Agon’s heavy tread drew the attention of the gathered nobles. Some looked at him with fear, others with aristocratic revulsion, until the rhythmic click of arachnid legs pulled their gaze lower.

  The revulsion vanished, devoured by a strange, trembling reverence. Lillik drew herself to her full height, towering over the assembly on her inhuman limbs.

  “A High Witch? In Zylichor? And from the Coven of Spiders?”

  The man at the front offered a respectful, hesitant nod. He possessed the distinct mutations of his caste—sightless, milky black eyes and elongated, tufted ears that swiveled independently toward the sound of the Spider’s movements.

  “Were you part of the retinue hired to assist us? I... Wait.”

  His ears twitched, locking onto the specific frequency of her chittering. His posture stiffened.

  “Lillik’zeil?”

  The Spider’s head jerked down in a sharp, affirmative motion—a gesture audible only to him as the shifting of chitin plates.

  Agon watched the faces in the room pale. The nobles dropped every pretense of class and boredom, turning their bodies to face her fully. Fear was replaced by undisguised excitement.

  “It is a true honor to be in your presence again, High Witch,” the leader breathed. “You likely don’t remember me. I was in your classes in my youth, my name is—”

  “Strigoi.”

  Lillik cut him off, but her voice was warm—authoritative, yet fond.

  “I never forget my students. You look well. When I heard what happened in Zylichor, I feared the worst.”

  Agon shifted his grip on his weapon, unsure of the Bats. But if Lillik was choosing respect, he would follow her lead. He stayed silent, looming like a gargoyle in the periphery.

  “I was fortunate to escape my Coven’s grasp during the Fall,” Strigoi murmured, his ears flattening slightly against his skull. “There are few true Spindlegradian Bats left these days. Most who didn’t participate in the uprising were used as lab rats.”

  He paused, hearing the shift in her stance—the silent question in her posture.

  “I... was unaware one of your standing was traveling with mercenaries. It came as a shock to hear you had stepped down as Matriarch.”

  “I grew tired of laboratories,” Lillik said lightly. “I wished to apply some of my learnings directly. Though tell me, how did your research into the reversal of mutations end?”

  Strigoi tensed visibly, the velvet of his collar straining against his neck.

  “Poorly. Despite your aid.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Truly.” Lillik’s tone softened, before sharpening back to the matter at hand. “Would you inform me of the current status of the city? You refused Rinerva’s invitation to discuss it earlier.”

  “And for that, I apologize.” Strigoi bowed his head toward Lillik, even while his ears locked onto the heavy, rhythmic sound of the giant’s breathing. “We thought them to be a collection of foreigners hired by the peasantry—”

  “Breakthroughs are not limited only to nobility, Strigoi.”

  “...Yes. I apologize. A lesson you tried to teach me a lifetime ago, and even now I remain a slow student.” The Bat nodded, a jerky, nervous motion. “Things here are… fractured. I wish our House had the resources to welcome you properly, high witch, but as it stands, we are all but extinct.”

  “I see. And where is this False Coven located?”

  “Everywhere. The non-Coven nobility is enthralled in their own homes. The Lower City is a mess of discarded lunatics and starving wretches. However, the true Heart of the Coven—our ancestral seat—remains under the Matriarch’s control.” Strigoi paused, his expression twisting in distaste. “Worse still, much of the city follows her willingly, even without the thrall.”

  Strigoi turned his face upward. His dull, milky eyes fixed on the ceiling, blindly seeking a sky he could no longer see, shivering as if he could feel the weight of the clouds through the stone.

  “The citizens can no longer leave their homes at night. The dark our people so cherished is theirs now.”

  “And what of resistance?”

  “Negligible. Since the Purge seven years ago, we’ve just been holding on. We’ve attempted to reestablish order, but any attempt to finish what the Purge started just results in more of our witches vanishing.”

  “I see. We came here to rally whatever allies remain. We have a Fox in our retinue and a Null. Would you permit them access to the Upper City in order to hunt down the High Witches already lost to overmutation?”

  Strigoi went still. The silence stretched, heavy and uncomfortable.

  “...No.”

  The word was quiet, but final.

  “I cannot risk loosing a Fox in the roost,” Strigoi said, his lip curling slightly. “There are many of my kin teetering on the verge of overmutation who have not yet succumbed. Their control is fragile. I will not trust one of that House to act as executioner among my people. The scent alone would cause a panic.”

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Agon shifted immediately.

  It was a subtle movement—a shifting of weight on the marble floor—but to the hyper-sensitive Bats, it was a thunderclap. All four nobles’ heads snapped toward the giant, their ears swiveling to track the threat.

  “...I understand the stigma between the Bat and the Fox, Strigoi.” Lillik’s voice remained calm, smoothing over Agon’s silent threat. “Yet if we are to end this nightmare, we need the ability to root out the corruption. The Purge left too much filth behind.”

  “I must still decline. My people are not all mad. Many still cling to the memory of the Matriarch she used to be. A memory even you defended, initially. Surely, you understand? You would not permit an outsider to judge the fate of your Spiders.”

  “That complicates matters.”

  “I am aware. It is why the nobility did not sign your contract; we knew what measures you would take. But if you desire the resources of House Bat, you cannot unleash a predator in the Eastern District.”

  Agon didn’t understand why they humored this… false nobility at all.

  The city’s lords had already failed. Their walls were breached, their minds were rotting, and the very people they were sworn to protect had turned their backs on them to worship a monster. They cried out for mercenaries to save them, yet they still tried to dictate the terms of their own salvation.

  Chaff, Agon thought bitterly. Nothing but gilded chaff.

  He shifted his weight again—deliberately this time.

  Like clockwork, the reaction was instantaneous. All four Bats snapped their heads toward him, their ears swiveling in perfect, paranoid unison to track the sound of the giant’s impatience.

  “...May we ask why you brought a Kinslayer into our presence?”

  “Agon is my companion. I suggest you treat him with the respect due that title.”

  “...Very well. Though I suppose I should be grateful.” Strigoi adjusted his collar, his sightless face turning slightly away from the giant, his lip curling in a sneer that was more political than personal. “Unlike the rest of his desert-bred kin, he has at least managed to restrain the urge to butcher Spindlegradians on sight. A rare restraint for a Thulite.”

  Agon’s muscles locked.

  His hand drifted inches from the haft of his axe. He glared at the blind nobleman, his eyes burning with a disdain that didn't need to be seen to be felt. The air around him seemed to vibrate with the sheer heat of his anger. He remembered the war, too. He remembered how soft the Spindlegradians looked when they broke against Thulite shields.

  Click.

  Lillik’s voice vanished, replaced by a sharp, rattling sound from her throat—a warning of pure arachnid aggression.

  “I just requested respect, Strigoi.”

  Strigoi flinched, the color draining from his face as the primal sound cut through his aristocratic posturing.

  “...Apologies, High Witch.”

  “We will reconvene when Rinerva is present. Until then, we are departing.” Lillik turned, her cloak sweeping across the marble. “You know where to find us. We are quartered in the Middle City, as disclosed in our missive.”

  Agon turned to follow the Spider, his gaze low and burning.

  “...Well. That was a waste of breath.”

  “Wait until we are clear.”

  Lillik spoke calmly, keeping her pace steady. She waited until the heavy manor doors thudded shut and they had put a block of rain-slicked distance between them and the sensitive ears of the Bats before her human eyes shifted to him.

  “I apologize for my kin. And for my student. You recall how Nomi was when the two of you first met? Prickly. Defensive. Many of my people are similarly inclined, though few share my little sister’s willingness to grow.”

  Agon sighed, the sound like a bellows collapsing in his chest.

  “Appreciate it. But I’ve got thick skin, Spider. I’m used to it by now. Just adds another stone to the pile of reasons why we need to get this company out of Spindlegrad.”

  “That may take some time, with this job.”

  “Aye. It might.”

  They fell into a companionable silence as they crossed the bridge back to the Middle City. The guard patrol stiffened as Agon approached, hands drifting to sword hilts, but they let the pair pass. The sun was gone now, the grey sky deepening into a bruised purple.

  “Nearly nightfall,” Agon grunted, checking the shadows stretching across the cobblestones. “We should settle in. Rinerva will want a report.”

  “Aye, Spider.”

  As soon as the two entered Rinerva’s makeshift office, they paused. The temperature inside was ten degrees lower than the hallway, the air sharp with the scent of iron.

  Rinerva didn’t look up immediately. She was scrubbing a spot of blood off her glove with a rag, her movements precise and agitated.

  “Come in. Forgive the décor.”

  She gestured vaguely to the center of the room. A massive, jagged spike of ice still dominated the floorboards, coated in a deep, drying crimson.

  “Any word from the Nobles?”

  “They’re useless,” Agon grumbled, eyeing the bloody ice with a grim nod of recognition. Someone had made a mistake, and Rinerva had corrected it. “They won’t allow operations in the Upper City. Specifically, they won’t allow Nomi. ‘Fox in the roost,’ they called it.”

  “I cannot be sure how many of them are thralls, or simply cowards,” Lillik added, gliding past the ice structure to inspect Rinerva’s map. “But Strigoi was… unyielding.”

  “Inconvenient.” Rinerva tossed the rag onto the desk. “I’ll meet with them properly soon. I’ll see for myself just how deep the rot goes in these Covens.”

  “What happened here, Old Blood?” Agon asked, his eyes shifting from the ice back to the empty chairs. “And where’s the Fox and the Lad?”

  Rinerva finally looked at them. The exhaustion broke through her mask for a fraction of a second. She reached up, rubbing her temples as if trying to physically massage away a headache.

  “A Thrall made an attempt to draw me out.” She paused, exhaling a plume of frost. “As for the other two… Talos was nearly killed.”

  Agon went still.

  “He was forced to use a Last Gasp,” Rinerva continued, her voice flat, reporting the facts to distance herself from them. “He survived the overdose, but… whatever happened out there panicked Nomi. She spiked the spare vials into the street when they returned. I’ve been waiting for her to recover enough to give a report, but they haven’t left Talos’s chamber.”

  “They’re alive, though?” Agon asked, his voice low and heavy.

  “Yes. Though based on her reaction, Talos’s heart likely entered cardiac arrest, or seized entirely. They encountered something that—”

  “I will go tend to them.”

  Lillik didn’t wait for the rest of the sentence. She didn't wait for permission.

  “We will discuss strategy after.”

  She turned, her cloak flaring as she moved with sudden, startling speed. The click of her legs on the floorboards accelerated into a blur of motion as she abandoned the war room, heading straight for the stairs.