Okay so I couldn't wait. Less than an hour later I was on my way. For one thing, I had a lot of aggressions to let off. For another thing, this was a milestone mission for a listed love interest, which means XP rewards. And also: Tsilven is the main cadet house to Freckentop, the Harley to their Mistah J. So anything that gives Tsilven a black eye will transfer a bruise to Freckentop as well. And also I've got a lot of aggression to let off right now. Eight hours ago I listened in on my brother bragging about how he's been using me without me realizing it.

  I picked out a nice costume for myself, blued steel and black leather, picked out with gaudy gold embellishments molded to look like some kind of heraldic crest. If he's carrying a grudge when this is over I want him to tear the city apart for small obscure minor Houses that don't exist rather than searching for anything that could actually lead him to me.

  I teleported up to a watchtower in the Cliffside district of the city, and made sure I was not being watched. Then I leaped, and flew.

  Ommanuol lived in the main Tsilven complex for Hearstcliff, he was the highest-placed member of that House in this city, as a baronet. Despite that relatively low ranking, he did control a disproportionate amount of wealth, influence, and martial prowess.

  The outer walls of his home complex were scribed with engravings and inks to negate flight, as well as to set off alarms and summon the guards. I erased those sigils without even slowing down. Now understand, I say that like it's easy because it was easy for me, but Ommanuol was correct to put his faith into those wards, they were very clever and almost anyone would have been killed or captured just crossing the threshold of this place.

  I buzzed around a minute, looking in windows. Where to find the master of the house?... Well, the biggest room in the tallest tower, obviously! Yeah, Ommanuol is a penthouse kinda guy. I let myself in.

  Hey stones. I need to get through. How about all of you over here all just let go of your mortar and go hang out down in the courtyard below?

  And they did. The wall collapsed outward, and I coasted on in, trailing a long black cape. The man and two women inside all started yelling. The women were screaming in terror, the man was bellowing in outrage. I suppose I didn't make my entrance dramatic enough, if he's still more angry than scared.

  "Ommanuol, I presume?" I said. My voice rang low and menacing inside of the gunmetal helmet I was wearing. I was practicing a tough-guy act right now. I had a Tarantino swagger, that casual badass vibe that only real douchebags ever have.

  I turned my head slightly, there was a portrait on the wall of the man in the bed. He was wearing clothes in the portrait, but definitely the same man. I yanked it off the wall and tossed the painting onto the fire. The women in the bed were still screaming their heads off. That was not conducive to my goals here. If their panic was not making him panic, then they were just noise.

  "Bitches leave," I said, gesturing at the door. They ran like hell and left everything behind. That would catch attention. The door slammed shut behind them, and I warped the door and the wall around it to seal it shut.

  The man was puffing and red-faced. He was middle-aged, paunchy, snub-nosed, and he was pissed at me. He finally found the broadsword under his mattress and hefted it, menacing me. "You've got ten seconds-" he started.

  The sword in his hands drooped, curled, and coiled around his hands, binding his wrists together. That shut him up. He stared at the warped blade, goggle-eyed, and in the welcome silence I started to explain myself.

  "I have come to make sure you pay your debts," I said. "All of them. You probably owe more than just my clients, so I won't bother to name them. Just pay everyone, got it?"

  "You won't get a copper clipping out of me," he snarled. "There's nothing you can-"

  "There is," I interrupted. I looked around the room, leaving my back to him. "Look, I get it, you're a hard man to threaten. That's why someone had to reach out to me. You know that if you die nobody gets their money. You know that if I torture you then that just increases the chances I get caught and you'll hire a healer to fix it all anyway. There's nobody in the world that you love enough for me to threaten you effectively. You're effectively without fear."

  "That's right!" he snarled, gloating. "And you're going to-"

  "But nobody mentioned that you don't ever shut the fuck up," I sighed, and flicked a finger. The curtain rod flew off its mountings and collided with Ommanuol's face. Blood spurted from his mouth, nose broken and lips split.

  I twirled the curtain rod around him, the drapes tangled around his limbs and pinned him in place. "I'm not here to threaten you with pain or death. You're already prepared for that. So, instead I'll have to destroy your pride." I paused, glanced at his naked body only covered by the curtains he was trying to struggle out of.

  I reached into the fireplace and grabbed the burning portrait and threw it onto the bed, where the sheets and mattress started to catch fire. I flexed the walls of the room and all the cut-glass windows exploded at once. I grabbed the writing desk and hurled it onto the mattress, five hundred pounds of mahogany soared through the air and then landed heavily, demolishing the bed frame.

  The man was struggling to sit upright, and the sounds he made were muffled by his mangled lips and broken nose. I'm sure he was trying to say something.

  Instead, I turned my head towards the door. "Ah. Your bodyguards are arriving. One moment."

  I could feel steel and gold running my way, cutting a path through the air. It was moving heavy, and moving fast. I reached into that area, and I melted all the ink and warped all the metal. I had a suspicion that this man would be guarded by mana warriors- after all, Tsilven is the house of mercenary soldiers, so their deal-makers and figureheads would be guarded by powerful warriors.

  But mana warriors are really only as good as the weapons they feed their mana to. And now that I've ruined all the sigils on their weapons, that's no good at all. I could feel that steel and gold all moving swiftly away, running back down the hall. "That's better," I said. "They've decided to leave."

  The whole bed was burning merrily now, and the flames licked up into the rafters. Tsilven Manor was mostly stone, but some architecture needs wooden beams and roofs, so that's what we were lighting on fire.

  "What do you want!?" he wailed through his broken front teeth. Hmm. Hit him harder than I thought.

  "You've left debts unpaid. I was only very clear about this," I said. And then more of the wall tumbled out, and the ceiling sagged. "So, I'm going to dangle you out the window like laundry while your office and bedroom burn. And then I'm going to tumble your home into rubble. I'll help myself to your vaults of gold, And when I'm done, I'll leave you to make the right choice."

  "Ngho!" he sputtered. "Don't! I'll ppphay!"

  I sighed, and walked over to him. He was writhing on the ground while the curtain rod folded around his limbs, yanking him this way and that to keep him pinned. "Mister Tsilven. I'm not here to threaten you. Someone has already threatened you. I'm here to punish you. Because you should have listened to the threats. You're a smart man, you have to understand how this works. I can't follow a threat with another threat, can I? If I just scare you and then leave and trust that you'll pay your debts, I'm no better than any other collection agent you've thrown out and ignored."

  "Ggghnn no! No!" He seemed really sincere. I paused.

  "Mister Tsilven. You're not going to disappoint me are you? I came here to destroy your home, you know. The one thing you really seem to invest yourself into. In sincerity, I was rather looking forward to it. I like taking people's houses down. If you'll allow me, it really 'hits them where they live'. Understand?"

  "Yhou dhon't have to," he wheezed. "I'll pphay."

  I found myself disappointed. I wanted to hurt him more. Not with bloody wounds or broken teeth, but taking his house down. Smashing his place. I had really had my hopes up for that. But it was unnecessary. I could tell that I didn't need to do it.

  [ Quest Checkpoint Complete: Debt Correction. 10 XP. Advancement, the Assassin ]

  "Fuck. Fine," I growled. "See that you do."

  I've gotten spoiled killing monsters in the dark. They never beg for mercy, they fight to the death. And part of me really really wanted to keep going here. But the problem was that I'm not sure what the next step of Quarl's quest line is. I might need Ommanuol Tsilven alive to keep progressing, and his house intact. For all I know the next step is to chat with Quarl and then come back and finish this place off. Another ten experience points, easy. But if I just let myself go... I could shut down the whole progression. Dammit.

  I leaped out through the hole in the wall and flew away. This was supposed to be fun, blowing off my hostilities.

  Just my luck that the Assassin's quest line would feature controlled violence under regimented conditions when what I really want is to cut loose and break stuff.

  Sixthday finally arrived. I had mixed feelings. I would have liked to spend the day creating explosions and devastating monsters. Or, to go shopping with my friends and try to have some kind of normal fun, maybe buying candy and making jokes. Instead, I'm dressing up in something inconspicuous so I can meet with Sir Chaun today, at his office.

  The entryway to the main complex of the Royal Cavalry Guard is a testament to magnificence. The walk up is right past a number of parade grounds, displays, monuments, art installations, and well-tended scenic vistas. The vestibule itself is a grand echoing hall with a style that shows the decorator understood sophistication and understatement and deliberately eschewed them to slather on the pomp and grandeur.

  But once you've been checked in by the front desk, things take a turn. If you're not headed to the ceremonial parade grounds things get a lot grittier. And if you're not headed to the armory and training field, things get a lot dimmer. The hallways where the investigative arm of the Guard kept its offices were shaded, narrow, and perfect for furtive assignations.

  I knocked at a door that had a number and no name. Sir Chaun opened it from within. "Good morning," he said, checking the hallway before waving me inside.

  When the door was closed, locked and warded he took my cloak and then bowed, using my title this time. "Lady Harigold, good of you to see me today. We have much to discuss that I could not discuss within the bounds of your school's campus."

  "About Braux?" I asked, taking the seat he gestured towards.

  The office was narrow and it felt more cramped than it was. There was a filing cabinet, maps on the walls, cork-board, and a small wardrobe that I'm pretty sure was a weapon-and-armor rack sealed up. There was room to sit without bumping into anything but it felt like it was the size of a shoe-box.

  "About you," he corrected. "Braux found things, and had them laid out in her office. Fortunately by the time that the campus security arrived to go through her things, some helpful soul had rewritten the narrative so that she was a disorganized madwoman that took an unreasoning hatred for you and had left very little research behind for anyone else to pursue."

  "Ah," I said. "In that case, thank you."

  "You can decide whether or not to thank me later," he said, lifting a large file box onto his desk. "You may not want to know, but I know that I don't want to be the only one that knows."

  I took a look at the burden of paperwork in that box, and decided to engage the lightning mind, channeling levin energy so that I can think, read, process and react faster. I grabbed the file at the top and read as fast as my hands could turn pages.

  Magister Cheresa Braux was thorough and meticulous. She made sure every fact and connection was well backed up and verified and organized and supported before she moved to the next fact. She organized her thoughts like she was trying to rule out any possibility other than her conclusions and she did a damn fine job of it. I could see her painstakingly removing every option that would possibly explain the situation, until only one was left. And after that, she started linking facts to create support for that idea, building it up until there was no option other than to believe wholeheartedly in the same conclusions that she had.

  "A necromancer?" I said, looking up at Captain Chaun Maspers. "A lich?"

  "Tell me if you see any other option," he said, almost desperately.

  "But I don't know any necromancy!" I protested. "I understand all these reasons it has to be true but the fact is that it is not true because I don't know anything at all about necromancy or liches! Other than how to blow one up but that it doesn't stick because they just move to another body! I have enough trouble mastering my fucked-up version of sorcery, I don't need to ever look into any other branches of magic!"

  Maspers sat down in his chair, and tipped it way back. "According to the expert, who is dead, you don't actually need to know how to do necromancy in order to be a necromancer. Or a lich."

  Necromancy is a death sentence, anywhere. Every culture that has not outlawed it has been destroyed as a direct result of necromancy being practiced there. There's just so many ways for it to be evil and every time that someone thought that they had figured out a good-intentioned and safely-performed method to practice necromancy, they turned out to be wrong. Every time.

  "I would never want that!" I protested. "Even if it wasn't grossly illegal, the whole practice is toxic! I'm not a necromancer because I'm not stupid!"

  Maspers nodded sympathetically. "I know. And we're off the record here. This is not an interrogation. This is help from a friend here, all right? From someone who recognizes your capacity to destroy this whole building if you get overly annoyed or anxious about this. Now, as a simple question, for you to answer to yourself. Silently and without saying anything to me. Have you ever been dead and had your soul placed into a soulless body?"

  "I was a comet," I said, staring at the pages. What the fuck did she do to me?

  "I didn't hear anything," Maspers assured me. "Now, next question: does your soul come un-anchored from your body when you mind stops controlling it?"

  Untethered essence. While my thoughts sleep and dream, the soul is free to move, think, fight, cast, plan.....

  "I don't need your answers," he said. "I've seen these, and I'm trying my damnedest not to believe it. And I've got an advantage: unlike Magister Braux, I know one extra detail about you. Remember when I first brought you to Hearstcliff? I told you my name?"

  "I remember," I said numbly.

  "I asked you then if you were a prophet, if the gods had sent you," he said. "You did not exactly answer that question but I'm comfortable with what I know. There's only two ways a soul can be moved or managed. One way is with human necromancy. The other-"

  "Is by a god," I said. I could barely hear myself over my ears ringing. "Or a goddess." Things were really hazy around the edges, I kept my eyes locked onto the corner of his desk to have something to focus on.

  I was dead. All the way for real dead. And she put me into a new body. That she created for me. With no soul there, because I refused her demands to move into a body that had a soul already. She did not give me an untethered essence just as a favor to me or as a funny joke, she did it because that's an integral and necessary part of being a fucking lich with a grown soul poured into a body that is not correct for it. This body grew up with this soul, but the soul has known another body. And so they will never fit perfectly together. There will always be a place to slip apart.

  "There's a lot here that needs a lot more explanation," Maspers said gently. "What you've read, that's the overview. A couple hundred pages where she proves a couple of facts. But the nitty-gritty, the mechanics of it, that's something else. There's books in the bottom of-"

  He was reaching back into the box on his desk, and I held up a hand, shaking my head. "Don't," I begged. "Don't show me. I don't want to know about it. I don't want to know what it can do or how it works. I know myself. If I have a tool in my tool-belt, I'm going to use it. If I read in that book that some act is possible, or that some -" I caught my breath, and pushed through. "- or that some other lich has stated he or she can do some trick or another.. or if I just read enough to understand this phenomenon and start puzzling out what is possible? I'll always have that in my mind, like a hammer in my pocket waiting for me to find a nail. I don't want to know. If I leave those books there then this is still ... done to me. I'm a subject of necromancy, a victim. If I start reading, learning, if I study it? I will become a necromancer, captain. Neither of us wants this."

  "You want to just be an ordinary woman?" Maspers said, weirdly unreadable in that moment.

  I barked a laugh. "I'm a disgraced, disinherited ducal princess. I'm a famous mass murderer. I'm a one-of-a-kind sorceress, a once-in-a-generation genius, and a prophet. And there will be more soon. Being ordinary is never going to be there for me. But I can at least take it for granted that I'm alive. Even if... even though there is one simple explanation that takes all of those oddities and turns them into one issue that is easily explained instead of being so many mysteries and so many questions... All the rest of that was .."

  I floundered. I had thoughts sloshing around in me, and feelings too. My head and my chest both felt like they ached with pressure from within.

  Breathing. Slow. Calm. "As much as possible," I tried again, "what I am is the result of my choices. My actions caused me to be disgraced and disowned. I made decisions that killed people. I always had the option to simply not use any sorcery, or to read anything, build anything, or say anything. Those were me. And it is by my decision and my will that I choose not to take this next step. I cannot change how I came to be alive here. But I can ask you to leave that book inside that box."

  He pulled his hand back up, empty now. He set the folders, binders, notepads and manuscripts back into the box, and gripped it by its two handles, and set it down behind his desk. Captain Maspers sat down in his chair and scooted it in. "I am glad this is what you chose," he said, with a little extra definition on each word as if he was choosing them carefully for each sentence. "But if you had chosen differently I would have supported you. I trust you, Lady Natalie, more than I trust my colleagues, my division leader, or my liege."

  I coughed up a painful, cockeyed chuckle. "Hanh. That puts me in the awkward position of being very grateful that you do, but also of knowing that someday I am going to have to do something that does betray that trust."

  The captain leaned forward onto his desk, and pressed his fists against each other. "I genuinely believe that if that were to happen, you would already have come to me to tell me that you are no longer as trustworthy as I believe. You would give me forewarning, because you felt you owed me that."

  Shit. That really sounds like something I'd do.

  "By the way," he said. "Off the record. Just to clear something up. There was an odd occurrence at the Manor Tsilven-"

  "Oh yeah that was me," I said, all in a rush.

  He nodded and sat back again, the chair creaking. "I thought so. Too many details that did not fit otherwise. Either it was a rogue magister-wizard taking Duskare contracts against Dominionist allies, or it was you in a disguise. And by the way, even if it's just me- try not to be so readily comfortable confessing to crimes, would you?"

  "We were off the record, I thought it was all right," I said.

  "We were, but it makes me nervous how very easily you just do that," he said. "Now you should get on with your day. I'm going to find a fireplace to destroy all this."

  Well that's one life-destroying revelation down. I've got one more chore scheduled for today: therapy.