“I beg your pardon?” the pontiff asked as the cardinals shifted in their seats. The two guard paladins began to approach Petra, Sam, and Wesley.

  “I called you a pompous ass, father, though you are significantly less than the man I truly see as my father,” Petra repeated. “I walked from the Frozen Wastes to call attention to your lack of leadership and at least get an apology for the blood on your hands and the most I got is a hand wave and talked down to for not understanding how things work? Gessel would be downright disappointed in this shit-show of leadership.”

  Sam and Wesley stared at each other, eyes wide. This Petra was not the seething, grumpy girl getting led through the city. She was the guardian of the people of the Frozen Wastes now, and that was clear. As shameful as Sam felt thinking it, this was the first time he truly saw her for the goddess she was. If only the Pontiff had as well.

  “You will watch your tongue in the court of the Dreamer, Winter’s Daughter,” the Pontiff preached. “And you will not wield his name so vulgarly. Who are you to presume you speak for his feelings and intentions?”

  “Someone who’s spoken to him,” she said. She looked around the council, making eye contact with each cardinal in turn. “Can anyone else say they’ve done the same?”

  The guards stood by, hands on their swords and just waiting for a command from the council. Sam watched them and Petra nervously when he saw Wesley step between the guard nearest him and the ice goddess.

  He could feel his heart beating under his scarred flesh, practically slamming against the inside of his equally scarred armor. He had that same moment of foggy confusion he had experienced so long ago at that pharmacy in Elmsmith. Just before he was attacked.

  Sam had, in an instant, done what felt right when he refused to kill those kids. He tried to call their bluff, and was burnt. In any other situation, Sam would have assumed it would be a lesson learned and he would harden against such moral questions like that.

  And yet, here he was. To his right, a goddess of a foreign culture laying bare the sins of the life he gave his name up for, and nearly died to protect. To his left, a brilliantly decorated statue of the highest status in the Church of the Will. Everything Sam wished to be. Encircling this all were the silent colossi that doled out equal measures of instruction and punishment, and little else.

  But all of that aside, it was Wesley, just in front of Sam, that caught his imagination the most. The skinny young man, pointed ears seeming to twitch with stress looked utterly out of place. His cotton layered clothes in their earth tones. Greens and browns that clashed with the clean marble and gold of the chamber. His companion fox was a fiery blur in Sam’s peripheral, otherworldly and full of deep power.

  This man was practically a stranger. And, if he was to be taken at his word, was the target of one of the most dangerous men the world did not know existed. His life is regularly in danger, and yet in this stupid room at the top of a tacky metropolis, he is squaring his shoulders and raising his fists in front of a council guard as though he would last three seconds in a fight.

  Maybe he would? Sam thought back to what he had done to the wolves. A wave of his hand and the whole pack was rendered lame.

  With a deep breath, Sam’s hand fell to the handle of his warhammer as he moved to stand between the second guard and Petra.

  The Pontiff chuckled. “Guards, do not worry. I will dismiss the goddess and her fools and she will leave without contest.”

  “What makes you so sure, Father?”

  “We all just want respect, Winter’s Daughter. You want respect for your dead and I want respect for the House of the Dreamer. It is clear that neither of us are getting what we want. So why make this more painful? Let us just walk away.”

  Sam flinched at the words. “Why not just apologize?” he heard himself ask.

  “Excuse me, Corporal?”

  Wincing, Sam turned to look at the Pontiff. “All she-” he began before looking at Petra, seeing a tinge of pride in her eyes. “All we want is for you to apologize. Act responsibly. No one blames you for the redirecting of forces, Father. But the Council’s decision had some consequences that need to be acknowledged.”

  “You are a Corporal, Bleedingheart. How can you assume what the Council needs to do? You wear the armor and you follow the orders of the Council. Never shall you portend to make decisions for it. This Council acts in sovereignty held accountable only by the Dreamer. The wants of a rogue goddess, her seduced knight, and the tree-child you found in the woods be damned.”

  “I do not think we will get anywhere with them,” Wesley said, finally speaking, albeit in a hushed tone.

  “Petra, it’s a waste,” Sam conceded. “I’m sorry.”

  Petra folded her arms. “Well, thank you for your time. I’ll be taking my consorts and leaving your sacrosanct. Want me to tell Gessel anything when I see him?”

  “Tell him you apologize for disrespecting him,” the Pontiff fired back without looking at Petra. “Now, begone.”

  The three left the chamber under hefty observation by the Cardinals and the guards. Once outside in the large empty corridor, Sam looked at Petra, unable to lift his deep frown.

  “Petra, I’m so sorry.”

  “No, Sam, I am sorry.”

  “For what? My leadership failed you.”

  Petra laughed and looked to Wesley. “Wes, you can speak to this I’m sure. I never expect anything of mortals! They always fail. It’s what you do. I’m more upset that they failed you, Sam.”

  “What?”

  “You took me across the land for days, telling me over and over that the Church would make what happened to my people right. That it was all some misunderstanding or something and we would all be able to work it out together. You were so hopeful. And now look at you.”

  Sam was struck silent.

  “Ah, damn, I broke him.”

  “Sam, you okay?” Wesley asked as they approached the lift.

  “I’m fine.”

  “You don’t seem fine,” Wesley remarked.

  “Hey!” called one of the guards from behind them. “The lift is for guests of the Council only. Not for disrespectful brats. The stairs are through the door on your left.”

  Sam’s eyes flickered as he listened and Wesley and Petra could not help but shuffle away a step. Wordlessly, the paladin swept toward the door, a relatively average looking plank of wood with a bronze doorknob, and threw it open. A dimly lit, far too narrow, far too steep staircase welcomed them.

  The trio began to descend the damp, stuffy stone stairs in silence, giving Sam room to breathe. But after an untraceable number of steps and landings, Petra broke the silence.

  “So, what now?” she asked.

  Sam’s response was a sudden halt and a sharp inhale that instantly gave Wesley and Petra pause. They saw his lightning, and were waiting for his thunder when the paladin turned to look at them, a small grin barely noticeable in the dim light.

  “You two want to meet my mom?” Sam asked.

  Mrs. Estin wiped sweat from her brow and she worked. Her youngest was at class all week. Her oldest was on her honeymoon. Her middle son was doing the Dreamer’s work in Dreamer-knows-where. Her husband was drowning in extra assignments from the Council. She had the entire manor to herself.

  Which meant it was time to work. Piles of drapes, scarves, handkerchiefs, and cloaks were strewn about what she called her “hobby room.” It was a former guest bedroom with a large, floor to ceiling window facing south, making sure the room was always dripping in sunlight. A sturdy table with all sorts of supplies for textile work sat in its center with baskets of bolts of cloth and balls of yarn orbiting it.

  News was coming across the weave from every direction. It seemed like the world was straining. As much as it pained Mrs. Estin to admit it, she could not say she had not expected this. Gavundar had been in turmoil for nearly a generation now. It was only a matter of time before the tension crossed the sea.

  The former Court Magus that had gambled with the Goddess of the Sun was in Crossroads claiming he was part of the city guard. And the queen of pirates was with him. And yet, Mrs. Estin was blind to their intentions.

  The greasy haired man that had been involved in the attack on The Throne was spotted in Elmsmith, Dawnbreak, and Yarn. Mrs. Estin could not verify any sighting at all.

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  And then there was the basket of white kerchiefs. All from the same weaver. All warning that something bad was looming regarding Kaitlyn Carpenter.

  It was too much, Mrs. Estin thought. She just wanted some good news. Something to be happy about.

  Then the doorbell chimed through her home.

  Mrs. Estin opened the door apprehensively, but her whole body relaxed when she saw Sam standing on the stoop.

  “Sam!” she cooed. “What brings you up here? I thought you were in Happfield on vacation?”

  “Came home early,” Sam replied. “Do you mind if we come in for a bit?”

  Mrs. Estin began to glow. “Of course not, you silly boy. Come in, all of you! I really wish you would have told me you were coming, I would have cooked something.”

  “That’s okay, ma’am,” Wesley said softly.

  “These are my friends,” Sam said once they were in the foyer. “Petra Ymirstottir and Wesley Maplegrove.”

  Mrs. Estin stared in awe for a second when she heard the names. “Sam,” she whispered. “You bring them to my home? I didn’t even sweep!” Sam was struck by her quick acceptance that a goddess stood on her porch.

  “Ma’am,” Petra said, looking around the large welcome area. “I don’t think any amount of dust would harm the look of this home. You never told me you were rich, Sam.”

  “Well, I’m not,” Sam corrected. “I gave up the name.” He turned to his mother. “Is Jane home? Or Diana?”

  “No, dear. Diana’s out in an agricultural exposure class, and Jane is on her honeymoon. They decided to not do the big wedding after she almost died.”

  “Your sister is dead?” Wesley asked in shock. “Also, can my fox walk around? Or should I carry her?”

  “Almost, dear. She was downstairs when that awful man attacked the city. And of course she may. Any friend of Sam’s friends is a friend to me.”

  “Thank you!” Wesley said brightly as he set Lady on the floor.

  “What about dad? We thought we would see him at the council but he wasn’t there.”

  “You saw the council?” Mrs. Estin asked, her bright demeanor suddenly replaced with rapt curiosity.

  “On my behalf,” Petra said. “It was a massive waste of time and I’m afraid your son is having a crisis of character because of it.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Nothing, mom,” Sam interrupted. “It didn’t go as well as I thought it would have. But why wasn’t dad there?”

  “He’s been on some special assignment for the Pontiff lately. Has not been able to sit Council meetings. May I ask what the meeting concerned, Winter’s Daughter?”

  “Please, call me Petra,” Petra insisted with a light bow. “And just some politicking that killed several hundred of my people. Nothing we have not suffered before. Did you need me to rack my weapons or something?”

  Mrs. Estin was taken aback, but smiled. “Whatever is convenient for you, dear. My feelings are not hurt by a couple of…” Mrs. Estin looked Petra up and down for her weapons, finally noticing the hatchets. “Axes.”

  Lady went bounding playfully down one of the hallways and Wesley groaned. “Lady, no!”

  “It appears she wants the tour,” Mrs. Estin said. “Sam, could you show them around? I’ll get some tea on.”

  “Sure thing, but,” Sam started, looking back at the front door. “Do you know what that cloud on the horizon is?”

  “What cloud?”

  “I don’t know. Go take a look. It’s just this big, inky blot. Looks really weird.”

  “I will check on it. Once you’ve shown them around, I will be in the snacking parlor.”

  Mrs. Estin listened when she could as her son showed the two through the house. She was humbled by the presence of the druid chief’s son and the avatar of Winter’s Daughter. But more than that, she was frightened by it. The circle of fate was tightening. With each new avatar sighting, wherever it was, it was another sign that this most recent era of mortal agency was coming to a close.

  At least her son would be in good company as these events broke. He seemed to genuinely enjoy the two, though Petra was far more honest, and Wesley far more excitable. That was probably where the harmony was rooted.

  The cloud that Sam had mentioned had been visible from a kitchen window. Mrs. Estin had three guesses as to what caused it. None of them were particularly happy. And so she prepared a tray of sliced bread and winter preserves and would enjoy snacking with her son and his friends while, presumably, the world ended outside.

  “I think her paintings are quite bad,” Petra remarked as Sam led her and Wesley into the parlor.

  “I don’t think so,” Wesley said with a shrug. “I think it’s all in the expression. If you have something to say, it’s your duty to say it, whether you are eloquent or not. The same goes for painting and skill.”

  Petra thought for a moment before taking a seat in one of the Estin family’s overstuffed chairs. “Wes, I believe you just changed this goddess’s heart! Yes, Samson, your younger sister deserves to continue painting her bad paintings.”

  “Great, thanks for the permission,” Sam grunted. “Thank you for letting us swing by, mom. It’s been a pretty rough day.”

  “It’s no trouble at all. The home has been lonely lately. Help yourself, friends.” Mrs. Estin gestured to the tray of pastries and breads.

  “I can not understand the need for so many rooms,” Petra sighed.

  “Me neither, to be honest,” Mrs. Estin replied. “I could start cleaning now and would not finish for another month.”

  “I suggest you downsize!”

  “That would be something to take up with my father,” Sam remarked. “This manor has been in the family for generations.”

  “He says the only way we will move is as refugees,” Mrs. Estin chuckled, going red when no one laughed. “I apologize. A joke in poor taste.”

  Wesley quickly moved to change the subject for the flustered mother. “Your garden is especially beautiful. Is it tended by the resident druids?”

  “Why, thank you, Wesley! As a matter of fact it is not. Diana, Sam’s younger sister, and I tend to it ourselves with some tricks we learned from the residents. I am beyond flattered at your compliment.”

  “So, Sam,” Petra said. “Now that your Council has spat on me, what will we do?”

  “Oh,” Sam thought for a moment. “I was just going to go back to work down in Back City.”

  “Samson, you can’t take these two back there. It’s so dangerous nowadays.”

  “I was-” Sam began, shifting uncomfortably. “I was not going to bring them with me.”

  An awkward pressure fell across the room at those words.

  “So, what should I do?” Wesley finally asked.

  “Whatever you want, Wes,” Petra sighed. “Seems the Church of the Will doesn’t want anything to do with our situations.”

  “That’s not it at all, Petra,” Sam replied. “I am just a corporal. I can’t do anything at all. I can’t change minds. I can only take orders.”

  “Would’ve fooled me with how smooth you were talking to the council.”

  “Extenuating circumstances,” Sam said.

  “And here I thought you were growing up,” Petra scoffed. “Jokes on me, eh? I guess we’re getting dumped, Wes.”

  “Guys,” Sam stood from his chair, shaking his head. “I don’t know what else you want from me.”

  Mrs. Estin was only paying half-attention to the awkward conversation. Because the door to the guest room across the hall from where she sat was transforming before her eyes. The rectangular door was curving at the edges until it became a large ovular shape. The smooth wood roughed up into several rustic planks. A doorknob, shining and plane, disappeared completely, being replaced with a bronze pull ring.

  “We want some support, Sam,” Petra said, rising to meet him. “Your friend Wes is the target of murder! You want him to just get murdered? Because he will.”

  “I don’t know if it’s that simple, Petra,” Wesley corrected. “I’m just taking precautions. There’s a chance Gideon would just ignore me.”

  “Stop trying to guilt me into breaking my oath, Petra. I swore to take on the duties assigned, and globetrotting with you is not part of those duties.”

  “I can’t believe you. Not two hours after the Church makes an ass of you and itself, and you’re back to kissing its toes.”

  “It’s all I have, Petra.”

  Petra guffawed and gestured widely at the massive mansion around them. “You hear that, Mrs. Estin?”

  “I gave all of this up,” Sam explained. “It’s not who I am anymore.”

  “You don’t know who you are, and that’s the problem.”

  A loud, wooden creak interrupted them. The sound of soft footsteps were punctuated by the thud of a walking stick striking the floor. “You are Corporal Samson Bleedingheart. And you’ve been nominated as a representative to the Talnorel Alliance.” The voice came booming from the small frame of a elderly woman with silver hair, her body weighed by layers of brightly colored shawls. She turned and shut the new door inside the Estin Manor behind her.

  “Oh my,” Mrs. Estin whispered.

  “Who is this?” Wesley asked. “I thought the mansion was empty?”

  “Wesley Maplegrove, your mother asks you to dinner. And you are invited, too, Winter’s Daughter.” The elderly woman was shooting the room a warm smile as she spoke.

  “Corrine? What are you doing here?” Petra called to the old woman.

  “Who is this?” Sam asked.

  “This is the Hag. A goddess of magics and fate.”

  “I’m trying to save this world. Now, come along. Food’s almost ready.”