairs and ducked into the main room, where rows of well-polished wood tables stood below a surprisingly low ceiling. A bar constructed with massive gleaming planks beautifully varnished and polished stood to our left, while another set of stairs leading to the second story occupied the rightmost wall of the room. A few odd decorations were haphazardly scattered about the room, with a large stuffed bird with four legs mounted on the wall alongside a couple forest creatures I couldn't quite identify, and what might have been a turtle.

Peculiarly, my Zephyr seemed uncharacteristically quiescent after I entered the room.

We had scarcely crossed the threshold when the smells from the kitchens hit, and brought with them a full tsunami of nostalgia. I remembered wintry days at the orphanage, helping the nuns cut vegetables, pull down dried herbs and peppers, and hungrily watching as bundles of dry, canned, and sometimes fresh meat or fish stewed together in the iron bellies of the giant cauldrons.

Gumbo, stew, tagine, lobscouse, and any other filling and flavorful dishes that could be cheaply stewed in bulk were staple at the orphanage. They cost practically nothing and could usually be prepared from the sorts of long-lasting ingredients either commonly donated by parishioners or which were often on sale. Most of the seasonings, including herbs, peppers, garlic, and onions, were sourced from the gardens the nuns maintained, further cutting down costs. There were eggs, and occasionally, meat, from the chickens and ducks we kept. In fact, the only real concern so far as nutritional yield went was making sure there was enough life energy added to the pot; thankfully, the orphanage got plenty of military surplus sugar crystals, and with their fortification we really had little to worry about.

Altogether, they were the sorts of meals that stuck to the ribs and stuck in the memory. Calling it "comfort food" would be a gross overstatement, but in terms of pure familiarity… It was difficult to imagine anything that could quite match those cheap and hearty stews of yore, nor their contemporary cousins I could smell simmering in the kitchens.

"I guess I picked the right place," Visha remarked as I blinked out of my haze.

Reinhild had quietly moved to wipe the corner of my mouth with a handkerchief, which I ignored with lifetimes of practice pretending not to notice the many things I shouldn't, either for politeness sake, or for my own sanity. After all, staring at fresh recruits losing their lunch because they got their first taste of blood and gore on the battlefield was hardly becoming of a superior officer. The hall was smoky, both from the charcoal cook-tops and cigarillos many of the customers smoking.

The conversation momentarily quieted down as the locals appraised us, their tails flicking. We must have passed muster because, after that awkward moment, their chatter resumed as if we'd faded back into the wainscoting.

A green-haired waitress, in a pale uniform that looked uncomfortably close to a dirndl with its long skirt and cloth bodice, came up to us. "Three for lunch?" she asked hesitantly.

My eyes went to Visha. Did she pick this place for a Germanic connection? Or was the uniform just a coincidence? Bodices were very common here, and that apron did look practical instead of merely being a frilly accessory...

Visha smiled and answered for us. "Yes, for three, please."

Reinhild looked like she was about to protest.

But Visha gave the head maid no room to object, favoring her with the sunny expression of my old adjutant which, despite its warmth, brooked no dissent.

The kitsune curtsied in mute response.

The waitress' tail flicked. "Uh, yes of course. Ladies, please come this way."

We were seated at a table in a somewhat private alcove between some pillars by the windows. After taking our drink orders, the waitress left, her hooves clicking on the wood floor.

"Oh my, so many good things to pick from!" Visha happily exclaimed, flipping through the little menu pamphlet.

"Anything stand out?" I absently asked, paging through the broadsheets that had been piled under the window. There was the Bovitar Record and the shorter but more thumbed-through County Circular.

"Do you want fish?"

"There's seafood this far inland?"

"Well... I think it's preserved. You know, like canned shrimp or dried fish? Fresh is best but not everyone can be near the shore," Visha's shrug had the tiniest bit of disappointment, but nevertheless she handed me the menu, questionable seafood-sourcing be damned.

"No reason to use fresh-off-the-dock meat to be stewed in a big pot," Reinhild noted.

I nodded my agreement. "The seafood boil is tempting, and I could go for something a bit lighter..."

"We do have a big dinner planned for tonight," Visha unnecessarily reminded me as the waitress returned with our drinks.

"Receptions at a county manor…" Sighing, I leaned back and sipped my cider. "Just the kind of nonsense I expected to find out here."

"Industrial development is a part of noble intrigue, Ma'am," Reinhild diffidently reminded, whatever the cause for her worry insufficient to fully crack her maidly resolve.

"It's all so... What can I even do here? The townies are right. Come the new year I'll be back off-world on some new mission. It's not like the railroad will even be here by then." I stared out the window, noting the birds taking off from the heads of the refurbished golems and tractors in the lot next to the seed and dry goods store across the street. It was not the most positive augury, but crows are nice, industrious, and loyal birds despite what the ornithomancers might claim.

"You'll do what you always do: your best," Visha smiled. "I'll think I'll have the Jambalaya. I didn't expect to see that so far from the Curae Sea."

I gave a vague nod of agreement, but it was hard to focus on a meal. "Is my best enough? DarkStar's Blood! It's almost December, and we'll have to report back on the 12th of the New Year."

"Talk with those impacted by the route and see what their concerns are?" Visha suggested. "Tonight's party could be a good opportunity."

"At least to network with the bigger landholders," I sighed. "But we shouldn't make too much trouble at the party; the staff have been working hard on their proposals. I doubt they would take any perceived efforts to circumvent their influence kindly."

Giving a coy smile, Reinhild tilted her head in a slight bow.

"What are you getting?" I asked my head maid.

"Oh, I'm just having the venison chili, Ma'am. I have high hopes for it. According to the menu, it's got a bit of pork fatback stirred in to help with the flavor. That the cooks know to add additional fat is a good sign," Reinhild said, her tails happily swishing.

"Maybe I'll get the beef stew. It sounds hearty without being bland." I put the menu down. It may not have been the best choice, but it should be tasty enough.

"And you can ask for some sauce or spices," Visha happily said. "Just remember that you can always add more but you can't add less!"

"I do have a couple small bottles," Reinhild reminded.

I chuckled. Carrying condiments was an old Legion, and Auxilia, trick for the express purpose of making bland rations palatable.

The waitress slipped back up to us, diffidently took our orders, and refilled our drinks before vanishing again with a clicking of her hooves.

My tail swished as I looked out the window; the cloud cover was breaking up. "I guess I shouldn't complain. This is still better than being back out on the front."

The chattering from the rest of the diners grew; turning, I saw a woman in a green Forestry Services uniform with a shining badge and gleaming gun-belt approaching our table with a pair of broodlings who were trying very hard to contain themselves in tow.

"Ma'ams, I'm sorry for interrupting you but my girls are big fans." I noted the deputy's black hair was shorn down into a pixie cut as she removed her hat. The smaller of the two girls carried a very familiar blonde doll almost as large as her. Considering the degree of wear, it was obvious that the girl cared for the doll and probably carried it with her everywhere.

"Oh, it's no inconvenience." I gave an only half-forced smile. At least, this was a social procedure I could understand. Besides, if there was one place where my inflated reputation would make me famous, it would be in my very own county. "What're your names?" I asked, leaning forward to the two young girls; their eyes wide with excitement.

As I talked to two more customers of the Imperial Propaganda Machine, Visha chatted up the deputy. She always was good with people.

In regards to the broodlings, I promised that if they were good, I would give them some gifts for Saber's Watch. The deputy, weighing the implicit obligation attached to the boon against an opportunity to placate her children for the remainder of the holiday season, nodded to Visha. Reinhild was taking notes of addresses and gift ideas.

When the waitress returned with a tray containing a trio of mouth-watering bowls and a platter of sliced dark bread, the family made their goodbyes.

"That was fun. Oh, and this looks delicious!" Visha smiled as she surveyed her lunch. I must admit for using what had to be preserved seafood the jambalaya was very appealing.

"And networking with the local constabulary is always a wise move," Reinhild noted before tucking into her chili. She took out a small spice bottle and put it on a table.

I sopped up some of my stew with a slice of pumpernickel bread and gave it a thoughtful chew. Smiling, I shook my head, and the kitsune pocketed the bottle. "Good idea, picking this place, Visha," I said, taking a brief pause in my meal.

Conversation turned light, mostly about recreational plans. I was looking forward to catching up with Lares. Last I had heard, he was planning to arrive today or tomorrow, and he said he'd leave a message when he got in. For my money, the sooner he arrived the better: while I had planned to take the opportunity presented by his visit to present my mushroom farming ideas to his people, I could also press him to see if the proposed rail route would present any great impact on the Forest People. They were, after all, a stakeholder in the Larium County's future as well, just as much as the demons in Jopecott and the freeholds were.

"Pardon the interruption, my Lady," Mistress RainsFord Songstress drawled in her Midlands accent. The huntress strode up to our table, effortlessly imposing on our dinner. She wore a reasonably functional outfit of dark pants, dark purple leather gun-belt, grey knee-length coat over a corduroyed dark red vest, and tall leather boots, a rather more rugged outfit than conditions within the dining hall strictly required.

The pale-haired woman still wore that wide-brimmed black hat, complete with a fresh clutch of white roses.

"Yes? It's an unexpected surprise to see you here," I said, eyeing the woman. This confirmed what I had long suspected. Even on leave, I had no privacy.

"Again, apologies. A little birdie told me you were here." RainsFord laughed; nobody else joined her. "Sorry, I was just coming down for lunch and I saw you three."

I blinked in politely mute disbelief.

The huntress's pale purple lips went into a smile as she pointed upwards. "I have lodgings on the second floor, you see."

"And how are you finding the accommodations?" Visha asked, her tone warm and gregarious. It was only by having spent years in her company that I could feel the tension in her demeanor, a discordant note under all the sweetness like a loose hair stuck in a spoonful of honey. Reinhild, for her part, had gamely slipped unnoticed into the background, emphasizing her consummate wisdom.

"It's been quite relaxing," RainsFord blithely replied. If she'd noticed her chilly reception, it hadn't bothered her in the slightest. That itself was remarkably forward "Last time I blew through Larium County, I stayed at the Pelican Tap down on Tavern Square. This time, I found that instead of having live bands, they just got a shiny new juke! I couldn't get a wink of sleep with hours upon hours of soulless racket, so I decided to find someplace else to hang my hat."

"Hopefully you'll recapture your lost rest tonight," I said, politely wishing the huntress the pleasure of the evening provided she leave. Considering she was removing her hat even as I spoke, that didn't seem to be in the cards. "Please, if it's no trouble, take a seat," I offered, shifting gears and pointing to the open spot across from where Reinhild had been sitting.

"Thank you, Countess." RainsFord took the seat as I got the waitress's attention, who promptly took the huntress's order.

"What brings you back to the county?" Visha asked the white-haired woman.

"Doing a spot of work escorting the surveyors," the huntress explained. "These woods are pretty safe, especially this time of year, but you can't be too careful."

RainsFord's eyes went distant as she looked out the window.

The waitress slipped up and placed a tall glass of a dark amber beer in front of RainsFord and cleaned up Reinhild's empty bowl. "But it's not all guard duty. I did just take the eldest son of the local Drow matriarch out on a hunt that was most... agreeable, and it may have broken a logjam in the negotiations."

"Oh? What query did you hunt?" I asked.

"Oh, it depends," the demoness hunter sipped her beer. "Bears hibernate this time of year, but drakes are still hungry, or if you just want a moderately challenging hunt that gives some good bush meat, there's the Lesser Griffin. They like to roost up in big trees overlooking creeks and streams."

"I heard those are tasty," Visha remarked.

"Yes, but they can be a bit of a pain to pluck and clean," I countered.

"I can give a few pointers on that," RainsFord said, and gave me a sharp smile. "I would love to take you out for a hunt."

I put my spoon down and kept a neutral expression. There was something that made me apprehensive about this woman. "The idea is tempting; I have been considering such a trip out into the woods."

"I would be quite gratified to guide you through the process," the demoness hunter purred. "Most of the time I'm babysitting workers or well-heeled locals. Normally, I have to deal with folks who'll stumble into every branch, wear high heels into the forest, or won't know how to hold a rifle. But taking someone out who knows how to hunt? Well, that can be... gratifying."

I picked up my glass. "I'll consider it. LoveBlood did express some interest," I said, trying to deflect or at least delay the issue.

"Please keep what I can offer in mind, it would be a pleasure," the demoness hunter assured as she bowed her horns to Visha as her large tail swished. "And you of course."

Visha smiled at RainsFord while sending me a slightly apprehensive emotional pulse. Agreeing with her, I wondered if the huntress was hitting on me or had a... darker interest.

The demon huntress took a long pull on her beer. "Countess, you're not the first Imperial Heroine I've met. Many of you start out bloody-handed and you keep at it," she quietly said, her eyes going over Reinhild's empty seat. "But you've already got a hunting guide, no?"

"Miss SunShower is an invaluable member of my staff," I said, stiffly.

"Ah." RainsFord gave a sly smile, tail curling. "Pardon the forwardness my Lady, but it would be no great surprise if you have already partaken on exotic hunts."

I tilted my head. Did she know about Harp's World? Even the Church knew some of what had happened during that mission. Maybe this hunter heard a distorted rumor. Or maybe she's just guessing. But why make that guess? Did I really come off as so bloodthirsty? I thought as I eyed her flicking tail.

"Oh no, you're not some blood-soaked savage, Countess," the huntress laughed, before her voice going very quiet. "You wouldn't dump some peasant groggy from ether out into the woods, plug her in the back after she trips over a root, and call yourself a great hunter before celebrating with a feast."

"Yes, I can't see the Countess doing something like that," Visha stated with a ghost of a grin.

Huffing, I gave my wingwoman a miffed glare.

"I mean no offense, my Lady." RainsFord held up a placating hand. "I see that your... interests are already being met."

Visha managed not to snigger.

"Well, what exactly are you offering?" I clasped my hands. As much as this woman was disquieting, I wanted to figure out what she was doing in my county.

"A nice, relaxing hunt," RainsFord assured as she looked around the room. "We're all on the same team here, and I want to make sure things go smoothly between us."

"Smoothly?" I inquired. My paranoia raced on the kinds of things a markswoman and woodswalker could do to make things "smooth". And she's reaching out to you, the poisonous little voice whispered in my mind, it wouldn't be the first time a sellsword tried to find a murderous noble patron and you are someone who relished going through the woods, claws wet with blood.

"Making things run smoothly is my job," RainsFord assured before looking up as Reinhild curtsied to me and then took her chair.

A shadow then fell over the entire table.

"Lares, good to see you," I smiled, looking up at the giant, shaggy Forest Person. Bending a bit to keep his head from hitting the ceiling beams, the long tunic he wore belted at his waist only underlined just how out of his element the gigantic Auxilia scout looked in this hall built for demonic proportions.

"Countess, glad to see you're keeping well," Lares said, his deep voice polite, though he gave the demon huntress a mildly curious look. 'Ma'am."

RainsFord scanned the room. Following her gaze, I spotted Brabant by the bar. The white-haired kitsune was having a drink, her fluffy tail swishing. I tried not to pry, but I had a mild concern at my driver having an alcoholic beverage.

The huntress finished her beer and reached for her hat. "I've taken too much of your time, my Lady. I wouldn't want to keep you from your companions."

"Oh, it was no trouble, it was good to catch up," I lied with all the ease of a salaryman saying they were happy to work overtime to satisfy a client's inane request. It was a skill that overlapped disturbingly well with all the etiquette lessons I'd had to suffer through during my education on how to conduct myself like the noble lady I had become. "Allow me to talk with my Baroness and maybe we can arrange something," I said, the noncommittal polite boilerplate easily passing my lips despite my trepidation about the woman before me.

But then, by now throwing my life foolishly into danger with a smile I very much didn't feel firmly plastered across my lips was just another day at the office. I already knew I wasn't getting a real vacation out of this anyways.

"I am always your obedient servant, please don't hesitate to call upon me." The demon huntress bowed her horns before she stood and put her hat back on. "Thank you for the drink."

She then got up and went to the far end of the room and climbed up the stairs.

Lares looked down at the now empty chair and carefully tested it by putting a palm on the seat.

It immediately let out an ominous creek.

"Hmm," Lares frowned and let the chair be. His eyes flicked back the way the demon huntress left. "Know what that was about?"

"I have some suspicions, but not precisely, no," I admitted.

"Was afraid of that," he rumbled unhappily. "Don't take someone with my nose to smell trouble brewing…"

The waitress came over with a far sturdier and larger chair made of thick wooden poles. Comfortable with a piece of furniture that could support his weight, Lares's unease reduced as he sat down. "Ah, nice to see that they have some quality woodcraft here. Hrm... interesting times indeed. Think this all about the Railroad coming to the county?" his deep voice inquired.

Sighing, I lifted my glass in a mock salute. "More than the big two rail companies. There's Imperial and Provincial grants and support, and every landholder impacted is gonna get monthly rental payments which, for a lot of the locals, will be a comfortable sum. There's plenty of aurei at stake here."

The Forest Person gave a big sigh, the impact of the gesture even larger due to his great lungs. "And not just money..."

I nodded, taking his unspoken subtext. Family roots ran deep here, and there were plenty of factions and interests. If the railroad thought they could throw their weight around, then the locals were bound to push back.

"How was your trip back?" Visha asked, trying to brighten the mood.

"It was pleasant enough," Lares said with a slight smile as the waitress came to take his order. He seemed pleased with the menu options, or at least, not dissatisfied by them. "Not a bad place, good joinery on the beams and that bar top came from my aunt's red chestnut grove. Real nice piece, that."

Visha smiled. "I thought this place sounded nice."

Lares nodded to her. "I've still got to check in with the family, but I can make it tonight."

"Excellent," I smiled. "It's not the right season for it, but we can lay the groundwork for that mushroom harvesting idea."

"Well, I can make a few introductions." Lares slowly nodded his head and graciously accepted the mug of mead the waitress brought him. "But won't that be a distraction from all this... Railway business?"

I frowned while Reinhild's tails wagged and Visha tittered. "Oh Lares, this is how the Countess relaxes," my wingwoman assured.

A sigh passed my lips. "There's nothing wrong with planning your future. And what's wrong with some mushroom farming? Maybe I could expand my manor's orchard and do some fruit cultivation too. I'd like to have a job where there's no great consequence, no lives on the line."

Visha took my hand.

Lares nodded while the kitsune seemed sympathetic.

"But that's enough dreary talk. We have a dinner party to prepare for tonight. But more than that, we're on leave and should enjoy ourselves. Compared to active deployment this is still an improvement." I smiled, almost believing my words.

+++++

It was a bright winter day when I set about cleaning my chapel to Our Hallowed Lady. In no time at all, I had already filled a pair of dustbins with the stems and deadfall from the overgrown rose bushes overflowing from the gardens flanking the front door of the small stone building.

Even in their winter state, the barbs on the rose-canes were still sharp. After the first couple pricks, I had swapped to sturdier gloves and counted myself lucky that my current clothes had long, thick sleeves. The afternoon sky was a bright blue with just wisps of high clouds moving east, and the light wind bit with just enough chill to make me doubly thankful for my long, thick sleeves.

Freshly-greased prayer wheels clicked, and new, silvery pinwheels spun as I finished up the horticultural triage. The gardens were home to more than just the sullen, deeply entrenched rose bushes, though not for lack of trying from the thorny plants. My guess was that the gardens contained a large number of summer snapdragons and what looked like a million bells. Perhaps, because that estimate was based on the amount of dead leaves in the garden and that there were living, identically leafed, plants in the manor-house's greenhouse. Some similar, smaller flowers were out here in the garden, putting up a valiant rearguard action against the roses. I hoped to help their last stand in my own way.

I did not blame the groundskeeper for the garden's unruly state. Her staff was small and, between the orchards, the woods, and the gardens around the manor itself, they were struggling to keep everything alive and reasonably well maintained. The gamekeeper helped when she could, but she had her hands full with her own share of work around the estate, possums and other rodents the least of the nuisances keeping her time occupied. If nothing else, I certainly didn't begrudge any denarii I spent on them, tidying up like this was a tranquil moment of solace in my otherwise hectic and demanding life.

Stopping to inspect my work, I felt a chill as the wind picked up, stealing away the heat of physical activity, leaving only the cold sweat that work had produced to trickle down between my wings. Thankfully, I had reinforced the thickness of the coat I was wearing with just the slightest twist of my magic, so the discomfort was minimal, but… how did the wind always find some way to slip in like that?

Still, marginally effective wind-shield or not, cold sweat was cold sweat, and so I walked up the stone steps with just a bit more haste than I usually would and slipped through the door.

The chapel was a small building with only a single room, furnished mostly by a few rows of half-dusted pews. Piled neatly on one end of the rearmost pew were the broom, mop, rags, bucket, and wood polish that I had been using earlier in the day. It would have been trivial to simply order Reinhild or Frugi to have someone clean it and only slightly more difficult to corral my Vs to help, but... there was a reason I had waited until both of them had gone to town before setting my hands to this particular burden.

Besides, a bit of solitary manual labor gave me some relief from the demands of the Countess and the Centurion. The second of which had been more pressing in recent days, as Gibbs and her Ritualista had turned a long unused fruit cellar into a Ritual Plate crypt. Such a project required much support work, including running power down there, replacing the door, adding locks, and other security measures best left in my hands while Gibbs managed all the fiddly bits herself.

Doctrix RedWing had dropped hints that she would be happy to drop by and help check out my suit once all the components, including my long-overdue mask, had arrived. I had some sympathy with Gibbs's silent ire at the idea of some egghead poking around her suit, but I was loath to say no to my sister. Besides, Gibbs would inspect any work done on my Polyxo anyway, as a matter of course. LoveBlood even made the boisterous comment that this way Gibbs would be able to check my sister's ego with all errors she found in the Doctrix's wake. I had my doubts about how that would go, but my head Ritualista would have to be satisfied with that.

Oddly enough, from the thoughtful look that overtook her face when VioletBlood suggested it, I grimaced, I'm worried Gibbs just might.

It was only slightly warmer inside the chapel than out in the garden, thanks mostly to the heavy stone walls blunting the worst of the wind's teeth, but it couldn't remove the chill entirely. Several decades past, a previous Countess had installed a conduit connecting the chapel to the manor's boiler room for the purpose of piping hot air into the nave and defeating the cold lairing in the flagstones and carefully masoned walls. Unfortunately, age and deferred maintenance had taken their toll and the air ducts had clogged years ago, leaving the bone-aching cold the undefeated mistress of the outbuilding.

Doubly unfortunate, if the apologetic groundskeeper was to be believed, I had to choose between restoring the air duct to working order or repairing the chapel's slate roof. A decision mandated both by the thinness of the grounds' maintenance budget and the relative importance of the chapel. Keeping the manor house in order, or at least the appearance of it, ate up most of the caretaker budget, leaving outbuildings as a low priority. At least the springhouse was still in good shape, which meant we could drink our fill without worrying about contaminated water. The state of our other great necessity, reliable communications, was better than the state of the air ducts as well, but only because I could easily co-opt the old telegraph poles to hang a new phoneline from.

Standing in the hushed chamber of the austere chapel, I looked up at the open ceiling beams, long since gone dark with age. In the still, dusty air of the nave, the threadbare banners suspended from the beams hung gracelessly limp. Among that collection of faded relics, however, one banner was still stiffly new, colors vibrant and tassels undiminished by dust or spiderwebs. The beams themselves, though, and what little of the roof I could make out in the high eaves, seemed to be in good repair, free of leaks or internal cracks.

Chilly, but structurally sound, I concluded, deciding that the condition of the building and the plain altar indicated that my Seneschal and the preceding caretakers had made the right choice when it came to prioritizing repairs. Besides, there would scarcely have been any point in heating the room if all the warm air could escape out a damaged roof, now would there?

Gazing around the chapel again, I noted that the chapel had seen some level of recent use, even though the manor house had stood absent its mistress for years. Old dried garlands of white roses decorated the ornamental chancel rail delineating the sanctuary itself from the broader nave, and the altar that stood at the sanctuary's very heart. Newer wind chimes whose sleek, polished bells dripped with long, metallic prayer stripes flanked the altar, seeming almost eager to be sounded so the prayers of the faithful could rise upon their peals.

My tail swished as I strode forward between the pews and, acting on ingrained habit, knelt down at the chancel. Atop the altar stood a statue of DarkStar, gazing down at celebrant and congregant alike with a serene expression tinged by regret. In the morning, light would flood in through the simple stained-glass window behind her, leaving the idol silhouetted by the light of dawn, and by the large, four-pointed star and white roses that occupied the bulk of the window's design.

It was times like these that I preferred the sect I was raised in. Our Hallowed Lady was more temperate and our chapels were less prone to relying upon imagery of Her earthly suffering to inspire the awe of petitioners. Our Martyred Lady, one of our primary rivals, frequently and unsurprisingly highlighted Her Holy Wounds in their iconography.

Of course, these were only the more mainstream and relatively "moderate" chapters. The less said about the more fringe sects, the better.

Though considering how the least objectionable of said sects, Our Hallowed Lady, still had a militant order, avoiding the unfortunate topic of their existence altogether was unfortunately impossible. Made all the worse because, technically speaking, I met all the qualifications to be counted among their holy army. It would hardly be a difficult process should I choose to submit myself to their rule upon completion of my Legionary service and, I would assume, after sustaining multiple traumatic brain injuries.

Following the procedure I had learned as a novice, I fixed my eyes on the idol of the Martyred Lady, focusing my attention on her tranquil face, and then bowed my head in meek submission, grateful as always for my headdress keeping my hair from tumbling down into my face and ruining the entire posture. Head and horns lowered, eyes demurely fixed upon the flagstones before me, I clasped my hands.

"Blessed DarkStar, most Hallowed Daughter... Hail to your sacred name. Distant now, once you walked among us; we eagerly await your return. Your protective wings shelter us, Lady of the Endless Void, your hand soothes us. Be with us now, and in the hour of our end. In your sanctified name we pray..."

I harbored no illusion that I would receive an answer, but that was hardly the point. The act of the ritual, of reciting the forms and bowing in familiar genuflection, was a balm upon my nerves all its own. That solace from stress was the real benefit of the ritual, so far as I saw it.

This was, after all, supposed to be a vacation. I was all but obligated to discharge my stress in any way I deemed expeditiously prudent.

"Darkest Angel," I continued, appending my own conclusion where a confessor or superior would deliver a homily in the full manifestation of the rite but I was alone so needs must, "I clean your house to honor you and to honor my mother, who serves in your name. Please banish all evil from within these buildings, cleansing the spirit of this estate as I sweep its floors, and return all malignity back to the emptiness from whence it came."

My hands strained as I thought of what my other mother told me, of the difficulties my County was facing; hardships were there in those tangled roots, but also the potential for great opportunity. "By Your blessed spirit, and in chorus with those above and before, I make bold to ask your blessing. Be it so, should You will it."

The banners above fluttered, setting the sigils of the past Countesses of Larium to dance in the cold vaults above. Comfort nestled into my breast as I slowly rose from the unyielding flagstones. There was no great spiritual mystery in that warm sensation; it was just nostalgia, the memory of simpler times that brought that cozy fulfillment and… warmth.

I tilted my head – the warmth was not just metaphorical. There was sunlight on my back, dissipating the cool stillness of the chapel. The front door was open. How had I missed that? I turned, and my anxiety vanished as I saw the tall woman in the full raiment of a Sister of Our Hallowed Lady standing under the mantle.

Mother Clementia smiled.

In her red habit and immaculate vestments, she was practically radiant against the dusty gray of the old stonework. She almost seemed to carry a halo of her own, like a celestial messenger. Only the few locks of her purple hair escaping her headdress marred the picture of a perfect prelate and gestured towards the mortal within the priestly robes.

I looked to the altar, then down at my still-clasped hands, and finally at my own nun's habit. "Mother, I can..."

Tail swishing, Clementia made a one-woman procession down the aisle and closed with me. "You needn't feel guilt, oh gentle Daughter mine," she said, her light reproof accompanied with a proud smile tinged only lightly by something that could have been regret.

"I'm not..." My tail curled behind me as I exhaled. "I simply didn't expect you to come so early. You could have called."

"And ruin the surprise? The abbess gave me a couple more days off at the orphanage." My mother looked around the small chapel. "You have a lovely little chapel."

'"I'm still working on it." I blushed, a bit of pride in my voice. "Did you have any trouble getting up here?"

"It was fine," Mother assured.

"I wish you had told me," I repeated, mildly peeved. "I would have had someone drive down to pick you up; the rail terminus is very... hectic."

I had nearly used a stronger term there, but I didn't want to worry my mother. Besides, calling Switchbend dangerous wasn't quite accurate; it was just that the rail-head there was overflowing with sidings laden with equipment, crew, and construction as the rails ground ever northward. It would not be long before it was no longer the northern terminus and the whole process would be repeated, but until such time, it was really no place for a personage so dignified as my mother to be wandering around unattended.

"It was busy, but the bus was very prompt," Mother allowed, and she gave me a look that was half amused and half chiding, "You are allowing your worries to lead you by the horns, Daughter mine. Is this the attitude that won you such a prestigious place in our empress's legions?"

Tail flicking, I let it go; my mother could be a very stubborn woman. "How are the girls at the orphanage doing?"

"Good, good." Mother smiled down at me. "Your help is very appreciated."

"It's nothing."

She quirked her lip. "We both know that's not true. You are making a difference in the girl's lives. Your sponsorship alone has helped seven girls formerly of the orphanage find guild apprenticeships; four others have secured University at Bovitar scholarships for the same reason."

I looked away, embarrassment and pride mixing in my chest. Those numbers had increased since Mother had last written to me with an update. "That's excellent news. But that's just... well, money."

"Money is a tool," Mother scoffed. "Powerful and easy to misuse, but you have been using yours well. Like after you started seeing a psychologist you got one from Bovitar on retainer to help the girls."

"It... helped," I admitted. Pediatrics was one of the few non-trauma types of medicine Diyu demons needed, as such, the Sisters already had a pediatrician for the orphans.

"We're still on for me visiting before Saber's Watch? And my other idea?"

"You are always welcome," Clementia hugged me. "And yes, having the girls spend a part of the holiday season out in the country would be lovely."

Returning the hug, I relaxed. "Good. I'm sorry that it's such a mess in here."

Clementia looked at the dust and cleaning implements. "I can help."

"Oh no," I squirmed, turning my face sternly up at hers. "I won't impose on you. You will put your feet up, rest, and enjoy your vacation."

"Daughter, I have been cleaning chapels and churches for longer than you've been alive. It's really no imposition." The corner of her lip pulled up in a smile. "Besides, I know why you're doing this yourself."

I tried not to look nervous as the eddies of the conversation turned against me. "It wouldn't be proper to order a servant..."

"I'm not one of your servants." She picked up one of the cleaning rags and nodded to the altar. "In here, we both serve Her."

"I... would like your help," I admitted, not really referring to the chapel's disreputable state any longer. There were other corners of my demesne badly in need of my attention, most of which required far more than a simple sweeping to be set right. Most notably, the quite thorny issue my other mother had dropped in my lap the day I had arrived.

Not all regions of Eastern Province were equal. Bovitar and the Lethe River dominated the center of the province and were well developed with pastures, timbermills, and the like. The east was carpeted with steppes from whose rich soils seas of grain sprung and over whose border the balance of landbound trade with Luxon passed. The long coastline on the Gaudia Sea ensured the south of the province a year-round access to productive fisheries of lesser kraken, bream, and herring, ideal for both consumption and fertilizer production. Less glamorous but at least equally lucrative, the west of the province largely ran along the lesser Romwell Alps, whose mines and quarries provided both the mineral wealth as well as the literal building blocks required to further develop my province.

Meanwhile, the northern parts of Eastern Province had... potential. Potential that slumbered unrealized, at least for now. Not that the northern reaches had gone entirely neglected – there was a fair bit of development on the shoreline of Lacus Superum and along the border with House Andromache. The interior, however, including the region where both my county and VioletBlood's barony lay, remained a sleepy backwater. Except for the outbound line to Andromache, up which flatbeds trundled fully loaded under the weight of quarried blocks and trimmed tree-trunks, which hoppers bursting with anthracite, fine white sand, and finished goods from elsewhere in the empire rolled, and back down which cars laden with refined metal and foodstuffs rolled, we had been bypassed entirely by the major rail lines.

Until now, at least.

My Duchess had dumped the management of a gravely undeveloped county caught in the headlamps of rapid development thanks to the new railhead into my lap; Mother Clementia, on the other wing, only offered her help, no strings attached.

"Maybe you can tell me about how everyone's doing," I suggested, bidding for time to mull her offer over. "I would like to know who received those new scholarships and apprenticeships; perhaps we could start there?

Mother Clementia nodded and obligingly began to relate everything I'd missed back at the orphanage, including the food.

As we worked, I felt a twinge of melancholy. Not just at the number of residents in the orphanage, though at least there were not as many war orphans as when I was small, but also because a small, irrational part of me felt like I had abandoned Mother. It was a stupid thing to feel, especially since it was hardly like being a nun at an orphanage lacked its advantages; it was a very safe position, and one well away from the maw of war.

Perhaps I would not feel this way were I not wearing a damned wimple right now, I fumed in the privacy of my head.

Clothes, after all, made the proverbial woman, and uniforms had a curious way of tugging trains of thought away from their intended tracks.

My status as a novitiate already trapped me half in one world, half in another, introducing another degree of separation to the gulf that already stretched between me and all of my fellow orphans of war. Not that I had ever been particularly close to my peers back at the orphanage, but now that everyone my age or older had already been adopted or emancipated and all new arrivals were progressively younger strangers, it was difficult to not feel somewhat estranged from everybody I had once broken bread with.

I still visited the orphanage and had regular correspondence, but there was a difference between visiting broodlings as a legendary Imperial War Heroine and talking with someone who used the same bathroom and showers as me but was merely a couple grades down in the school-house.

Our conversation wasn't one-sided; I talked too, mostly about what I'd been through, and of the people in my care. Obviously I couldn't tell her everything, but Mother Clementia understood vows of secrecy.

I did tell her of the loss of IronTalon, though, and of VioletBlood's first command, and I updated her on the recovery of Lavish's sister and of half a dozen other things, each small on their own but, I hoped, enough to build a mosaic through which she could see the people of my command as I saw them.

"It is the nature of things," Clementia assured as she polished the last of the pews. "Change is inevitable. We may think ourselves immune to the passage of time, but that is the temptation of hubris. The world turns, and we turn with it."

I carefully drained the mop into the bucket. I had lifetimes of experience demonstrating just how much and how suddenly everything could change. "Yes, Mother."

She gave me that familiar old smile, slight and knowing. "You still act just like you did back when you were small and I found you with your hand in the sweets tin, my daughter. You still can't lie to save your life."

"I never stole cookies or candy," I stated, calmly and absolutely without pouting. "Your aspersions are untrue."

"True, but you did act like a red-clawed thief when I found you borrowing some extra teething rings!" Mother's eyes glinted. "Perhaps you simply look the same when you are startled as when you are guilty? After all… there is no reason the expression of your faith should give you cause to feel guilt, Daughter."

"I'm not-" I stopped myself. Why was I protesting? Had we not spent the last hour as mother and daughter?

"Tauria, you're the most faithful person I know. Your moral values are unshakable," Clementia said.

My tail flicked as I frowned. Memories of a past life came unbidden: Mary Sioux, her eyes burning gold with frothing hate, feverish madness, and fanatical zeal, bared her teeth at me in a death's-head grin, the last expression to ever cross her face. "I wouldn't say I'm anything... special."

"Dear, you have unshakable faith. We both know that doesn't require you to be a blinkered, unthinking flagellant." Mother gave a gentle laugh as if she found the very idea a jest. "When DarkStar returns, I fully expect to see you greeting her with a list of doctrinal questions in hand and a request that she fully clarify the fullness of her Word upon your lips."

At her light jab, I finally allowed myself a chuckle. "Maybe I should get to writing those questions then."

Her eyes sparkled. "So you've heard the rumors too, then."

"There's always rumors about Her return," I hedged, eyes darted to the altar. "That doesn't necessarily mean anything.."

"Best not to get our hopes up," Mother nodded amiably. "The signs and auspices may be positive, but such things wax and wane. This could be another such cycle come and gone."

"She will return when it is Her time," I stated by rote. It seemed like the safe answer.

"Have you attempted any divinations on your own? Seen any signs of Her arrival on your travels, perhaps?" Mother's question was so mild it took me a moment to realize the import.

"I would never..." I protested, my tongue tying as I struggled to avoid loosing any secrets from it, my sworn oaths suddenly tight and constricting.

Mother tsk'ed and went to pick up the wooden fruit crate that she had left by the door. "Daughter, I know you are humble, but you downplay the impact you had on the success of your mission."

"There's not much I can say," I said, stiffly. "For various reasons."

"The chaplain to the HFV DarkStar wrote me a very interesting letter. One co-signed by the skipper of that august ship." Mother held up a forestalling hand. "The letter was very circumspect about the operational details, but the theological implications... Why, it might not even be overly presumptuous to say that moment was… miraculous."

"It would be…" I licked my lips, carefully looking for the right words, "prideful to assert that I summoned a battlecruiser. Some would say arrogant, even, to see auspicious signs and holy purpose where they might be merely…coincidence."

Mother's smile brightened the whole chapel. "Oh yes, it may be a coincidence, but some of the most learned women I know are not so sure. I know little of ship navigation myself, and I would expect such caution from you. The abbess and some other significant figures have taken notice, though, Daughter. I thought you might like to know."

Tail curling with apprehension, I found my curiosity growing. "Then what's in the box?"

"Just a few items to help fill out the chapel. It will open for service for the visiting orphans," Mother explained, pulling out a pile of hymnals tied with ribbon, incense, and a well-worn, well-loved Book of DarkStar.

My relief was evident. "That's a lovely gift."

Mother's smile grew, showing her teeth. "Oh, this is all just from me. There are also some divination tools a very helpful kitsune-woman is tucking away in your bedroom, waiting for you."

Now that made sense. A set of hexagrams, a fan, or even a ritual knife, if owned by the correct Church notable, would be another artifact the church could bestow on one such as me. Or maybe it was a journal of some saint on the interpretation of her dreams, visions, or even the birds she had seen and their meanings.

I tilted my head. "The gift from the Church isn't divination tools?" I asked, anxiety curdling to dread in my stomach.

Mother shook her head sadly. "It's small at least, and the custodianship shouldn't be that much more of a burden on you." Out of the crate that had been used to ship plums came a small lacquered box.

I took it with trembling hands. "There's no ritual for this?"

"We're in a house of DarkStar," Mother stated, then gave a tiny sigh. "There will be a more formal ceremony on Saber's Watch. Your suit should be done by then."

I frowned at that comment, but I had complained to her about the delays in my new Polyxo often enough that her mention of it didn't raise any red flags. Opening the box, I found a velvet liner, and, nestled inside, a tiny, dented silver censer. The strawberry sized ball was holed with star-shaped perforations and crowned with a clasp worked around a single red crystal.

My Zephyr immediately swirled around me, not quite blowing the box out of my hands. I had thought I had given them enough distractions to keep the air spirits tired out today, but their attention and energy spiked like puppies awaking from a nap to clumsily galumph about.

"This can't be...."

"Hers?" Mother shook her head. "No. But it was at Operation Sandalwood at the end of the Third Great House War, it was there when the War of Reprisal ended in the ashes of the Empty Quarter at the close of the Third Epoch. It's one of the last of a set made during the Golden Times."

I stared. That was a period of peace and revitalization nearly two millennia ago. This small bauble was as old as House RedStorm. "I... don't know what to say."

Mother's smile grew. "That's just the history, little one. It is said that when these censers were made with a fragment of Lilith's Blade, melted down along with the silver."

I raised an eyebrow. "A fragment with her daughter's blood? With Her blood?"

"The blade was lost to history not long after the Lantia Succession War," Mother pointed out, no trace of humor in her voice. "It is possible, if perhaps... unlikely. Or... providential."

I barely managed to restrain the creeping hysteria from the tiny laugh that escaped my lips. Hopefully mother would take that as me laughing at her pun. "So I'm in high enough esteem to have a potential relic of Her, but not one that is fully validated and vetted? Will the wonders of the Church ever cease?"

Mother's tail slowed, as I carefully put the box down on the pew and moved to hug her. My wings wrapped around her body. "Let others have the wondrous artifacts. Even without the legends it's wonderful."

Clementia returned the hug. "I was worried you'd be overwhelmed. I worry..."

"Oh!" I barked a laugh that wasn't quite so restrained in its hysterics, "I'd say I'm more than overwhelmed at this point."

Worry flittered across Mother's face before she managed to conceal it.

Not that I could blame her.

Between the absolute clusterfuck that had unfolded, and the even larger clusterfuck that had so nearly unfolded on Harp's World, not to mention the far too close encounter with the Fae, my other mother dumping the whole mess of the railroad business onto me… A sudden appointment to serve as the custodian for a relic of DarkStar herself only seemed like the natural next step on the road to some private hell.

"That is understandable." Mother's tail flicked. "You have more than enough to worry about. But I know you, and no matter what, I'm proud of you and know you'll do the right thing."

I frowned. She was agreeing with me, but it sounded like there was... more to it.

Her smile then became reassuring and I felt guilty for doubting my mother.

"But you said it yourself, I didn't get where I am in the Imperatrix's Legions for nothing." I shrugged. "I've dealt with stress before."

"Besides," I allowed myself a grin, "the uncertainty isn't that bad; I'll simply ask DarkStar to verify it Herself."

End Chapter 34

At least Tauria's settling in and starting to learn about her county and meet its citizens.

Thanks to Ahuva, DCG , ellfangor8 , Green Sea, Larc , Readhead, metaldragon868 , WhoWhatWhere, and ScarletFox for checking and editing this chapter And Special thanks once again to ScarletFox for once again coming up with a chapter title.

Sorry for the delay there were a few personal issues, including a family emergency, that had things go on the back burner for a while. And thanks again to my editors for helping get this chapter edited.

In good news, chapter 35 is written with its draft being edited right now. And chapter 36 has 9 thousand words written, so should be nearly done as well.

More good news, I've also got half a dozen art pieces to be posted ( including ones of the Lady from the Railroad, Miss Crow, and Mistress RainsFord, not to mention Milly and IronTalon, and some fun gowns and Elenese fashion) I also have a handful of new Legionary ground vehicle designs.

All that art and the upcoming chapters are on the Little Demon discord.

Have a spooky Halloween!

 

[Sunshine Temple]

The War Chronicles of a Little Demon

Set in the Diyu Demons verse
A Saga of Tanya the Evil fic.
By Sunshine Temple

Naturally, I do not own Youjo Senki. So here's the disclaimer:

Saga of Tanya the Evil its characters and settings belong Carlo Zen, Shinobu Shinotsuki, and NUT Co., Ltd.

Previous chapters and other works can be found at my fanfiction website.

Interim Fanfiction and Fanart

C&C as always is wanted.

Chapter 35: Cracking Facade

"I'm helping!" the little fox girl cried as she ran down the cavernous kitchen, a basket of eggs precariously held just above her head, close enough for the tips of her silver-furred ears to brush its wicker bottom.

Her fluffy little tail swayed happily as a pack of kits scrambled after her. Their eyes all focused on the pile of brown eggs heaped in the basket.

"Phalia! You be careful!" cried Brabant, my driver and seamstress, as she raced after her speeding daughter and the rest of the litter.

Looking up from the long counter, I began to muster up my professional dignity, preparing to commit myself to helping my driver calm the fracas. My heart, perhaps, wasn't quite in it; my tail was swishing with open amusement.

"Does she need any help?" I asked Reinhild, who hadn't looked up from the recipe book as Phalia darted past. She was far too occupied in measuring out the appropriate amount of sifted flour without packing the stuff down to the point that more sifting would be required.

"My niece can handle it," my head maid remarked, her own tails and ears swiveling to and fro as she tracked the kits racing around the door to the cheese cave and then back up one of the kitchen's two main aisles.

The manor house's kitchens were a large but functional affair that butted up kitty-corner to the manor house proper and made part of one side of the compound's central courtyard, and had it right by the servant's quarters and their mess hall. Almost an annex in its own right, the kitchens were an obvious addition but built with space for chimneys, pantries, cold storage rooms, smokehouses, prep tables, and more.

As both required considerable water and heat, the kitchens were directly adjacent to the bathhouse. Surprisingly, the baths were quite well-appointed and required only a little work to get back to full functionality, with only the heaters of the steam room providing any real trouble. Trouble that was very much worth the… well, trouble.

Even I had to admit that taking a dip in the progression of baths, starting from warm water, then going to steam, and then cold water was relaxing. If the baths themselves failed to leach away all of my tension, there was always the small tepidarium with its massage tables. Conventions of physical contact aside, I preferred the occasional massage of my weary shoulders, executed to perfection by a gloved kitsune, to mucking about with all of the traditional oil and scrappers. Neither of which, it turned out, worked particularly well on my feathered wings.

Baths aside, the kitchen rooms represented a pleasant intersection of pragmatism and aesthetics. While built with an undeniable eye towards efficiency, the multi-roomed suite remained rather airy and well-lit. Altogether, the kitchen reminded me of a more tasteful and luxurious version of my old orphanage's kitchen, somehow crossed with the pragmatic, yet expansive, floorplan of a large barracks cafeteria. Not at all like the cramped confines of a ship's galley, where every spare square foot was worth its weight in gold. Regardless of the architectural slight against the Fleet, the kitchen remained a functional space intended to make food assembly and prep into an efficient process.

While the low demands of many slow years had left the kitchens cold, the sudden repopulation of the estate had stoked the fires of its many ovens anew, and now all were operating at full activity. The busyness of the situation was in no way diminished by the pack of rambunctious young kitsune kits rampaging underfoot.

"We do need those eggs," Mother Clementia said, her slight frown at odds with her own swishing tail. Like the rest of us, she wore an apron over her clothes and had changed into a more plain habit. She had been cubing fruit, periodically transporting the chunks into a juice press where a kit waited eagerly for the opportunity to squeeze all of the juice into a waiting bowl.

"I'm getting them closer!" Brabant shouted from across the kitchens. The other servants and the hired cooks looked up and, wisely, stepped back from the line of fire.

A trio of local girls who were here for the day to help with the dinner party laughingly encouraged the kitsune to run even faster as the kits sprinted past their butcher's blocks. The dark-haired sisters raised their knives in salute to the runners, a gorey honor-guard with bloody tribute, before going back to dismembering a swine.

"I have the eggs! I am bringing them!" Phalia cried as she shook the basket. One of the brown eggs slipped from the basket, but before it could hit the tile floor, the rest of the litter had pounced. The kits scrambled and pounced on each other, contending for the speckled brown treasure that danced precariously from paw to clutching paw.

Without looking back at the chaos in her wake, Phalia continued on with Orphic concentration and solemnity, her stumbling sprint meandering towards us. Half of the kits rose from the fracas to follow her while three of the little ones fought over the spoils of war.

Brabant seemed torn between breaking up the tussle and following her daughter who most assuredly would deliver the eggs to us, and was not about to abscond with a veritable treasure haul.

"A bit of help, Uwe?" Reinhild asked the silver-furred fox, appearing at her shoulder with a look of ever present quiet concern that seemed oddly familiar.

Uwe, who, like Mother Clementia, wore an apron over a sleek uniform that was closer to Brabant's chauffeur pants and collared tunic combination than his cousin's maid uniform, nodded. "As you wish." Uwe turned to me with a tilt of the head. "Shall I give the little delinquents a thrashing, my Lady?"

I looked up at the towering older kitsune and gave him a baleful stare through narrowed eyes. "Phalia is doing as we bid her."

"She is dilly dallying and running all around the kitchens," Reinhild observed while Clementia put a hand over her mouth, poorly hiding the smile threatening to overtake it. "She's certainly doing something, but helping…? And, even if she is, what about the rest?"

"Perhaps give the other little ones some tasks," I offered as Phalia ran towards us, now proudly thrusting the basket before her. "There's vegetables to peel or if they want eggs, there will be a boiled and curried dish made for the gustatio course."

Uwe clicked his heels before bowing in a way that made my hackles rise and my tail stiffen. It had to be a coincidence that VioletBlood had found a Germanic family of kitsune to be my personal servants.

It had to be.

Moving to take care of the quarrelsome kits, Uwe stepped to one side to let the flouncing procession pass. Despite one having gotten the egg into her mouth, her compatriots were still trying to claim the prize.

"Countess, I brought the eggs!" Phalia claimed as she almost rammed the basket into my side. "Now make the melonbread! Please!"

"Shall I have them get the sugar?" Reinhild inquired, her expression utterly deadpan.

Horror crossed my face, both at the mental image of the kits – heads crammed fully into bags of confectioner's sugar, frosted faces tearing open the cans of cane sugar, and the resulting chaos – and at the more immediate concerns of trying to grab and secure a basket that had been clumsily thrust out into space far from my waiting hands.

"Thank you, but maybe you can get that Reinhild; you know the kind of sugar we'll need for the recipe. Brabant, can you have the other kits go with Uwe? I believe he has something fun for them to help with as well."

The two fox maids nodded while Phalia stomped a foot. "What about me?"

I gave her a smile as I put the basket on the counter. "Since you brought the eggs, you can help us make the sugared melon bread."

At that, Clementia gave me a smile. I shrugged a quick reply in return. Soon enough, there would be far more little ones in the manor house: my nieces, girls from the orphanage, and Visha's own little sisters.

"Does it have real melon?" Phalia asked as she tried to peer up onto the counter, thwarted by her diminutive height. I could keenly sympathize with her clear frustration.

"No," I said, before catching myself and looking around for an apple box for the kit to stand on.

Clementia gave me a questioning look. She had spent the last half hour filling a rather large bowl with fresh melon juice.

'Oh… right," I bit back a grimace, focusing on finding an apple crate the girl could use as a step stool to help bury my momentary embarrassment, "Yes, sorry Phalia. This bread does use winter-melons. I got it confused with another recipe."

"Which one?" she asked after stepping up to survey the readied ingredients, mixing bowls, and platters.

"Another bread recipe?" Clementia asked.

"What's it called?" the kit demanded, brimming with the boundless curiosity of youth.

I hesitated as Reinhild returned with the sugar and the rest of the recipe's ingredients. "Melonpan," I admitted; there was no need for secrecy. My preference for Paymorish and other Japanese inspired culinary styles was already well-known.

"Does that one have melons?" the young fox asked.

"Yes, does it?" Reinhild inquired.

"Uh.... no," I admitted as I double-checked the recipe and started cracking eggs to add to the flour Mother had already portioned out.

"Then why's it called melon... um... pam?" Phalia asked. The other two women looked at me with similar questions.

"Pan," I corrected softly, "and it has to do with how the top of the buns are scored. Reinhild, can you add the sugar?"

Phalia tilted her head, ears perking up. "The tops?"

"I'll show you." I offered once the batter was made. It was a rather large amount, but it could be portioned out, and we could each knead part of it. That would be okay, right?

"Oh, we'll make double melonbread?" Phalia cheered.

"I suppose we will," I agreed with a smile, and started instructing Phalia on how to kneed her portion.

The work passed easily, but Phalia seemed impatient when it came time to let the dough rest. Her tail flicked as she tried to will the bread to rise faster in the two large towel-covered bowls.

"We can help make the sugar frosting," I offered, which seemed to perk her up. I even took the risk of letting her lick the spatula once the frosting was ready.

The end result was a very giddy kitsune who was eager to run off to the rest of the litter and brag about her experience, and likely to snag some more eggs along the way. I did tell her that she would need to come back when it was time to make the buns so she could score the tops in the crisscross pattern that gave melonpan its name.

Reinhild smiled as she watched the girl leave. "You don't have to stay either, Ma'am. We've got plenty of help, and will be ready for the dinner."

"I'm not underfoot am I?" I quietly asked.

The maid shook her head. "You're fine, and... this is helping you?" she asked, lowering her voice.

"I'm not that nervous." I caught myself as my tail curled. "This is the first formal event I will attend as the countess of this county, and between showing myself off, I have to convince all the town movers and shakers that I will listen to their problems and find some solution for this whole railway thing. Nothing to be nervous about at all."

"It is a good thing you're doing," Mother Clementia said. "What about your Vs? Perhaps they could help occupy your time?"

I shook my head dismissing thoughts on if mother had a not-so-hidden meaning to her statement. "But then I'd be in their way."

Clementia looked to Reinhild. "They're busy?"

"Yes, Sister. Baroness VioletBlood is organizing things like the decorations, tables, chairs, and, oh yes, the drinks and refreshments."

"And Visha's making sure the grounds are set, with the garages and stables and the like," I said, thankful for their help.

Clementia smiled, violet eyes shining with pride. "You've done so well."

"I mean it's just organizing a big party; I've faced worse," I assured.

"I know, but that's..." Clementia slowly pulled me into a soft and warm embrace. "I'm just happy you've found such wonderful people in your life, people who make you happy."

I purred a bit and moved my own arms. I could feel my maid's light amusement and then heard the scrambling of little feet.

"I'm not too late am I?" Phalia said as she came running back, tail madly wagging.

"Oh no," I assured, pulling myself from Mother Clementia's arms, and ignoring the brief pang of loss that came with it. Like dragging oneself from a comfortable bed on a cold morning, some sacrifices had to be made.

The young fox climbed up onto the applebox. "Is it time to make the melon bread? Can I spread the sugar on it?"

I gave the young kit a soft sigh and ruffled her hair. "Why not?"

+++++

"Thank you for coming; it was wonderful to have you over," crooned VioletBlood in the voice ubiquitous to hostesses of a certain class as she waved a smiling farewell to an exiting councilwoman from her station at the front doors of my manor house.

Said front entrance opened through large double doors onto a fair-sized courtyard thankfully enclosed from the weather. Glassed over by the buildings surrounding it, the courtyard sported the requisite fountain which stood proud in the center of the circular drive that promenaded into and out from the mostly symbolic gatehouse standing opposite the main doors. Flanking the courtyard to the gatehouse's left were the main kitchens, servants' quarters, storage rooms, and some of the guest accommodations. Opposite that stretch of utility buildings were the mostly disused stables, the garages, and a connecting portico with a spur leading to the chapel.

Fortunately, the sky beyond the glass had cleared as the sun went down, and while the night was crisp, there was no rain and, if the windsock up on the rooftop were any indication, little wind, thus affording a view from the courtyard of the handful of stars, moons, and glittering planets capable of overcoming the light streaming from the windows of the main house.

Not that any rain or wind would have mattered to my guests, not under the aegis offered by the finest products of Bovitar's glassworks. I'd even managed to acquire some freshly installed replacement panes, but the fair weather meant everyone was able to make it here in time regardless. The column of cars and carriages lining the courtyard had steadily decreased as the night wound down and our guests had taken their leave.

"It was a wonderful evening!" the councilwoman enthused, with an aristocratic affection gamely trying to match VioletBlood's own. "You simply must tell me where you got that mulsum you served! The wine half was sweeter than I was frankly expecting, while still remaining adequately musky, but it went well with the honey half. Were the bees that made it fed on lilacs?"

"Oh, that must be the bottle at promulsis?" VioletBlood asked as if she hadn't committed the wine list to memory hours in advance, referring to the first course of the night. It was less of a formal course and more of a cocktail hour where guests could mingle and get to know each other before taking their reclined seats in preparation for the meal service.

"That delightful vintage is actually from Mursam! We brought it back after serving the Imperatrix, and, yes, I understand that the vinters use only local grapes and honey. The honey is actually from the same winery, you know! Quite synergistic, a vineyard with an in-house apiary. I'm sure the bees involved help pollinate the grapes as well as feeding on meadow flowers or something equally pastoral." On that dismissive note, VioletBlood waved away her self-manufactured cloud of trivia before favoring the councilwoman with a bright and conspiratorial smile that radiated pointed sincerity against the local society matron's manufactured joy. "Though, that is also the vineyard where my Countess gets her vinewood rods, you know..."

I gave my fiancee a quelling glare. Predictably, it bounced off VioletBlood's armor of impervious, and imperious, confidence without leaving a mark, much like said rods.

"Oh, to be a young and discipline-minded centurion! Countess, your fiancee is a lovely young woman, don't keep her on too tight of a leash," the councilwoman gushed, her tone unctuous as she turned from me back to LoveBlood. I thought I detected a note of relief in her voice at an excuse to shy away from the Baroness's fixed and pointed enthusiasm. "The first table was very… hearty, and the wassail and sugared melon-bread were a delightful end to the night! You have shown such a youthful and yet utilitarian meal. And such an adorable crisscross pattern on top of the bread!"

Adorable? Adorable...!

"I am very proud of her," I said, smiling pleasantly and very much not gritting my teeth as VioletBlood squeezed herself closer to me. The petticoats to my redhead's gown threatened to consume me, not to mention the way her lacy top was overflowing my arm. It was a good distraction to pull my mind away from the indignant fury blossoming in my chest.

Visha stood on my other side in a sleek evening dress with a velvet bodice and matching vest. While she did not cling limpet-like to me, her posing and warm smile made it obvious that she was playing up her part as well.

Loath to disappoint my Vs, I tried to keep the charm up as well, forcing joviality into my voice with all the coercion of a pistol's snubbed nose grinding into the back of a skull. "It was just fantastic to have you over for our little soiree, Madam Councilor. Hopefully, we can move forward with less… unpleasantness."

"Less unpleasantness?" the councilwoman mouthed, not quite giving voice to her incredulity. Despite this, the intent of her message was clear as she turned to give the drow matriarch's waiting carriage a meaningful look. With its heavy curtains pulled tight even now, well after sunset, the silver and ebony conveyance brooded from its place among the less distinguished carriages lining the courtyard's drive. Between its dark lacquer, the intricate carvings thrumming with enchantments, and the vast cart-spider squatting between its traces, the drow vehicle was unrivaled in its exotically eye-catching appeal.

The spider had come as something of a… surprise. I had never before encountered an arachnid with a shoulder height comparable to a Clydesdale, but light conversation during the reception had informed me that the creature had very good traction on the cold ground. Besides, I had been assured, the breed's vigor in the winter weather, as well as its great size, was proof that the steed had vanishingly little in common with lesser spiders, and that attacks by properly attended cart-spiders on sapients were quite rare. Despite all that, the draft animal remained an eight-legged horror whose fangs and eight glittering eyes endowed its large abdomen with an unmistakable menace a match for the carriage it pulled.

"Oh, Lady Silk is adorable," Visha gushed. "The grooms were spoiling her during the dinner. Her driver even let the kits ride her!"

I blinked at the mental image of young kitsune riding the giant spider-creature. "Did anyone get pictures?" I asked.

"I certainly hope they did!" the councilwoman laughed, with what sounded like genuine sincerity. Maybe she found the giant man-eating spiders cute? Well, it shouldn't come as a terrible shock to me that these crazy cannibal demons found common cause with enormous arachnids. "It would be a most amusing sight, a fox atop a spider! Ah, I suppose we should count ourselves blessed that the drow are so… cooperative."

"It's all about finding the right incentives," I stated, recalling the huntress RainsFord Songstress's ominous assertions.

But, those were neither here nor there, and I still had my role to play. So, I bowed my horns and smiled again at the politico. "Thank you for your own cooperation; I am trying my best to accomplish as much as I can with the limited time I have here. Your assistance is greatly appreciated."

"As is your humility, a match for the humility of your other mother." The councilwoman's expression softened, perhaps in a moment of rare sincerity, as she looked up at Mother Clementia, who was also seeing off people.

"Indeed, Countess," the councilwoman continued bowing her horns to us and looked up at the manor house. Just inside, the household staff, minus the valets and grooms of course, and my own maids, were lined up, having seen the guests out. "It does seem that you have taken our Duchess's teachings well."

"I try," I said, affecting a casual air. After coming back from the county seat, the afternoon and evening had been a hectic storm of preparations for a party of merely a couple dozen. Calibrating just the right level of luxury had been very trying, as I had to consider my own social, religious, and military status, not to mention the same of all my guests.

Thankfully, I'd had all the help that could be offered by the combined forces of Reinhild, Alexi, my sister, VioletBlood, and of course, an entire troop of servants.

"So, I believe congratulations are in order for your achievement in creating a more... accessible fare," the councilwoman said, returning to form with an insult poorly hidden behind honeyed words. "It should certainly put our more… down to earth guests at ease," she added before going to her own motorcar. "Tah, Countess!"

Much as a caustic retort bubbled up in my throat, I held my tongue with an ease of practice born from many meetings with Upper Management. Be the hierarchy corporate or military, one didn't climb far up it if they snapped at every petty insult or obstinate buffoon. If nothing else, you'd quickly run out of time to get anything else done. Though, by the way VioletBlood squeezed my arms, I could tell my Baroness was only barely holding herself back from making a comment about county councilwomen who put on airs by using county assets to ape at having a personal driver and towncar. I should be happy that my fiancee had decided to not take Offense at the other woman's actions and challenged her here and now.

"It's almost over," Visha murmured behind a bright, somewhat glassy smile.

I nodded, drew renewed energy from the prospect that soon the night would be over, and returned to the task of seeing the last of the guests out. Soon, thankfully, the drive around the fountain would stand empty and I could wipe the forced smile from my face and collapse into bed. Though, I knew that was a lie.

"Bad form," VioletBlood murmured disdainfully from behind a bright smile once the councilwoman's, or more accurately the county's, motorcar began to drive off. "But what can one expect from a jumped up tally-woman, whose sole qualification is her skill at selling empty platitudes to nervous guilders? Not to mention, her accomplishments in lording over her lessers from the palisade of her out-of-date dresses and gaudy vanity glasses."

Visha put a hand over her mouth and managed to keep her tail from swishing too much.

I simply raised an eyebrow.

Reading my skeptical attitude, LoveBlood purred. "I have standards, my Countess. It's poor sport to badmouth those who aren't players in the great game and shows a lack of imagination in the art of cutting remarks."

"Does it now…?" I replied slowly, still more than a little suspicious of her sudden antipathy for the councilor, given what I knew of my Baroness's habits.

"Of course!" she insisted energetically, wings puffing up in her fervor, "Why, it'd be like claiming oneself to be a great game hunter, when all one ever does is shoot squirrels with a lance battery! What kind of lady could take pride in merely crushing rodents under foot when any true demoness knows that our glory lies in the skies? Indulging in petty cruelties is a weakness of character! Such munitions should be spared for deserving targets."

"Fair enough," I said, acceding to her superior social acumen and bowing my horns.

Stepping backwards as we continued to wave our last goodbyes, the tall wooden double doors came to a thumping close, shielding us from the night and whatever strays might still be lingering in the courtyard. Turning around, I faced the foyer where the servants waited. I frowned, not seeing Mother or Lares, but pressed on. Their absence was no reason to be rude to the staff or to hold them to their stations after a tiresome evening. "Good job everyone. I think we survived that dinner party."

For a moment, I hesitated, wires forged across several all too different yet all too similar lifetimes crossed awkwardly, and I nearly curtseyed. Fortunately, before I made a fool of myself, I remembered that I was wearing pants. The dark outfit with its matching jacket and vaguely military cut was preferable to a gown, and thankfully my Vs were more than willing to let me wear it.

There was a weary cheer from the staff; thus dismissed, most of them wasted no time and dispersed. Reinhild approached and curtsied. "Ma'ams, if it pleases you, refreshments are waiting in the drawing room."

I felt a bit ill. Despite the meal only having two official courses, first table and second table, there had also been two appetizers, the aforementioned light refreshments whilst mingling of the promulsis and then the gustatio enjoyed while I reclined with my Vs playing full hostess. Not to mention the soup and dessert courses. The idea of eating still more food seemed like a gluttonous indulgence at this point, and might actually risk the buttons on my jacket.

"Lead on," VioletBlood said before I could find a way out of Reinhild's thoughtfulness, taking my arm and wrapping her tail around mine. Clearly, she had her own hedonistic ideas of a nightcap and my presence was integral in them.

Forming a small procession, we went down the hallway and past the dining room, where a handful of waitresses were still bussing away plates, serving trays, and glasses.

Gibbs was waiting by the drawing room door, sipping from a small glass of a familiar dark red liquor. She and the other Ritualista had found very logical, sensible, but ultimately, polite, excuses to avoid the dinner party. However, demonstrating the true wisdom of the Optio Syndicate, they had most assuredly managed to finagle helpings of the same food and drink being served at the party they had so neatly dodged.

I did not begrudge them their good fortune; exemption from such dog and hellpony shows was a cherished treat in the Legions, and one they had more than earned.

"How was your evening?" I asked after waving off her salute.

"High-quality food eaten in peace and quiet almost makes up for dealing with your sister flouncing around my fruit cellar," Gibbs replied acerbically, "almost..."

I let the "my" comment slide and focused on the issue at hand. "RedWing didn't take apart any of the suits, did she?"

Years of long-suffering experience with officer peccadilloes and noble eccentricities went into a single sour expression that twisted across Gibbs's lean face. "Barely."

"Oh?" I reluctantly pressed, really not wanting to hear more while feeling like it was my duty to handle the situation now, before any real discontent could bite.

"Doctrix RedWing has, at the very least, a lick of sense in her head. No full tear downs or daft demands, but damned if your sister wasn't prying and poking into anything that didn't 'technically' cross any red lines," Gibbs groused. "I have enough work on my plate already with certifying a trio of suits, not to mention making them ready for a new refit standard. The new power systems are an improvement but MuArc made changes to the operating procedures. I don't have time to indulge anybody's curiosity."

"I'll have a word with her," I assured.

Gibbs managed to make taking a sip from her glass express skepticism about how efficacious my word would be.

"At least you're no longer complaining about how your mask is still being worked on," VioletBlood offered.

I looked up at her and narrowed my eyes. The redhead's tail stilled. Visha preemptively and unfairly winced. "I do not complain," I firmly stated. "Besides, I have been quite patient. Progress is being made! Honestas and SapphireFiligree finished their work! Surely,MuArc must nearly be done performing the final calibrations needed for the fitting. It will be sent here soon, I'm sure of it! It must be. I need that mask here, I can't have just two active suits! I mean... I want to fly too."

Part of me was idly curious as to how Honestas had repaired my mask. The cracks were numerous and wide. But part of me was just as worried that the repairs would be gaudy or simply smooth the faceplate over. Honestly, I wasn't sure which would be worse.

"We can wait for you. It is frustrating, but isn't it part of some early holiday present?" Visha added soothingly, sensing my disquiet.

"It's not that hard," Gibbs murmured, not particularly helpfully. "The cosmetic parts of the face-plate shouldn't have much effect on the instrumentation, display, and survival systems. I could do the calibration tests and set up the flight trials myself."

She was right. Why was I getting so worked up about a mere cosmetic affectation? It was just a mask.

"And I could help," Doctrix RedWing declared as she glided towards us, her purple gown swishing and bobbing.

"Ma'am," Gibbs said, using that word as a shield deployed by lower ranks against their superiors since time immemorial.

Caught up in the professor's silken wake was someone in that awkward age that bridged the gulf between older broodlings and young women. She had curly pastel red hair, light purple skin, and elegant wings with extra glossy dark blue feathers that fanned out behind her.

As we both used the same shampoo and wing-care regimen, I could do little to fault the young lady's grooming habits. Her wings certainly didn't measure up to the likes of Fabia's, or even Invidia's lustrous coat, but given the girl's youth I suppose that was to be expected.

The woman's green eyes practically glowed with a haughty intensity that mostly covered her apprehension. The family resemblance between Lady LavenderFang and Baroness VioletBlood was blatantly obvious.

"Cousin," VioletBlood smiled as she pulled herself closer to me.

I kept my irritation to myself. While I could understand LoveBlood's pride, which was one of her defining features, it was somewhat... unseemly for my fiancee to lord her relationship status over to someone several years her junior. Especially as she had done the same thing only hours before when LavenderFang had arrived at the estate.

"Cousin. Countess," LavenderFang bowed her horns to us.

"Are we going to chew the tallow out here or will we withdraw to the drawing room?" RedWing inquired.

Diffidently, Reinhild stepped aside and opened the door into the drawing room, revealing an intimate interior, especially when compared to the cavernous dining room. The room was cosy with a collection of low tables, comfortable leather chairs, and shelves partially full of books and curios. The emptied shelves were enough to show that the previous Countess of Larium had taken a few of her favorite books and knick-knacks with her before she... vacated the position. Though, it was still a more public-facing place than the manor's study or the reading room in my personal chambers.

Sadly, I had yet to acquire replacement knick-knacks to occupy the shelves. My few decorations were back on Mursam, and what I had brought with me personally barely filled a single shelf in the private writing room adjacent to my personal chambers upstairs. At least the study, with its connected library across the main hall down by the solarium, was serving as a reference and soon-to-be map room.

If I could survive another decade and a half in the Legions to safely retire, this would all be mine... mine to share with my Vs, should I manage to keep them alive through all the hells High Command and fate will demand of us.

I managed well enough with the 203rd during the bloodiest war in that humanity's history to date, I told myself. Technically, House BlackSky isn't even engaged in a proper war yet. We should be fine.

I pointedly avoided thinking about just how much could change in fifteen years, or how I had not personally survived said war.

The fire merrily burning in the drawing room's hearth added enough heat to make the room cozy and pushed back the faint cigar smell from the previous Countesses. For a moment, I had a flashback of smoky rooms full of imperial officers indulging in their vices. Fortunately, while the officers of my current life were hardly unwilling to smoke, due to a demon's more sensitive noses, smoking rooms were generally considered courteous.

Another two maids were already in the room. Their tails flicked as they busied about with a tea service, coffee carafe, liquors, and a platter of petit fours. I had relied on Reinhild and Loveblood to augment my estate with more assistants, and at this point it seemed I had hired something close to Reinhild's whole extended family. They all did good work, and it wasn't as if the manor did not have the space to spare, so having them bring their kits around and give them their own room for the dinner was an appropriate reward.

Sitting in an armchair sized for his frame, I had to admit that Lares looked surprisingly dapper in his pinstriped tunic and tooled belt. He sipped from a teacup that looked like an espresso shot glass in his immense hands and held a tiny plate with an even tinier chocolate pastry added to the image.

Amiably chatting, Mother Clementia sat in a chair across from him. "Hello, daughter. Please come and join us."

A weight lifted from my shoulders as I entered the drawing room.

I sat down on a low-backed loveseat next to mother's chair with my Vs taking their places on either side of me. I stretched my wings a bit to let them hang over the seat-back. The others in the hallway, including my Seneschal Alexi, filed in, the maids flitting around between them and pressing drinks and refreshments into unresisting hands. The informal air of the room was, in part, aided by the light enchantments carved into the hardwood wainscoting, designed to fill the space with an aura of general good-feeling. Even Lares seemed more at ease in the well-crafted wooden room.

Taking a moment to enjoy the coffee presented before me, I watched as everyone settled down. Only a bare fraction of the people who had been at the dinner had followed me to this gathering in the drawing room, but while those at the dinner had been my guests, these were people I trusted... and also VioletBlood's cousin.

After sipping her herbal bitters and fortified wine digestif, my fiance put down her sherry glass. "I would say that was an informative party, no? I, for one, learned that the ranchers actually have some valid concerns. Thankfully, they also seem amenable to some sort of negotiation. And are eager for shorter drives and quicker transport to market. What will be done to keep livestock from wandering on the tracks, I wonder?"

I frowned at the mental image of a cow evaporating into red mist. "That is a… concern. The cost in lost livestock alone would be far from insignificant without some sort of measures to keep grazing herds well away from the tracks, and that's not even getting into the potential hazards of train accidents."

RedWing crossed her legs. "Your party was a good start, but you should know that the guests only represented certain interests, not the full strata of the county's movers and shakers. Still, whatever they mentioned to you tonight should be good enough to get a sense of the winds. A start, at least."

"I didn't say that I had gleaned a full understanding of all possible complications, but I would say that tonight has certainly put me on the path to that goal," VioletBlood smugly said. "BrightWoods Lumber didn't send anyone tonight for starters, and there's a lot of the larger freeholders whose agendas remain mysterious, but for a first foray we have a good idea of who requires convincing and just what sort of coin they'll need to be paid in. All neatly noted down on my list, and the rest will follow suit soon enough."

I gave a glassy smile. Made with my seneschal's help, "the list" consisted of the five town councilwomen, the sheriff, the newspaper editor, the local church mother, the heads of the major lumber concerns, several of the major local ranchers, the guild mistresses, various village mayors, and some other noteworthies. "And your conclusions?"

"Do you want the maids to bring in the chalkboard from the study so I can put out the whole list? I'll note that we've got a lot more people who are more neutral, or at least willing to be friendly or suck up for proper concessions. Few are hostile to you, but there's more who are worried about the railway."

I rubbed my forehead. "Yes, I picked up on that. The lumber concerns seem inclined to help, but all of the others uniformly want the rail lines to be near their lands while not actually crossing their domains."

"So it goes. People want the convenience of the railroad but without all the noise, loss of land, and potential danger." RedWing sipped her brandy.

"But striking a balance won't be impossible, I think. Given some deft negotiation and perhaps a few incentives spiced with cajoling, we might yet reach a desirable settlement. Or, as My Countess might say, a mutually beneficial arrangement," VioletBlood teased. "But if we do, it will only be after we all put in the work necessary to sort out the notables of your county."

I frowned, wondering what kind of cajoling Lady RainsFord or Miss Crow might get up to if the various residents of Larium County proved intractable.

"My people are skeptical, but today's route change to avoid much of our lands will allay many of their concerns," Lares's sonorous voice intoned.

"But not all of them?" I asked.

"Many would prefer no railroad at all, but we know how industrious your folk are." Lares gave us all a pointedly unimpressed look over his cup. "As compromises go, it could be worse..."

I inclined an inquisitive eyebrow.

My seneschal, Alexi, cleared her throat. "The concern among the Forest People is if they compromise and lease out part of their ancestral lands this one time, then what about ten years down the line? Twenty? Forty?"

"The elders fear that their holdings could be nibbled into nothingness, paper ownership of paper forests, and we will be driven into the mountains... or worse, to the cities," Lares looked into his cup. "Well… I say driven, but I don't think any of us expect it would be so peaceful."

"Meanwhile, the drow won't even pretend to entertain the prospect of being given new lands in compensation," Alexi reminded us.

"Not that I even had lands elsewhere to offer," I sighed.

"Mother does," RedWing stated, grinning at my discomfort. "Not that that helps. No one here is willing to trade relatively green and fertile forested lands for the rocky edges of the Lesser Romwells."

I frowned in thought. "Are they truly that worthless, though? The foothills of the Romwells, I mean. Many places have at least something of value…"

RedWing laughed. "Oh, little sister, Mother has far more fertile lands, but she'd need a reason to offer up anything of any real value to her, wouldn't she?" She paused, a painted nail on her lip as she reconsidered, "Well... maybe she might be willing to sacrifice a few of her choicer fiefs to help you… She can, after all, be quite generous."

The professor's presence was proof enough of that. "No, it's not that. I was thinking. Mountain terrain might just as well have valuable mineral deposits as it could have bedrock too solid to easily excavate and water tables so low that you couldn't flood a wine cellar. I wonder... has anyone done a survey of the stability or depth of the Drow's tunnels? That sort of information could be quite useful, should we find an occasion to assemble a compensation package for a land swap…"

Lares gave me a dim look as he put his cup down, "Do you really think the Drow of all people would allow outsiders that kind of privileged information, Countess?"

"I didn't mean to pry," I said, taking his warning and backing off, "I was thinking… how am I to offer them an acceptable trade for what they have, if I don't even know the value of their current holdings?"

"That's probably on purpose," Lares grumbled, "if you had a mutual understanding of what each other could offer and wanted in return, then you might actually be able to play fair."

I frowned, but nodded in acquiescence, "I see your point. Still… good lands for tunneling and making large caverns has to be worth something to them, right?"

"I thought the railway wasn't going to cut through their village?" LavenderFang asked, glancing at her cousin for confirmation.

"I told you we should have brought a big map down here," VioletBlood said as she leaned her head on my shoulder.

"We don't even have a big map yet!" I cried.

I was still rather annoyed about that. I'd been really looking forward to having one again, but it turned out that getting a high quality and accurate map to this region at such a scale was far more complicated than it seemed.

"I've commissioned several; they should ship from a printer in Bovitar in two days," Reinhild assured.

"That wasn't the issue," LavenderFang gave an imperious pout. "Why are you so accommodating to the knife-ears?"

I gave the young noblewoman's own pointed ears a dry look. "They have holdings beyond their village," I carefully stated. "The land leases they can demand for water crossings in the northern part of the county are a major complication by itself. Or DarkStar's Blood, they could build the bridges themselves and set up tolls instead. Yes... the Drow would prefer a toll." I thought, the idea gaining appeal in my mind. "A lease cedes over the land, but at toll concedes transit. And by building their own bridge, the Drow would showcase their skills in stonework and construction, without revealing the secrets of their holdfasts."

As I had VioletBlood make a note of that idea, LavenderFang gave a petulant sigh.

"You're thinking of offering them land to mine and excavate?" Mother Clementia asked.

"If they can't dig very deep here, then maybe a deal can be made for more lands," I commented. "Particularly if those lands came with mineral rights."

"Unless they're satisfied with the caverns they have here. It's clear that they have enough hatchery space to grow their steeds," my mother countered.

"Those spiders need a lot of fodder, mostly tunnel grubs," Lares pointed out as his cup was refilled.

"I heard those are a staple food, and if prepared right can be good but... what do the grubs feed on?" Visha inquired while VioletBlood gave a disdainful sniff, which her cousin copied an instant later.

"They're... tolerable, I suppose. Proper preparation and the right spices can help," Lares shrugged. "And mostly the grubs are fed on detritus, other plant litter, and other compost and biomass. Tending those beetles isn't glamorous work, but it does give them another food supply."

I nodded along. "What about mushrooms?"

Lares sipped his refilled cup. "Aye, I asked around and they do sell a bunch of fodder mushrooms, bulk stuff that may not be your interest."

I shrugged. "I'm still working out a business plan."

"They also have some specialty mushrooms used as spices, medicinal and recreational. However..." His massive shoulders rose and fell. "I doubt they'd be willing to share the cultivation of such profitable strains."

"They're mushrooms – can't you just... take their product and harvest the spores?" LavenderFang asked.

"Depends," Lares grunted and waggled a large hand. "Processed product, the dried and ground variety, are unlikely to produce viable spores. Even if you get viable spores, the real cash crops for the Drow aren't the kind of mushrooms you can just toss in a dark pit and drip feed. Half the value in them is the particular cultivation method they've figured out. One they take care to keep secret."

"We'll put a pin in that. Maybe they have distribution issues," I sighed.

"Do you think the drow will be a problem?" Visha asked.

"They could be," I nodded, thanking her for moving the conversation along. "RainsFord is already working on them but that might not be productive."

"The hunter?" LavenderFang looked to her cousin, who nodded.

"Ah, more of the... 'experts' the railroad hired," Mother Clementia frowned as she brushed my feathers. I leaned back, relishing the contact. "Still it is good that you're looking out for the people of your county."


"It is just a matter of sensible politics," RedWing explained. "Upsetting a certain percentage of the locals has the risk of forming long lasting grudges, perhaps even giving rise to organized factions who could make things difficult for a long time to come."

"And we do want to enjoy your county," VioletBlood purred.

I smiled contentedly, but LavenderFang cleared her throat and bowed to my syster

The professor then gave an approving nod to the youngest noblewomen in the room. "True, Lady and Baroness, but this is why you have outsiders come in to do the dirty work. They can even be taken out afterwards or hung out to dry to give the locals a sense of justice if needs be."

LavenderFang smiled at the approval as her wings rustled. I knew that Zephyr were amused by feathers, and the room was practically filled with the flighty spirits.

Standing up to brush the other wing, Mother Clementia's frown deepened. "Is that where we are?"

"Not unless our hands are forced. A mutually beneficial agreement for all sides would be ideal," I smiled at the "we", having my mothers', both of them, support in this endeavor was a relief. "Besides, I may have gotten the measure of RainsFord earlier today, but the other two are still a mystery."

RedWing looked into her brandy glass and swirled the dark liquid. "Our Mother Duchess also had her concerns."

"Which is why I want this as a group effort. You all have an insight and experience to this situation," I said, broadening my smile. That may have been a slight exaggeration, at least with VioletBlood's cousin, but no reason to not sweeten the pot. "Alexi has had the longest experience having lived here."

From her seat off to the side, not quite with the dutifully waiting servants, my seneschal nodded. She was an unprepossessing woman, but I knew enough to be wary of demonesses who were comfortable taking a demure and unremarkable form. "I have simply helped the Baroness fill in her list," said the quiet steward, playing down her contributions, "adding a few notes to the maps and surveys you brought with you was really the extent of my assistance. Still, there's also other land improvements we can use to entice the locals to cooperate with the railroad. Tax deductions for wells or the like in return for a land lease, or perhaps a property tax credit for the next two collections."

I bowed my horns to her. "You are too humble. After all, you will be speaking for me and shouldering this responsibility in the new year when duty calls me back offworld."

"Such is the burden of command," Doctrix RedWing sympathetically said.

"I do wish I had gone to university instead," I sighed. "Perhaps then I could have stayed closer to home."

My sister's smile sharpened. "My dear fledgling, university life would bore you."

"I liked the Silvana War College," I countered.

"Of course you did! Universities have three purposes: expanding and teaching advanced technical or arcane vocational skills, containment facilities for our strategic reserve of artists, and daycare for idle noblewomen who think themselves too modern for proper finishing schools." Her bright eyes sparkled with mirth. "Now which of the three do you think the War College falls under?"

"For the Fleet or the Legions?" VioletBlood asked with a smirk.

Her comment was met with polite laughter.

"Yes, the old girls club of all those balloon-headed shipies," RedWing sipped her glass. "Though they do look dashing in Fleet whites."

"Teaching isn't that bad is it?" I asked, frown tugging at my lips.

Not pausing in her brushing, Mother Clementia gave a beatific smile. "Every broodling is a precious gift and a joy to teach."

I idly wondered if my mother had ever gambled. I glanced at Visha who, curled up on my side, was the picture of demonic purity.

"Alas, I do not instruct broodlings," Redwing took a small pastry from an offered tray. "But by the time I get students, most of the dullards who can't inscribe a rune or calibrate a basic thaumaturgic valve have been weeded out."

Gibbs snorted at that. "I still maintain most arcane undergraduates should go through legion artificer school first."

"True words, Centurion Ritualista," my sister nodded.

Sipping from her plain mug, Gibbs looked around as if she were surveying each of us before her cynical eyes fell upon me. "Ma'am, you have said we all have a role in your little council. Dare I ponder mine."

I met her gaze. "Suzette, you and your women are here to maintain options. In case fate decides to add some… flare to my leave, I want to have options."

+++++

The rail line's inexorable northward march was marked by new stations which popped up, mushroom-like, along the tracks. Switchbend was still the logistical hub for this effort, but in the last month of the 432nd year of the Fourth Epoch, it was no longer the northern terminus.

Twenty miles north of Switchbend was the village of Craw Holler. South of my county, the unnotable settlement was little more than a bump in the turnpike, a vague nub of civilization lost in the shadow of the piney hills that were the final eastern-most topological ghosts of the Romwel Alps.

The same geography that had routed the trading road through this valley also guaranteed that it would be, if not ideal, then certainly necessary for the railroad to likewise follow the topography and pass on through the sleepy and slightly-shabby little town.

Reinhild hung close to me, seemingly suspicious of the local folk. I was less paranoid. Practically every storefront was freshly painted, and most bore the signs of recent additions. The local inn, for instance, had clearly added a whole new floor only recently. And if the cheap paint was put on with more exuberance than skill, and some of the windows were already a bit crooked, well... I could appreciate their eagerness.

There was more than the sawdust of new construction in the air; Craw Holler was eager to accept everything the railroad had to offer. The station before us was small but tried to make up for it with bunting and banners.

"You seem disquieted?" I remarked as one of Reinhild's nieces waved before turning to park the motorcar off the main street.

Tails swishing, the kitsune gave a slight tilt of her head as she scanned the crowd. While her emotions seemed generally calm, there was a slight anxiety to her movements. "I've been to towns like this before," she quietly said.

I nodded as the wooden steps creaked under our feet as we entered the humble station. "It's a stop on the road, well, on the rails now."

"Indeed, Countess, and we both know they make their coin from travelers. Some places may not be so... reputable about how they go about it," she cautioned in a low voice and, diffidently and discreetly, straightened the fall of my coat.

I chuckled. "Noted. We'll avoid the bars, second hand shops, and any form of wagering."

Reinhild bowed her head. "I just ask for caution." From her tone, I could tell she was debating her decision to leave a driver with the caravan and a motor lorry. Sure, hill-folk might have stripped the vehicles for parts as soon as they were out of our sight, but she'd prefer to have another kitsune to help watch my back.

Can you truly blame our faithful servant? The prideful and prim voice purred in my mind. Having to replace a mere motorcar would be far less of a disgrace for the Fox than having to replace her mistress. And we, more than anyone else, should know well that no one is invincible.

Not even the so-called Gods.

Shaking my head, I stepped aside to study the train schedule nailed above the ticket booth. I had enough noblewomen whispering in my ear; I didn't need my paranoid mind to conjure up another.

With a stove stoked too high to compensate for drafts, the overly warm waiting room remained fairly busy with a bunch of waiting travelers lingering about and a surprising number of newspaper stands and food stalls crowding its walls. The enticing scent of cheap sausages in a bun, where the smell was by far the tastiest part, did a good job of overpowering the smell of fresh paint.

A handful of women, who by their predatory but ingratiating expressions, snappy suits, and feathered hats had to be saleswomen of some kind, lurked in a knot by the door to the lavatory, peering at the crowd like buzzards wondering which antelope was most sickly. I wondered what flim-flamery they purveyed. Maybe they were selling railway disinfectant to nervous travelers, electric bath aides, or knocker-uppers for work people. Regardless, they were sampling the sausage-seller's wares. I suppose like appreciated like, and that no carrion-eater could resist such a succulent selection of questionable meat.

When no horde of pickpockets immediately descended upon us, Reinhild seemed to relax a bit. "Hopefully the train's not late." I could understand her attitude. The reason I was here with just one servant was the same reason Reinhild would shortly be joined by more servants: there was only so much room in even a stretched touring car.

"The train's tardiness can hardly be the fault of the locals…" I noted, and pulled a pocket watch out of the vest I wore over my dress. The gilded and engraved lid opened with a satisfying click as I depressed the release, revealing a tiny masterwork of functional beauty. Judging by that masterwork, whose mechanisms were precise to the point that only seconds should be lost per century, the station clock was a full three minutes fast.

Allowances, I supposed, not bothering to conceal my frown as I tucked my watch back away, must be made for provincials. Sometimes, at least.

"As you say," Reinhild politely stated. Her admonishment that I should carry a handbag went unstated. It was old hat by this point. She remained loudly silent as she followed me out from the waiting room and onto the covered platform. Above our ears, tin roofing groaned in the wind like a legionnaire with a split hoof. There was a second platform but, without any stairs, the half-built structure was inaccessible.

The tracks stretched far in either direction. To my left, they went south all the way to Switchbend, to Bovitar, and from there, to practically anywhere else on Diyu. To the right, the line left Craw's Holler behind and rose up around a cutting, where the tracks stopped but the clearing continued, a railroad without rails.

The weather was proving less blustery than I expected. Perhaps it was all the waiting people holding their breath in anticipation for the dawdling train, capturing a share of the wind in their collective lungs. They were not quite crowding the yellow line painted on the platform's wooden planks but they clustered behind it like gamehens, bodies plumped out with downy jackets against the cold. Those planks squeaked incessantly every time I took a step or some other waiting figure shifted their weight, a clear sign of inexpert joinery. My frown deepened when I looked up and heard the poles holding up the roof creak even louder.

Speed, it seemed, had trumped quality in every aspect of the station's construction.

At least something had been uniform in its erection.

"Now, now, Countess. Do not begrudge these proud folk their eagerness," a familiar voice crooned, far too close for comfort.

Hackles raised, I turned with deliberate slowness to see the Lady from the Railroad standing behind me, no doubt hoping to make me start into motion with her unexpected closeness. As usual, the blonde was turned out in glossy red and charcoal black.

"Ma'am," I inclined my head to her, careful to keep my nerves under wraps. "What brings you here?"

Beside me, Reinhild offered a polite, if stiff-tailed, bow. Her vulpine eyes, I noted, had dilated wide, every hunter's nerve locked in the careful observation of the Lady in glowing coals and soot.

"Why, progress, my dear Countess!" The red-eyed woman spread her arms. "What else brings the steel road anywhere, save the promise of progress towards a brighter future? But, in this particular case, I have come to celebrate the opening of this: a new station on my associate's line!"

She beamed at her announcement, the Lady from the Railroad, ruby lips stretched wide in a generous smile, materteral delight twinkling in her eyes like an old aunt letting a beloved niece in on some shared joke. She flashed me a wink that I immediately mistrusted, more than if it came from one of those saleswomen, and offered me an arm to guide me down the platform. "What do you think, Countess?"

"It's very…" I pursed my lips and chose my words carefully. Something told me to tread lightly around the woman whose arm, around which my own was wrapped, had all the give of steel in it, and whose heat I could feel even through the thick material of her jacket. "New. Shouldn't these platforms and sidings be made from poured concrete, or at least from stone? The mason's guild does have codes."

Another pole squeaked and I looked up at the agonized roof, spine tingling with growing anticipation for… something. "Also, the wood for these poles and rafters looks a bit green. I'm not sure the tolerances properly accounted for the cold or the wind."

"All in due time Countess, all in due time! Yes, soon things will be 'on the level', as it were," the demoness enunciated carefully as if the phrase were of import, "But right now, the people of Craw's Holler want to strike while the iron is hot! While the iron is hot, while the timber is unseasoned, and while the scent of opportunity fills the air right alongside the scent of sawdust! Hence this limited early opening! Industry, enterprise, progress… I think these are all values we can both agree on, yes, Countess?"

Eying the overcast sky, I took back my arm from the Lady and pulled my wings in as the wind picked up. "Actions," I stated, "always come with costs."

The Railroad Demon's sunny smile turned sharp. "Oh Countess, how right you are! Safety codes are written in blood, after all. But too much timidity will not do, no, My Lady, it will not do at all! We must reach – reach! – to find the limit of our grasp. Do you deny the bold their freedom to choose and to strive? If they fail, they fail and others will learn from the example they set! But if they succeed..."

My wings ruffled as the crowd pressed in. At least by Diyu standards, and by the standards of a no-name town in a rural province, there were many passengers eager for the train's arrival. "'tis a worthy aspiration, to advance oneself and blaze new frontiers, but a wise entrepreneur is always careful about who they step on to climb up. The footing can be treacherous, when the ascent is over backs and heads… Sometimes, those whose backs the overly hasty and the incautious step upon might reach up to pull you down. Sometimes those climbing higher above might kick down, sending an unwary alpinist who ignored their ropes and their pitons bouncing back down the slope… Sometimes, thoroughness is its own reward."

Tail flicking, the blonde demon chucked, a smooth yet raspy sound that brought to mind both the exhalations of some great cat and the sighing of a hydraulic piston in motion. "Ah, is that why you made sure to craft your own tower from a pile of bones, My Countess? Quite wise. Quite wise. Bones, after all, seldom kick."

Behind us, Reinhild was doing her best to remain sensibly unobtrusive. If she could avoid dealing with the Railroad, or at least the individual embodying the authority of… some line or another, then she would.

From up the tracks, there was a distant chugging noise followed by the long wail of a train horn. The crowd thronging the creaking platform cheered, eager to trade the wind for the warmth offered by four stout if rattling walls. The painfully-earnest saleswomen in sharp suits and shiny shoes, with their hatboxes, suitcases, and other containers for their wares heaped at their sides, practically quivered with anticipation. Personally, I felt they were far too optimistic to think that the solution to all their problems was aboard that oncoming train.

A handsome-looking engine in the green livery of the Great Southern Railway company pulling a matching line of passenger cars raced towards us on the steel rails. Billowing coal smoke spread as if it were some cloud machine. For all our magical artifices, coal remained the queen of the rails, its sheer practicality hard to beat. Easy to mine, energy dense, plentiful, and relatively safe to handle compared to more exotic power sources, it was a convenient choice of fuel for the hungry firebox of a locomotive. I'm sure some researchers out there were looking into some kind of magical rails to power the trains, but today wasn't yet that day.

I supposed mother's escorts were flying above somewhere, hidden in the low cloud cover. Mother could have simply flown up to my manor house in her own RP, but her baggage would have to be picked up at this station regardless. Hence my presence at the station, and hence her arrival via the Railroad.

As the engine approached, a rattling vibration came up from the rails, and the whole platform quivered and flexed. My mind drifted to thoughts of flying with Mother. It had been far too long since we had last taken to the air together. Realizing I had been craning my neck to get a better view of the train, I took a step back from the yellow painted line, the huddled throng parting easily for me and my two companions. Practicalities aside, I certainly didn't need to be reminded that getting distracted was how "accidents" happened near the rails.

My horns practically buzzed from the radiant eagerness of the crowd. It was thick enough to slice and fry in a pan. Frankly, I was shocked that the locals didn't have a band playing. I had to step to one side to avoid being jostled by the traveling saleswomen, their eagerness to board overwhelming societal conventions around crowding others, not to mention the deference generally offered to anybody with rank or wealth enough to be accompanied by a personal servant.

Another whistling wail echoed, this time loud enough to cut through any other sound and warn all in its path. The rails began to sing with the conveyed echo of the wheels and, in the distance, what had been a faint smudge of potential suddenly became a rapidly approaching reality. The train had been easing on the throttle for miles, but that didn't change the fact that it was hundreds upon hundreds of tons of mass inexorably hurtling towards us.

As the vibrations grew, the poles holding up the roof creaked and groaned, a crowd of mourners absent a funeral. A sudden squeal of brakes broiling with friction cut through the air, an ear-splitting hiss shredding the bustling clamor of the platform. Roof supports and the platform trusses shuddered ominously in quaking chorus as the train decelerated.

Nothing too extraordinary, and nothing I could pinpoint, but after so many years spent across lifetimes revolving around the railroad, I could feel in my bones that something had gone wrong. For a moment the engine still seemed deceptively far away and it took me a moment that dopplered out into an agonizing eternity for the pieces to fall into place, for the situation to fully register.

There was something wrong with the brakes!

Panic clenched my chest, and like a child reaching for a safety blanket, I tried to use logic to salve my anxiety. There's still plenty of track to spare and there's nothing ahead of them. The rails are empty. Even if they are slow to stop, they could still bleed off enough momentum to… to…

I turned desperately to see if there was an alarm to pull, craning my head for an angle that afforded a full view of the platform's length, a warning on my lips as the magnitude of the situation came crashing down on me.

The train raced to the station far above speed, a thundering green giant hurtling through to suddenly fill the previously vacant space beyond that painted yellow line with furious vibrations and whistling screams. A loud crack came from somewhere below my feet. Something gave. Everything tilted as a long section of the platform collapsed towards the rails.

The saleswomen stumbled. One of their number, a shorter, green-haired one, hit Reinhild, bowling her over and knocking her down into the tangled, panicked crowd. Meanwhile, the taller saleswoman's heel caught in the cracked floor and she fell. I moved to catch her, when-

Crack!

Something knocked into my head. Stars burst across my vision. Thoughts scattered across the Spine as I went flying. An old, helpless fear spiked. I saw the train racing in as I was about to go past the yellow line and over the edge.

Time seemed to slow as I fell. Wings snapped out. My Zephyr rose up. The blinding light heralding my death drew ever closer.

It can't end like this, not again!

Then a hand shot out and grabbed my arm. Nails pressed into my flesh with an iron grip and I was hauled back from the precipice. Holding me upright, my heels firmly planted back onto the partially collapsed platform, the Lady from the Railroad stood perfectly poised on the tilted surface.

"We've done that once before, haven't we, Dear Countess? No need to retread old ground, I think." She smiled again, again letting me in on a joke shared only between us two, heedless of the screaming chaos. Her ruby lips were as sharp as a razor blade, as plump as a water-bloated corpse, and as red as blood so fresh the air hadn't time to darken it away into rust.

Her eyes were windows into hell, into a place where even demons could be sacrificed upon altars dedicated to the honor of a god far less merciful than any I had ever killed.

There is nothing, those machine eyes still twinkling with grandmotherly joy, as if she had found a favored broodling, seemed to suggest, that cannot be rendered into fuel for the engines of Progress..

The train roared past us, howling steel and shrieking steam trailing a deafening cacophony as certain death passed me by once again. Despite the deafening chaos of it all, the Lady's voice rang crystal clear.

"The same death an even number of times? Unlucky." She clicked her tongue and shook her head, that same coldly friendly grin on her face all the while, "No, no, we can't have that at all."

The engine, it transpired, overshot the station. It stopped eventually, coming to a trembling halt nearly a mile away, the rail cars almost outside of the town's furthest bound. In its wake were the screams of the scared, the wails of the hurt, and the silence of the dead.

With eyes as uncaring as the red safety signs warning passengers that a train was coming and not to cross the yellow line, the blonde demon stared me down. She knew.

She knew.

She was no Being X with sanctimonious impatience, no Uriel with his quiet plans! No... She was something else.

And she had read me like an open book.

A quartet of Ritual Plate plunged down from the clouds, breaking the moment stretched between us like spun glass. It was possible they had descended to reassert order and to carry off the injured, and most likely of all were a futile show of force, a demonstration of a Duchess's power in a place and at a time where a Duchess and a Countess had been brushed by the dragging trail of Death's own robe, but still I took comfort in their glinting, bellicose presence, no matter how symbolic or empty such force might be as a defense against the entity who held me aloft, and whose whim had just spared my life.

Giving the combat suits hardly a glance, the Lady from the Railroad studied the horror around us, her mockingly familiar smile replaced with an icy fury. Her gaze slipped past the mangled wounded and the scattered body parts that had been flung all over Craw Holler like ghastly garlands, dismissing all of them as beneath her care. Oh no, those pinpoint crimson eyes latched the platform itself and the engine in the distance with a searing intensity.

A gear, it seemed, had slipped in the drivetrain of Progress. Despite how close their mistake had come to costing me my life, I shivered, wings closing over my shoulders, when I thought of what would happen to the parties responsible for that blasphemy when this… avatar of the machine-god of unfettered, nay cancerous, growth found them.

"I... I should help the injured," I stated and motioned for Reinhild, who had climbed to her feet amongst the scrum of the fallen, seeming uninjured for her tumble. She had insisted on never traveling without a compact trauma kit and there was a larger one in the motor car's trunk.

I was about to call for a runner when the kitsune, who had already thrown her keys to the saleswoman who had knocked her over, ordered the women to run to fetch the kit, and to bring Reinheld's cousin back along with her. That is, if the other maid wasn't already running towards us.

"Do give your mother my best," said the Lady from the Railroad with a touch of her previous knowing jocularity, giving a little bow to me as if she had to leave a luncheon early. "I have to... bend the ear of some associates of mine."

There was nothing remotely friendly in those words, only a hiss like a boiler under too much pressure. Like some fell machine, the Lady strode out of the station untouched and unmoved by the tragedy writ in rent flesh around her, her shoes spotless, her wings practically smoldering with unconcealed rage..

Nodding, I mouthed some dull and automatic response to her parting, focusing instead on my Legionary trauma and triage training. Providing first aid was something I could do, at least until proper doctors or nurses could be found. My Zephyr were eager to help; they might not know too much about biology, but they were clever enough to realize that liquids belonged inside. I just had to keep the very good spirits from getting too exuberant.

With so many in pain and shock, my horns buzzed like wasps as I donned the gloves Reinhild offered and set numbly to work. My spirits only truly lifted when I felt Mother's approach. Glancing down the rails, I could see the Duchess and could distantly feel her concern and resolve. She was fast marching from the stopped train, her bodyguards and a number of passengers who had been drafted to help swept up in tow.

As Reinhild and I started to separate the quick from the dead and the living dead from those who could be saved, I tried to focus on what was in front of me and who I could help right now, with the resources I had on hand. For the moment, secrets could wait.

But not forever.

End Chapter 35

Well, that's a new complication

Thanks to Ahuva, DCG , ellfangor8 , Green Sea, Larc , Readhead, metaldragon868 , WhoWhatWhere, and ScarletFox for checking and editing this chapter And Special thanks to Readhead for polishing and adding that much more menace and intensity to the Railroad Lady. Also to Zeshara for the idea for the first scene. And for ScarletFox who once more has come up with the chapter title.

In good news, chapter 36 has been written and is being edited, and the two latest chapters of Bonding Allure have been edited and will be posted. I will also be working on new content to Bonding Allure, as the crossover with that and Little Demon is nearing. These revisions will bring Bonding Allure (and Return) more in line with the world building of Little Demon

More good news, I'm now up to a full dozen art pieces to be posted ( including ones of the Lady from the Railroad, broodlings, the Duchess's Ritual Plate, and some gowns) and I also have a handful of new Legionary ground vehicle designs. So you can expect a few Sabers Watch gifts.

 

[Sunshine Temple]

Merry Xmass, Happy Holidays, and a somber SBRs Watch.

Another year for Little Demon. It's been a pleasant surprise that it's gotten this much continued engagement and support. I'm thankful for all of you for reading, commenting and your continued interest. I know this is a bit of a niche story, let alone being an original setting, let alone what the setting is like. Once again thank you all readers new and old.

Edit: Oh, I'm so sorry, I also want to thank all my editors and beta readers for all their help, corrections, polishing, ideas, and support. The story is a much better work for all their help!

Chapter 36 is being edited, and ch37 has 5,800 words being written.

And now, onto the art.

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First by Scitty Kitty we have the Railroad Lady, the pride of progress, and her right-hand... associate Miss Crow

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Next by Lexi Kimble we see the Railroad Lady's other minion: Mistress RainsFord Songstress. She is trying to charm a very overdressed Tauria

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And by PlayerError404 we have Tauria gamely trying to get her nieces Talia and Liata down, and not doing something rather... risky

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Also by Lexi Kimble we have Visha and Tauria showing off some fancy Elenese style fashion

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And also by Scitty Kitty we have more Tauria emotes. (The previous batch can be seen here). Shows how expressive she is, and these emotes get a lot of use in the LD Discord.

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And finally by Lexi Kimble on a sober note we have Volantes Centurion Lady Adriana "Milly" Melisande and her late mate Volantes Centurion IronTalon Cardino

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Also by PlayerError404 we have this lovely scene of Duchess SilverFlight and Tauria taking a break after flying together.

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And last but not least by Tiffanymarsou we have DarkStar in a fancy holiday gown. Which is an adaptation of a previous work by PlayerError404 posted last year.

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Once again Happy Holidays everyone!