“I’m not calling the technique ‘the death note,’ it’s a terrible name. It sounds like something a tax collector would scribble in a ledger.”

  “It’s a perfectly reasonable name. My favoured technique is called Death Wave. It is better to be accurate and descriptive. None of that Knightly Ascendant Hammer nonsense.”

  “Then doesn’t every technique end up being called death-something?”

  “Not necessarily. Did we not earlier practise the Whisper of Death?” I went to argue, then caught a hint of—not a smile, but Marek’s perpetual frown did ease. Was that a joke?

  Oh, by the Sidhe, Marek was trying to inject some fun into our conversation! How poor must my mood be if the Death Witch was trying to cheer me up?

  It had been a week since the news of the war had splashed cold water over our merry band. The impact was different for each of us. Arthur and his Knights had gone into training overdrive. Sephy was included in this, though her time was also consumed by frequent visits to the library of the main estate. She wouldn't tell me what she was researching, though from the books it seemed tied to the fall of the Atlantean empire.

  Our few conversations were stilted, not helped by my unwanted obligations with Maeve. We had met a couple of times late at night in the observatory, but those sessions ended up being purely physical expressions of our passion for each other.

  Not being able to speak with her openly left me feeling unbalanced and listless.

  She had at least confided that something specific was weighing on her, but she wanted more information before she spoke of it to me or anyone else. Being unable to help her left me feeling raw and upset in a way I’d never known before. It was a unique torture to see those you cared about distressed yet find yourself unable to aid them. And it wasn’t just Sephy.

  I was being driven to madness by the word fine. My companions claimed to be ‘alright’, ‘okay’, ‘good’, but fine was the most popular untruth. Each time I heard it was like the bow of viola being dragged the wrong way across the strings.

  Those associated with Fosburg were stirred into a worry. Elaine spent as much time in the dream chamber as out of it. Lance was devouring every book on intent, hassling the entire lodge for their insights. Having been left out of the last battle due to being only Bronze, she refused to let it happen again. Gring was an unexpected beacon of stability, keeping her anchored by doing all manner of training with her. Outside of that, he kept pestering me about writing his verse.

  Gaz and Tiff were having serious discussions about their marriage—not if, but when it should happen. It had come to a head yesterday after Gaz managed to reach Iron. What should have been a celebration turned into a shouting match that everyone heard. The usually harmonious couple clashed, and it turns out Tiff was also gifted with sound glamour.

  Her shout of, ‘I'd rather risk being a widow than face the regret of never calling you my husband,’ would live with me forever.

  Our assorted extras turned into ghosts—never seen and only hinted at. Tristan and Kay I barely saw. I understood Kay was offering up as much information as she could muster, having been in one of their major cities for training before being relocated to the fae realm. The only sign of Tristan was empty inkwells and the mounds of correspondence stacked in the lodge library from his many admirers. That, and the scribblings that’d appear overnight on the map as he tried to piece together a more detailed picture of the invasion.

  Maeve was the exception, she instead haunted me personally. She appeared out of nowhere with questions about the Divine Cultivators or sought specific confirmation or additional context on all manner of random details found on my crystal dossier. The first couple of times I forced us to discuss such things over tea, rather than allowing her to harangue me in a corridor to add to our story. However, given our distracted audience and the clumsy mess she became each time I did so, I quickly gave up.

  The distance between us all left me trapped with my thoughts. Key amongst them was what I wanted to do. I could sense a quest coming on, a sense that fate was trying to work its hooks into me. Ready to drag me from the calm waters in which I'd been enjoying.

  “Time to wrap it up there,” Marek said, snapping the book shut.

  “Sorry?” I blinked, trying to work out what was going on.

  “You’re clearly distracted, and I refuse to work on glamour such as this while you are so far gone.”

  “I—You’re right. The war and everything.” I was embarrassed. Given how Marek prized willpower and attention, I was expecting a dressing down of epic proportions. However, the Witch surprised me by letting out a long, contemplative sigh.

  “My teacher would always chastise me at times like these, insisting that this is when you need the most focus, and then give me extra work to get me back on the path,” Marek reminisced.

  “You disagree?” I winced. The more I learned of his teacher, the more I was amazed that Marek was not a worse tutor.

  “I think there are times to focus. When the dragon is at the door, distractions are an unaffordable luxury. That is not the case here. With all this talk of war, it might feel like it is burning through the wood this second, but you have time. Better to examine all your choices now than to make poor decisions.”

  “Thank you, Marek,” I said, bowing my head to signal my respect and appreciation.

  “I’m still giving you extra work, though.” I groaned, but my angst was mere theatre. Some extra tasks would help keep me from brooding. “I want you to start making those totems and work on controlling the release of your power with your ‘as of yet unnamed’ technique. The extra task is to come up with a good name for it.”

  I agreed. At least the extra work was not an inconvenience. I had a few ideas for a name and was torn between working in the words Lament or Dirge. Requiem felt too gentle for a technique that slapped my foes with death glamour.

  Leaving the study, I wandered the halls of the Felix Lodge. I found the mess hall empty apart from some cold bread and cheese that showed signs of prior raids. Hoping to track down the culprits, I did a lap of all the main spaces where I expected to find my comrades, but every room was empty.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  I was uncomfortably alone.

  There was a deep temptation within me to go and wait for or pester Sephy in the library of the main estate. I pushed that aside. I’d done that two days ago, and while she appreciated my company, I could see that I added to the stress of whatever she was researching.

  So it was that an hour later, I found myself back where I’d started, in the study room staring at the map.

  What did I even want to do? I could imagine the chaos and devastation that was set to come to the region, but how should I help? I was a bard, and while a few songs could work wonders for morale, they wouldn't defeat wandering monsters or slay the cruel bands of Divine Cultivators.

  My pondering was interrupted as the door slid open. I was pleased for the interruption; I’d even take Arthur over this creeping loneliness. I wasn’t prepared for the smile that graced my lips when I saw who it was.

  “Greetings, Pel.” I bowed slightly to the patriarch, who nodded back.

  “Hello, Taliesin. Staring at the map again, are we?” Pel asked casually, gently letting me know he’d been watching me for however long. Mithril’s senses could spread for miles, so it wasn’t necessarily deliberate. It should have irritated me; I loathed the idea of being watched. Yet the warmth of his tone soothed away any irritation.

  “I find myself without much else to do,” I replied.

  “I apologise. I offered you lessons when you first joined us, but I’ve found myself quite busy.” His eyes flicked to the map.

  “It would be selfish of me to insist, not when I’m aware of what consumes your attention.”

  “Still, it’s important to me. If you have some time, I’d love to catch up, and I have some important lessons to impart.” He pushed the door shut, and I felt a subtle change in the glamour and the flow of aura around the room. The Mithril was locking down the world around us, clearing it of potential spies.

  “Asking is a great kindness. I appreciate you making time for me. I’d always be happy to speak with you,” I replied, marvelling at how easily the words came. I still found the idea of being an Artoss strange, but the idea of being connected to Pel felt as natural as slipping on a favoured boot.

  “Even when you’re up in the observatory?”

  “Er—” I flushed, my words immediately faltering, my cheeks going red. He began to laugh. A hearty, piping laugh that reminded me of my mother’s.

  “Please forgive me, but I needed a moment of mirth. I’m glad to know you and Lady Persephone have such zeal for the astronomical arts.” Innocent words beneath eyes brimming with mischief.

  I locked my mouth up tight. My mother was the same when it came to poking and prodding me. The less I fed it, the safer I was. His next attack, though, came from an unexpected direction. “Should I expect Lady Maeve to take up a similar interest, or is her dabbling with such things more theoretical?”

  It was only through great control that I managed to not splutter or squawk in protest. Of course he’d noticed!

  I carefully assembled a truthful sentence to respond with. “Lady Maeve finds herself under pressure from her family to produce something of note. They believe it ideal if I could collaborate with her. I do not expect nor want the final output to be related to astronomy.”

  “Ah, they want to capture some aspect of your wit and charm, yet on any output I’m certain they’d insist on it bearing the Chox name. Something like that, I imagine?” Pel asked, circling the study and checking on some books, as if our conversation was no more than idle chatter.

  “Indeed. For the benefit of everyone, we decided it best if we could at least appear to be doing the groundwork together. Maeve believes this is likely a passing fancy.” My mind was moving at lightning speed, seeking a way to answer without lying.

  “Good. A sensible action that avoids dragging in any of us old monsters. Know you can call on me if you want someone to stand in your corner, but I appreciate you working this out as adults.” Pel’s face changed, becoming more serious. “Still, I’ll keep an eye out in any case. If she oversteps, I’ll get involved.”

  “I’d rather you keep an eye out for Sephy—I mean, Lady Persephone. It seems that there is an idea she could distract me from this perceived duty.” I said, unprepared for the wide grin that Pel sent me.

  “Noble of you to say, but outside of the protection I offer to my guests, her great-grandfather is Percival De Graille, and he is a more than capable protector. Besides, I don’t imagine anyone would dare take action against the De Grailles right now.”

  I gave him a long look, thinking back to Sephy in the library. She’d been given a lot of support by the staff in there. He sighed as I refused to look away from him.

  “Yes, I know what it is that worries her, and no, I won’t tell you what it is. Other than to say I’m sure she’ll tell you soon, and it is better to be patient than force it.”

  “I wouldn’t have asked,” I grumbled at the soft rebuke.

  “But you would’ve let me speak if I’d offered it?” My tongue tied itself in a knot as I tried to defend myself, my conviction to respecting her privacy ringing hollow. A part of me had been hoping he’d share, speak the secret so I could know. So I could help.

  Pel watched my turmoil, which made me all the more aware of the ugly feelings within. I resorted to silence, not trusting myself to speak for a moment. He smiled faintly and leaned over the back of one of the plush chairs.

  “So, we move onto the teaching portion of our discussion. What do you understand about your boon of fae speech?” I gawked at him as he bluntly stated the secret I had never spoken.

  “Please, it’s no surprise to me that’s the benefit you received from gaining a name. It’s a classic Artossian boon. It’s the same as mine. It’s rare to have two of us with it at the same time, though.” He grinned, and I knew it was the truth. Perhaps that explained part of the ease I felt around him.

  “So this is not some secret?”

  “For you, it’s a useful secret. Especially as no one would expect you to have it now. My boon, however, is hardly a secret among the powerful. Over the centuries, it becomes impossible to hide it. I have some advice in delaying that for as long as possible, but before we get there, back to my first question. So, what do you know about the boon?”

  “It forces me to tell the truth. I can hear lies—or at least what people think are lies. I sense it’s part of me ‘owning’ my name,” I replied.

  “Indeed, quite a shock. I had no idea the fae could give you a name. I imagine that the Lady, who is the most human among them, may be the only one who could. It’s not how it is normally done, yet I sense your name is as solid as anyone else’s.” Pel paused. “Sorry, I got distracted. Do continue. What else do you know about how it works?”

  “I can lie when it comes to songs or metaphors, or like our conversation before, I can circle the point. I imagine people can lie to me in the same manner.”

  “Yes, very accurate. The boon suits you; you’re wonderfully silver-tongued. That was a masterful exchange just now, full of truths concealing lies. There are some subtler elements to it, some ways to stretch the truths. I shall lend you some books from my private library on this.” He paused, looking hard at me. “I do feel it’s important to remind you that this is something that a boon such as this normally only happens during your ascension to Steel, and details on it are not normally shared before then.”

  “I understand my need for secrecy, but why is it so hard to find out what happens at Steel?”

  “Well, two reasons. Functionally, we call them boons, but there are many who view them as curses. They introduce weakness, and Steels didn’t reach that level by sharing their flaws.” A strange expression spread across his face. He looked me up and down, taking my measure. “The second is that exploring the boons leads to a truth.”

  “A truth?” I felt a thrill, a sense that I was about to learn something of real importance.

  “A question for you: why do you think the fae allow us their gifts? Tolerate us tramping through their realms and mangling their beautiful glamour?”

  “Given my meetings with them, I think we’re mere entertainment,” I replied. I didn’t have to think long on it.

  “Ha, and you’re half right.” Pel’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. The glitter of mischief was gone. The silence stretched out between us.

  “Implying I’m half wrong,” I verbally nudged him. He was looking at me again, his eyes cutting into me, measuring and weighing some aspect of me. His next words held a heavy tone, and I could feel the power in the air ripple as he spoke.

  “Taliesin, let me ask you, where do you think new fae come from?”