Prince Wind Rider stood at the head of two companies of fey cavalry and looked down upon the rebellious human armies of Landara. Landara’s human leader, King Aolotillo, thought he could use the phoenix rose to win independence from the Moon Etherium. Prince Wind Rider and his sister, the Crown Princess Storm Driven, were here to prove them wrong.

They had an ally in this matter. The Sun Etherium had sent a company of fey cavalry of their own, led by General Qihitinene and including two of their princes, Loreveroro and Imilasisi. All three companies were under strict orders of aether conservation. Even here and now, four hundred miles from the Moon Etherium and over twelve hundred from Sun Etherium, the fey soldiers brimmed with aether. They were prepared for this conflict.

Wind Rider and Storm Driven had reined in at the top of a slope to look down at the Landaran forces for themselves: battalion after battalion of human men. The Landaran army had captured a group of fey researchers at Bacalat and taken the phoenix rose from them, and were on their way to their fortress at Timodalat. There were at least ten thousand human soldiers in the plains below.

The Moon Etherium’s two companies totaled a hundred and ninety riders. Sun Etherium brought another hundred and ten.

Three hundred fey against ten thousand soldiers. “How do you like our odds, sister?” Wind Rider asked.

“It hardly seems fair,” she answered, smiling. “Do you think we should wait for the infantry to catch up?” They had another four companies of unmounted men on the way from the Moon Etherium, but they were most likely seven days behind at unassisted speed.

“Only if we want them to burn aether to do so. Perhaps not even then. I don’t want the bother of digging these rats out of some rock-walled den. Let’s take them here, in the open,” Wind Rider replied. His fey warhorse, Lightning, whickered and pawed the ground to signal equal willingness. Both Lightning and his sister’s horse, Thunder, had been affiliated with the Moon Etherium by their father, giving the animals fey powers that made them harder to control but devastating in battle. The horses could not work true spells, but they’d burn aether instinctively to improve their natural abilities.

The princess turned at the sound of hoofbeats. The two sun princes and their general rode up to assess the situation with them. “General Qihitinene. My brother and I think it wise to strike now, before they make the fortress. What counsel you?”

The general studied the enemy battalions before them, and grunted. “Better now than when they’ve learned more of the phoenix rose. This will be no inconsequential battle against mere humans, your highnesses. Don’t underestimate what they can do with that artifact.”    

The royals nodded. They’d all been briefed on the phoenix rose’s known capabilities. Wind Rider felt aether seethe under his skin and couldn’t restrain a smile. Yes, the humans had a potent artifact in their midst. But they were still humans. Giving a babe raw power would make the infant dangerous, sure, but hardly a match for a trained fey warrior. They’d grown up in the aether; using the arcane arts was as natural as breathing. The five discussed tactics, positioning, and where to employ their own enchantments to best effect. They opted to strike after nightfall; dark-sight consumed little aether, and the humans would be much worse impaired by the lack of light. Wind Rider shifted in the saddle of his horse, aether singing to him of battle and blood. He looked forward to the fight, to the chance to show these insolent, upstart humans the folly of resistance against fey might.

Prince Loreveroro kept directing odd glances his way. Perhaps he harbored some sympathy for the humanfolk; the fey of the Sun Etherium did not seem to embrace aether as the Moon did. Apart from the aether in their bodies and their long ears, they might have been human themselves. By contrast, Storm Driven had plated her face with scales against attackers and had retractable claws in her fingers. The trueshift that made Storm Driven’s scales possible without the continual use of aether was too extreme for Wind Rider’s tastes, but even so he had long curving horns and a prehensile tail to proclaim his fey nature.

“We won’t surprise them,” Loreveroro said. “We haven’t burned aether on concealment, and they’ve got scouts of their own. They’ll know we’re here.”

“They won’t know when we’ll strike. And they’re human. Their numbers will give them false confidence. They probably expect us to wait for reinforcements. Come, let us brief the companies on the plan.” Storm Driven wheeled her mount around and rode down to where they’d left the troops.

Loreveroro warned that the humans might choose to strike first. Wind Rider felt sure they wouldn’t; they’d hope to make their fortress before the fey were reinforced.

The rest of the afternoon passed in what felt like moments, as they shadowed the Landaran army. Soon, the sun closed on the horizon and the humans made camp. The Landarans knew where the fey companies were. They placed their camp over a mile from the ridgeline and prepared it to defend against a night attack. The fey waited for full dark, then sent a pair of fey in owl shapes to scout the enemy’s defenses, locate the phoenix rose, and find the Landaran’s fey prisoners. Once they had that information, they finalized their battle plans and attacked.

Glamour consumed very little aether, so they crafted illusions freely. The fey of the cavalry companies spread out and used illusory riders to triple their numbers. In the moonlit night, a host of swift-moving shadows to the rear of the cavalry, accompanied by the sound of twanging bowstrings and the hiss of arrows, made it seem that ranks of archers supported their assault. The scent of sweat and horses, previously muted by glamour for their own comfort, was now enhanced to add verisimilitude. Four fey scouts in avian shapes raised shadow armies on the horizons to the north and the east. Meanwhile the true force boiled down from the ridgeline to the southwest.

The Landaran commander was no fool; Wind Rider gave him that. He ordered his men to stand their ground, and sent only a few scouts to the north and east to verify the glamours there were indeed illusions. A shield wall of pike-wielding infantry waited behind a line of sharpened stakes set in the ground. The human cavalry ranged behind the infantry. As they approached, Storm Driven signaled a dozen fey to send aether-guided arrows into enemy soldiers to give credence to the lie of their ranged support. The arrows exploded in flame where they struck: before they’d reached the stake line, a score of Landarans had already fallen. Their commander barked an order, and the human cavalry moved out, five hundred horses racing to both left and right in an attempt to flank the fey host. They sought to get behind the fey and take out the nonexistent archers.

Storm Driven swept one arm before her, and a scythe of aether followed her gesture over the line of sharpened stakes. Hardwood wilted like blades of grass beneath her power. The fey cavalry lowered their lances and charged the shield wall. The human infantry braced for the impact.

Four yards from the shield wall, the fey folk rippled and shifted, from the silhouettes of men into monsters, no two alike. They grew scales and horns, extra arms, the tails of scorpions and striking serpents, elongated necks, dragon heads. To human eyes, their mounts changed with them, to half-dragon steeds, demon cats, griffons, nightmares. Human captains and lieutenants shouted encouragements to quailing soldiers. They’d known this would happen. But it is one thing to know you will fight monsters, and another thing entirely to fight them.    

Aether-directed lance points pierced through shields and armor to bite into mortal flesh. Fey-trained warhorses leaped into the air and soared over the line, aether-borne. The lines beyond had their pikes raised and soldiers crouched under shields. Monstrous fey knights dropped their spent lances and drew swords as horse hooves plunged into the mass of their enemies. Wind Rider burned aether to push the points aside as his horse came down atop a roof of shields; Storm Driven’s trick with the line of stakes cost much more aether on metal-bound weapons in sapient hands. In battle, aether was life. His fey stallion used its own supply of aether to steady them. The animal did not stumble even as their weight bore down on shields and human flesh, as partly-crushed men struggled to get out from under them.    

The battle lines of the human soldiers crumbled around them as fey swords and monstrous appendages plunged into their enemies. Aether turned aside the short swords and pike blades of their enemies, except for the blows that went into glamour-illusions and did the latter no harm. Lightning found ground to stand upon and reared to lash out with hooves at the humans. Wind Rider balanced in the saddle, turning the stallion in a tight circle and striking down any soldier close enough to hit. All was chaos around them. The Sun warriors conjured aether into lightning to blast at human lieutenants and standard-bearers. Some of the Moon fey sent more arrows that exploded in fire into the more distant ranks. Wind Rider was still conserving aether until they reached the phoenix rose. He hooked throwing stars from his steed’s harness and sent them with aether-precision into the eyes and throats of the enemy. Now that the battle line had broken and the mortals were in a disorderly retreat, he sought to clear a path to the phoenix rose. A beacon of glamour went up ahead and to the right; one of the fey had eyes on the phoenix rose and was highlighting it for the rest of the group.

A Sun warrior sent a fork of lightning towards it. Its wielder deflected the bolt towards a fey knight. Wind Rider was shocked to see the fey sent flying from his horse, body blackened and smoking. Why didn’t he evade? Fey evasion requires so little aether; surely he can’t have been so bereft? Is that the power of the phoenix rose?

Under Lightning’s hooves, the ground trembled and shook, then split. Wind Rider urged the fey stallion into an aether-assisted leap away from the fault lines. Lava rose through the cracks, a heat shimmer distorting the air. Wind Rider charged his mount for the knot of humans guarding their artifact. The wielder had conjured a protective ward over himself, the bird, and his defensive force. It was throwing back the fey charging it, in a kind of bubble that the humans could strike out from but that even aether-driven attacks did not pierce.    

As Wind Rider neared the bubble, he spent aether recklessly. He wrapped himself in a ward of his own and cast an earthswim spell as he dove from his steed. The ground roiled around him as he entered it, and the lava-heat beat against his ward but did not penetrate it. He swam forward until he judged himself underneath the human’s ward, and then up. As he’d guessed, the bubble did not protect them from below. The human soldiers barely had time to be surprised as he jumped out of the ground and among them, a fey demon-warrior with naked steel in both hands. Wind Rider ripped through the guardians in an aether-fueled whirlwind of steel. They dealt Wind Rider a few cuts in return, as he was unwilling to give ground and evade completely. The phoenix-wielder cradled his caged bird to his chest, struggling to adjust his spell into a personal ward. He managed to do so just before Wind Rider would have disemboweled him.

But by that time, the rest of the fey forces had swarmed upon the human. Storm Driven pummeled at his ward with spell and steel from one side while the Sun general took the opposite. One of the Sun princes stabbed at him from behind; the last worked spells to peel apart the layers of his ward. More and more fey moved into position and fueled the efforts to undo the ward. Potent as the phoenix rose was, its inexperienced wielder could not withstand the combined assault. He fell to Storm Driven’s blade. Wind Rider dropped his sword to catch the phoenix rose’s cage, a moment before General Qihitinene did. They held the cage together for a moment, eyes locked. Inside the cage, the bird made a querulous coo. It was a pretty animal, the feathers of its folded wings and body reminiscent of the petals of a red rose, its head iridescent green like the stem of a bud. Prince Imilasisi made a slight gesture, and the general yielded it to Wind Rider. “Congratulations, your highnesses,” he said. “Our prize is won, for the twin Etheriums.”

“For the twin Etheriums!” Triumphant, Wind Rider lifted the cage over his head. A cheer went up from among the fey host, clashing steel against steel for applause.

“Don’t stop to celebrate yet.” Prince Loreveroro strode back to his horse and swung up. “We still need to free our captive people.”

Wind Rider grinned anyway. They’d won the phoenix rose. The rest of the army would be only clean-up.

---

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They returned to the same spot they’d vacated, but the Queen was no longer next to them. Miro surveyed the ship’s environs, and saw the Moon Queen had joined the aether dancers. Whispers Rain, too, was dancing in the air, graceful swoops while partnered with a fey in the shape of a giant dragonfly. Miro saw Ardent’s eye stray in her direction, and wondered if she was imagining dancing with her. The angle of the heavy, unpleasant chain of obligation on Rain’s soul had changed. By reflex, Miro followed it to see if the holder was present.    

The thick corrupted line led directly to Fallen.

Shadow of Fallen Scent stood before a tall, white-winged centaur, deep in conversation. She had so many ugly strings on souls both present and elsewhere that it was hard to pick out an individual strand. But the centaur’s soul was another one of her victims, and Fallen’s soul was pulling on the string between them, making it vibrate with whatever she was demanding.

Miro looked around the ship’s deck to make note of any other people that Fallen had particularly thick strings upon. There were a few High Court members. It struck Miro how important Ardent must have been to the Etherium, that so much of the Court would attend a party in her honor even after a fourteen-year absence. One individual Miro hadn’t seen at court, a flying merman with the black and white pattern of an orca, stood out for the ugliness of his soul. It was a mottled thing with its good parts choked by solipsism and cruelty. Fallen’s looked worse, but it was more a distinction of scale than kind. No wonder he ended up in her debt.

The aether dance came to a close, the final notes dying away as the musicians finished their piece and did not segue into a new one.

Queen Skein of the Absolute flew along one of the aether currents to a position above the musicians on the raised quarterdeck, and hovered before the drifting streamers that hung from the rear mast’s yards. “My friends, we have come together on this joyous occasion to welcome my faithful servant and former Justiciar Ardent Sojourner back to the Moon Etherium. Ardent, I remember you have always been a great enthusiast for history and immersions. In your honor, I present the latest work from Through the Glass, a historical piece set during the time of Sundering.” A round of enthusiastic applause followed this announcement. Even Miro perked up. Immersions were a relatively new art form, a kind of shared-storytelling game. A fey artist or, more often, a large team of fey artists, would design a scenario and then assign various parts in it to participants. The best immersions were complicated affairs with hundreds of parts, each with their own story arc to explore, each intersecting with the whole. The “immersive” aspect came from a form of glamour that gave each participant a full understanding of their character’s background and motivations. Rules governed each scenario, enforcing artificial limits on fey abilities during the immersion that would make its challenges more real. Many of them involved simulated combat. Nothing that happened would affect the participants in reality, but if one accepted the immersion wholly, it would feel as if it were real.

Miro had always liked immersions. They made participants think about times and situations when problems were a matter of life-and-death, and that lent some perspective to the less dramatic woes of everyday life.

After the applause died down, the Queen continued, “Please welcome Through the Glass’s lead artist, Reflections on Water.”

The white centaur who had been talking to Fallen flew into the air beneath his queen, and spoke after a second, shorter, round of applause. “Your majesty honors myself and my friends with this opportunity. Thank you. This is a special preview of our newest work, The Betrayal, an immersive re-imagining of the events surrounding the Great Sundering. It’s never before been performed, and we hope you will forgive any rough spots in the narrative. With your good will, let us begin.” He lifted a hand, and a half-dozen other fey throughout the crowd did the same. Starlit points scattered from their fingertips to target each member of the audience, assigning each one a unique role.

Ardent broke the starlit spells before they could reach her or Miro. She walked to the caster for their parts instead. The caster was a black-and-red naga woman, who gave her a puzzled look at her approach. “Is something amiss, my lady?”

“Just want to know what parts we’re getting before we start,” Ardent said.

“My lady has the role of Prince Wind Rider, and her servant is to be Prince Loreveroro.” They were both historical figures, warrior-princes of the pre-Sundering age from the Moon and Sun Etheriums respectively. Prince Loreveroro had been one of the two princes of the Sun Host who had gone to Moon Etherium during the ill-fated ninth century Centennial Celebration. He’d died channeling for a Moon Host caster during the Sundering.

“Nope. I don’t think so,” Ardent said, flatly. “The prince doesn’t channel for anyone but me.”

“My lady, I assure you the channeling is simulated, not actual. No harm—”

“No. No simulated channeling. He is mine. I’m not risking any accidents with a never-before-performed leading-edge immersion.” Ardent waved a hand to dismiss the naga’s put-upon and offended look. “Just give me Loreveroro’s part and he can be Wind Rider. I don’t care how cute you all think it is to give our Sun Host channelers the parts of doomed Sun Host channelers. You can make him Wind Rider or we can both sit it out.”

The naga dipped her head. “Yes, my lady.” She cast the spell again, and this time Ardent did not intercept it. As Miro received the spell, he reflexively gestured to adjust the immersion as it would affect him: minimal pain, minimal acceptance of the role so it would not override his personality, and a moderate impact on his senses so that he could still straddle with the real Moon Etherium.

Too late, he realized it wouldn’t work: he had no aether with which to control how deeply he was affected. The spell settled upon him at full intensity, and Mirohirokon was gone.

---

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Miro kept his features frozen, but he couldn’t stop trembling. It was just a kiss. It’s nothing. It doesn’t matter, he repeated in his head, over and over. Underneath that conscious appeal to reason, panic seethed. And when they make you fuck her, what will you say then? ‘It’s only rape. It doesn’t matter’? Why are we here why are we doing this Divine, Guide, help me. I just want to be safe. He closed his eyes and breathed Ardent in, fought to steady himself. She was still clear, pure, radiant.

And called me a toy.

She has a part to play too. You gave it to her. Don’t complain that she’s doing it.

Divine, what have I done?

Ardent held him protectively against her chest, arm across his collarbone, her fingers stroking the curve of his shoulder. Like a pet. But a beloved pet, one to be protected, cherished. She and her queen were talking, but his mind couldn’t process the words. Fallen took Jinokimijin and strolled away; Miro wasn’t sure where they went.

Abruptly, the twilit world of the glass ship and its celebratory inhabitants vanished around them, replaced by Ardent’s quiet, well-lit apartment. The teleport was so unexpected that Miro staggered. Ardent steadied him, turning him to face her as she went to one knee before him. The collar and leash fell from him to land on the floor with a clatter. He looked at Ardent blankly as she peered up into his face. “Miro, honey, talk to me. How are you holding up?” He tried to recall the last thing that she’d said before the teleport, and realized it had been “I’ll be back in a whisker-twitch.”

“I’m fine,” he said, the lie automatic, mechanical. “Why did we leave?”

“Because I’m worried about you. You’re still shaking.”

Miro raised a hand, watched his fingers tremble in the air. “So I am.”

“Sugar, it’s my party and I gotta go back there. But you don’t have to. You can stay here, where it’s safe. And you can always message me if something comes up.” She laced her strong, blunt fingers through his and clasped his hand, cupping his cheek with her other. “Wanna stay?”

Yes. He fell forward into her arms, knees buckling as she took his full weight with the stability of an anchor. Still kneeling, she cradled him close, one hand stroking his head and neck. He gasped, half a sob. “Mom can’t leave. She’s stuck there. With her.”

“Mom? Wait, you mean Jinokimijin?”

He nodded, chin rubbing against her muscular brown shoulder. “Jinokimijin likes being female too, so got to be Mom as well as Dad. The Sun Queen was useless for either. I have to go back. She’s trapped at Fallen’s side; surely I can manage at yours.”

“It’s not a competition to see who can suffer the most, Miro. I’m sorry. I should’ve stopped her, done something sooner—”

“No, no, you did well. That’s how we’re supposed to play it.” He clung to her. I’m the one failing at my part. Falling apart. Guide, the Path is hard. Please help me. “You did exactly as I wished. Your intervention was timely and well-explained.” Miro meant the words as he said them, and felt steadier for it. More like himself, as if the Guide were setting his feet back on the Path, as if Ardent was a Divine gift to lean upon as he walked it.

“Mph.” She stroked his back, unconvinced.

Reluctantly, he pulled back to look at her face. “We should return, before anyone wonders why you left.”

Ardent snorted. Her grip slackened but she didn’t let him go. “Let ’em wonder. You sure about this, sugar?”

Miro took a deep breath, held it in, released it. “I am. Thank you.” He touched his fingertips to her jawline, his hand steady again. “For asking. For getting me out for a moment. It helped more than you can know. But we should go back. I want Mom to know she’s not alone.”    

Ardent crinkled her broad nose as she stood again. “All right. But I want us to have a signal, if you need me to get you out of there again. Like this.” She touched her pinky finger to her thumb. “You do this and I’ll know you’re in trouble. And if I have to unchain you again and we get separated, then you message me if you can’t see me or if you’re not sure I can see you. All right?”

He nodded, smiling. “Yes. Thank you.”

“Mph.” She conjured the leash and collar upon him again, and they ported back to the gathering.

---

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Ardent could tell at once, by watching them, why Fallen’s suggestion had not troubled Miro. The Sun Host fey were performing the wrong dance in the wrong way for the wrong music, and they were brilliant. The aether dancers were hypnotic, yes. But the nearly-mortal Sun Host dance was remarkable in its own way for its absence of glamour and magic. They relied on trueshifted flesh alone, and it was astonishing what they could do with it. It was considerably more impressive than the dances Ardent had seen in barbarian villages, probably because both Miro and Jino had recently trueshifted forms that hadn’t had time to lose muscle tone or flexibility from their original peaks. Ardent was pleased, though she suspected neither Fallen nor Skein were getting what they’d hoped for. And maybe it’d be better if they did. Otherwise, they’ll keep prodding for it.

Fallen stood beside her as the dance unfolded, her dark mouth compressed in a thin line. “You know he’s only using you, don’t you, Lady Sojourner? That boy wouldn’t be here if he didn’t think he could get his parent free of our bargain.”

Ardent smiled lazily, bracelets chiming as she folded her arms. “I know he thinks he’s using me.”

Fallen glanced sidelong at her. “Then what’s your game, Lady Sojourner?”

“Winning. C’mon, Shadow of Fallen Scent. You heard his oath to me. He’s not squirming out of that.”

“Then what’s his game? You cannot honestly believe he showed up to bet his life’s service for your aid on a game everyone knows you’re an expert at.”

Ardent laughed. “Well, he did carefully word the deal so he could cheat at Turns.” She grinned. “He significantly underestimated how much he’d need to cheat to beat me, though.”

The corners of Fallen’s mouth turned up in answer. “Like father, like son.”

“Ha! Is that how Jiji ended up in your service, too?” Ardent kept her expression one of mild amusement, and hated herself for every word of this conversation.

“Something like that.”

“Heh. Pretty sure that wasn’t the kid’s only play, though. He’s High Court, and the Sun Queen’s brat to boot. She wouldn’t give a broken spindle for Disgraced Jinokimijin, but she’ll want her boy back. This way, he makes them send a negotiator for him. And his extravagant oath to me is a bargaining chip for him to use, by way of demonstrating his determination not to leave his father behind.” She shrugged. “He knows he doesn’t have any leverage with Moon Etherium. Bet he knew I didn’t have any leverage with you. But his whole Etherium? Expect they can muster something worth our while.”

“And his father means enough to him that he’ll bet his life on it?” Fallen watched the two dancers, pale blue eyes slitted in thought.

Ardent gestured to them. “Isn’t it obvious? I mean, just look at them.” Dancing together, moving together, they were more than just similar in appearance. They had the coordination of a true partnership. She watched Miro toss Jinokimijin into the air, confident she would catch the spar. Jinokimijin descended on her hands, sure that her son could support her. Then the throw into nothing more than a silk streamer, Jino sliding down it, certain that her son would catch her when she fell. Ardent hoped she was doing a better job convincing Fallen of her indifference to Miro than she was herself. This isn’t just because he’s pretty, or because channeling from him is an incredible experience. It’s the way he puts his whole self into everything he does: no half-measures, no holding back. Hard not to admire that. I really have to stop admiring that.

A flicker of aether as Fallen cast caught her eye; it was a subtle spell, a snag of Miro’s foot for no more than an instant. Ardent might’ve missed it had she not had the remnants of a reveal-spellwork in her vision. Before she could react, Miro was stumbling – and then caught, by another’s spell. Ardent looked for the source, and spotted the traces of the aether from it on the fingers of Contemplation After the Storm. She was watching the performance intently, and applauded when Miro completed his catch. She wondered if Storm’d done it for Miro’s sake, or to spite Fallen, or – most likely – as an artist who hated to see artistry spoiled. I’ll have to thank her for that later, whatever the reason. Ardent applauded as enthusiastically as any in the crowd of fey. Their Sun Host servants returned and knelt at the feet of their mistresses and the Queen.

“A creditable performance,” Skein said. “Sun Host’s mastery of such…old-fashioned skills is considerable. Perhaps it’s for that reason that you are in Moon Etherium, where they’ll be of use to you, when nothing more…modern…is. You may rise.” Ardent gritted her teeth. Skein couldn’t disparage the performance itself without losing credibility with her people – but she could still twist it into an insult for Sun Etherium. The skill needed to take a magnificent and unrehearsed performance and make a snide jibe out of it might have been impressive were it not so petty.

“Yes, well done,” Fallen cooed as the two Sun fey stood. “Aren’t they adorable together? Such a fine catch deserves a reward! Give your savior a kiss, Jiji,” she commanded. Obediently, Jinokimijin stood on her tiptoes and kissed Miro’s cheek. “Not like that. A proper kiss.”

What in the name of Justice is wrong with you? Ardent wanted to demand, almost badly enough to undo all the careful work she’d just done to position her interests and Fallen’s as, if not aligned, at least not in opposition. Miro’s carefully blank expression flickered for a moment, then he turned like a golem to face Jinokimijin as the little fey girl looped her arms around his neck. He swept her backwards and leaned over her as she pulled her head to his. They kissed like lovers, like dolls, with all the trappings of passion and none of the substance. Fallen watched with a thin dark smile at her own tasteless joke. Ardent stepped forward. “That’s enough, Miro.” She put her hand to his collar, leashing him again. Miro straightened as she put her hand on his shoulder, and set Jinokimijin down again. His face was as still as wax, betraying nothing, but Ardent could feel him tremble under her fingers. She pulled him to her, his back against her chest, and curled her other arm across his front. She directed a cool look to Fallen. “I’m very possessive of my toys. You understand.”

“Oh.” Fallen made a lazy gesture, and Jinokimijin was leashed and chained again. She reeled her in to kneel at her feet. “Of course I do.”

---

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Miro understood why Fallen had made this suggestion. It was impossible for them to aether dance, and she assumed that whatever parody they did of it would provide her and her queen with some amusement. As petty slights went, it was petty in the extreme.

But it would give him a chance to talk to his father again. And if matters in the Moon Etherium went badly, he might not have another such chance. So he embraced it, and walked with a neutral expression, arm-in-arm with his parent, to the center of the glass deck. “Shall we do this your way or my way?”

“Oh, your way.” Jino leaned against his arm as they walked. Her voice was high and light, a breathy young girl’s. “My way hasn’t been going so well. And it’s easier to switch from yours to mine than the other way around.”

“True.” Miro turned to face her. All around them, Moon Etherium fey danced. They wore a hundred different shapes and sizes, from dragons and ogres to tiny sprites. They jumped, floated, and flew through elegant patterns, using party streamers and aether currents for abrupt changes of directions, narrowly avoiding collisions by fey evasion.

Miro dismissed them all from his thoughts, along with the chaotic Moon Etherium spread beneath their feet and the watching High Court, waiting for their unwilling jesters to make them laugh. He and Jino drew a pace apart and bowed to one another. They did have certain advantages of which Fallen might not be aware: the Sun Etherium regarded dance unaided by aether as an art form, and practiced it occasionally. And Miro and his father had spent a great deal of time in the Broken Lands and even mortal worlds, investigating one phenomenon or another, and conserving aether accordingly.

They rose from their bows and came together. “Do you know this music?” Miro asked.

“I think so. It’ll remain slow and in /-0.1em4 time for ten measures and then segue into something…wild.”

“Lovely.” Miro touched the palm of his right hand to Jino’s left and rested his left hand on his partner’s hip while she put a hand on his shoulder. Having his father be female didn’t bother Miro: while Jino had a general preference for male forms, it wasn’t a strong one. Miro had seen her choose female shapes many times in the past. Miro wasn’t used to dancing with Jino at her current size, but Peli took joy in being much too short for Sun Etherium standards, so the relative difference in their heights was not an unfamiliar sensation.

What did give him pause was the inscription on his parent’s arm: Property of Shadow of Fallen Scent. It wasn’t a tattoo, as Miro’d assumed from the glimpse during High Court. It was a brand, white skin raised and haloed by red.

They turned a slow, clockwise circle on the deck. Miro’s eyes slid again to the brand. “How are you?”

“Terrified.” Jino had her head tilted back to watch her son’s face, and followed his look. “Not over that, it’s just looks. Fallen likes dramatic things,” she said, and Miro wasn’t sure if that was the whole of it or not. “I am worried for you. What are you doing, Miro? What was that business in the court about? Don’t tell me anything you don’t want Fallen to know.”

“I made a deal with my lady, Ardent Sojourner.” The measure closed; they switched hands and turned counterclockwise. Miro spun Jino out and reeled her in again with her back to his chest. “I am honoring it.”

She pressed her cheek to his chest, letting him lead her through another turn. Softly, she asked, “Are you still with me, Mirohiro?”

“Always, Mom.” He spun her again, then brought her back face to face with him. “How bad is it?”

“Bad. I wish you hadn’t come. That oath. Did you have to swear that oath? Don’t answer me.”

Miro smiled. “I’m fine. More worried about you. ’Adolescent’ doesn’t suit you, Mom.”

“Do you think not? And Ele always said I was childish. Besides, it’s sort of fun.” She stayed in place as Miro took a step back in their dance, and then brought her left leg up smoothly to rest her sandaled foot against his shoulder, torso almost parallel to it, right foot still on the ground. “I can’t remember the last time I was this flexible without aether.”

Miro put his hands about her waist and lifted Jino enough to let her right foot point and trail the glass deck as he carried her through the movement. She felt feather-light in Miro’s current form. Jino put her hands over Miro’s, and he paused to take them. She arched backwards, almost impossibly far for a movement unassisted by aether, then tucked her right leg up. For a moment, she was suspended entirely by Miro’s hands on hers and her knee against his chest and foot by his shoulder. Miro’s muscles tensed with exertion. Then Jino launched her legs off of him to turn a somersault in the air. Her hair followed in a perfect arc, while her hands twisted in his. They released one another as she slid into a perfect sidesplit on landing. “Showoff,” Miro murmured.

“We did say your way. Spin?” Jino offered her hands. Miro took them and danced back a pace, turning quickly as he lifted Jino by her arms. Instead of standing, Jino kept her legs spread, letting centrifugal motion carry her into a spin, long hair whipping behind her. After a few revolutions, she folded her legs with knees tucked together, and Miro slowed to set her down, spinning himself in the opposite direction, aether-enspelled hair flaring around him like a cloak, coat following the motion. He slid to a stop in a crouch, one leg almost straight behind him, the other bent under him to support his weight. He leaned forward to touch his fingers to the glass deck, and looked to his partner. She was curled gracefully on the sides of her legs, torso angled towards him, breathing deeply.

Miro grinned and sprang to his feet in a sprint. He caught Jino up under her arms and set her down, gliding into a stately turn. “How’s your stamina?”

“Not as good as it could be,” Jino admitted, between deep breaths.

“How’d you get Fallen to give you enspelled hair?”

“She’s very vain. If I trip over my hair while she’s promenading me, it makes her look bad. Why did Ardent give you yours?”

“Ardent Sojourner is power-hungry,” Miro said, because he wanted Fallen to believe that, “but not cruel.” They reversed their turn. “Can you tell me what Fallen is doing?”

“I am forbidden from discussing my mistress’s activities,” Jino answered, as Miro dipped her back at the end of a turn. She grinned mischievously. “But I can tell you what her activities aren’t. For example, she isn’t gathering any natural iron.”

Miro’s eyes widened, thoughts going to the necessary items for different kinds of extractors for the phoenix rose. “Has she gathered any firebuds?”

“No.” Jino gave a small smile. “She’s never worked with firebuds.”    

Miro allowed himself a moment of relief. With firebuds, Fallen could have made a working extractor – or extractors – before acquiring the phoenix rose, and had the devices ready and waiting for use with the bird. He’d thought that wasn’t the case, given Fallen’s lack of overt activity with the phoenix rose so far, but it was still good to have it confirmed. He pressed on with the inquiry: “Has she amassed natural aloe? Trinodon? Platinum?” He pulled Jino upright and danced backwards several steps, going through the list as Jino answered negatively to each. He focused on the ones that couldn’t be made by aether: materials that had to be harvested or mined by hand, and needed to be pure, not reused from some prior purpose. Miro turned and dipped her again as he asked, “Alabaster?”

“I can’t answer that,” Jino said, arched backwards, hair sweeping the glass deck. Miro smiled grimly and continued the interrogation. ‘Ivory’ also couldn’t be answered. They were dancing with Jino’s back to his chest again when Jino warned, “Music will go wild at the end of this measure.”

“Let’s go wild with it. What are you up for?”

“Fly me.”

The shift in the music vibrated through the deck with a new grinding beat. There was no time to ask if Jino was sure. Miro shifted his grip to her ribcage and turned as Jino folded her legs to let Miro support her. He lowered her for wind-up, then raised her high and tossed her into the air.

She soared on the momentum of the throw, arms outstretched. She grasped one of the ship’s glass spars and whirled around it, legs together at first, then split to clear the bar lengthwise. She shifted mid-spin to straddle the spar, hooked one knee around it, dropped to hang upside down and reach for her son. Miro raised his arms, back arched, to meet her. Jino pressed her palms to his and released the spar with her legs to handstand on his hands. This would be a great time to have some aether, Miro thought. Both their bodies trembled with tension, balanced too precisely. He lowered them, one leg going back, and Jino sprang off his hands to flip to the deck.

Jino’s landing was slightly off balance, but she recovered well. She stalked towards Miro, one hand raised palm out, and Miro moved backwards in time to her advance as music swelled around them. Jino dropped her arms and ran to him. You are mad, Mom, Miro thought, but when she jumped, he boosted her lift and sent her soaring again. Miro twisted to watch her. She caught one of the silk streamers and rocked upon it, one arm wrapping about the upper portion and the other lower, her back against it. She went down in a controlled slide as the streamer circled above the deck, losing momentum with each pass.

Miro spun across the deck to position himself beneath her when she dropped. Just before he reached the spot, something tripped him and he started to fall. Miro twisted as he fell, trying to recover, knowing he wouldn’t be in time. Music crashed to a climax around him.

An unexpected current of aether intercepted him, gracefully positioning him with one leg bent almost double beneath him and the other straight, arms out to catch Jino as she fell into them. The music fell, notes scattering like drops of rain, white blonde hair surrounding them like a halo. Jino curled gracefully into his embrace. Miro cradled her to his chest, pulse pounding, breathing too fast, until the last notes died away.

Applause rose in its place; the assembled guests had stopped their own dancing to watch the Sun Etherium fey. “Well done, son,” Jino murmured. Miro took a few moments longer to recover, but finally stood and set Jino down. Arm in arm, they returned to their mistresses, while Miro wondered if Fallen was the one who’d tripped him, and Ardent the one who’d caught him.

---

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Fallen’s arrival distracted the Queen from tormenting Miro, so it had that much going for it. The silver fox-tailed woman wore a blue suit with a long dress jacket and soft ankle boots. Diamonds spangled it in a starswirl pattern that was dangerously close to echoing their Queen’s skin – one of the few fashion mistakes even Ardent didn’t need to be warned not to make.

Fallen was still forcing Jinokimijin to wear a girl’s shape. The Sun fey looked like a fifteen year-old female version of Miro, complete with the same floor-length white-blonde hair. Her costume was an obscene mockery of Sun Etherium formal wear: a short bustier held together by chains in place of tunic, a thong instead of tights, the open jacket made of lace and so short in front it barely covered her breasts. Loops of silver chain dangled over her thighs and jingled over her bare stomach from the bottom of the bustier. She was still leashed, with her hands and feet cuffed and chained, albeit with a few feet of slack between the chains. Jinokimijin’s youthful, pretty features were blank, devoid of all expression. She followed in Fallen’s wake down the sparkling semi-solid aether path out of the fountain.

While the queen watched them, Ardent bent to murmur to the still-kneeling Miro, “You can get up now, sugar.” He rose as if commanded, but he did not lift his head to meet her eyes. As far as she could tell, he was playing the part of obedient servant flawlessly: calm, placid, and unperturbed by the queen’s unpleasant tone and insulting insinuations. Ardent, meanwhile, was struggling. She wanted to put Skein over her knee and spank her, then demand some answers. What, for all Love and Justice, are you doing? I expect this hateful nonsense from Fallen, but you? I thought better of you.

Fallen strolled over to them, a little smile on her black lips, and went to one knee before her queen. Jinokimijin dropped when Fallen stopped, the enslaved fey going to both knees and sitting with her rear against her feet, head down. Long hair fell like a curtain around her, veiling her better than the scraps of clothing did.

Skein bade Fallen rise. “Ardent and I were just talking about you, my Surety.”

“Were you? I hope our erstwhile Justiciar remembers me fondly. Welcome home, Ardent Sojourner.” Fallen met her gaze with pale blue eyes and a cool, insincere smile.

“Thanks,” Ardent drawled. “Didja miss me?”

Fallen bared her teeth. “Your absence was noted by us all, Lady Ardent.”

“Bring your pet over by hers, Fallen,” Skein said. “I want to see them side by side.”

Jinokimijin started to stand as soon as the Queen spoke, but Fallen jerked at her leash anyway. “Come along, Jiji. Stand there.”

Ardent folded her arms across her chest, wondering how much channeled sun aether it would take to use force against another fey, wondering if she already had enough. Calm down, girl. If Miro can take it, so can you. Jinokimijin’s expression had finally altered when she saw her son, no longer blank, but fearful. Miro faced forward like a mortal soldier, not looking at anyone or anything as his parent moved to stand next to him, silver chains chiming.

Skein laughed in delight, hands clasped before her. “I knew Sun Host all looked alike, but I had no idea how much! Even their faces! They’re like mirror images of each other, in opposite genders.” Miro was nearly a foot taller than his parent, in their current forms, and he had the build of a muscular man in contrast to Jino’s slight feminine frame. Still, the relationship between them was marked, especially among Moon Etherium fey who rarely saw such similar folk as, say, mortals. “Did you two coordinate their attire? It’s charming.”

“Great minds think alike.” Fallen smiled again. “We must have had similar inspirations.”

Punching her would be a waste of aether, even assuming it worked. She’s not worth Miro’s sacrifice. Moreover, the best revenge will be in finding the phoenix rose and taking it and Jinokimijin away from her. That thought, if nothing about this situation, made her smile. Ardent said, neutrally, “That costume certainly is inspired.”

“We should have them perform together. I know! Let’s have them dance. The music’s still playing! Won’t they be cute, dancing together?” Fallen laughed at her own suggestion.

It was a funny idea, if one had a cruel sense of humor. The Sun Etherium fey could hardly aether dance, given that they had no aether, and would doubtless look ridiculous trying. Ardent was deciding which reason to use for refusing when a movement from Miro caught her eye. He’d turned to look at her, and there was determination in his eyes. You sure you want to do this? she thought, looking at him, wondering if she was reading his expression right. He pulled his shoulders back, standing Sun-Etherium-erect, unintimidated. “All right,” Ardent said. “Sure. Let ’em dance.”

She put her hand to Miro’s collar to unleash him. For a moment he leaned his cheek against her fingers, eyes closed. Then Fallen had unchained Jinokimijin, and Miro took his parent’s arm to escort her to a cleared space on the glass deck.

---

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Music swelled as The Queen of the Moon Host descended the aether path. Her midnight skin sparkled with galaxies and nebulas. She wore white with silver accents: silver sandals, opaque tights, a loose tunic that bared her shoulders, belted with a necklace of silver and stars, with slashed sleeves to expose her dark star-dusted skin. Silver and diamond jewelry dripped from her long ears, capped and dangled from the points of her antlers, encircled her wrists and ankles. A long translucent white cape trailed behind her, held aloft by tiny fairy golems that moved with her. Additional will-o-wisps swirled about her, like comets trapped in her orbit.

Mirohirokon only spent a moment to take in the sight of her, then long habit from life in the Sun Etherium had him fall to one knee with head bowed. Around him, the rest of the Moon Host turned to their Queen and knelt as well. Even the chaos of Moon Etherium respected some customs.

The Queen walked among her silent, kneeling subjects until she reached Ardent. “Ardent Sojourner. Rise.”

The satyress rose to her hooves. Queen Skein of the Absolute was by no means short, but Ardent towered over her by over a foot. The satyress dipped her head as the queen gazed fondly up at her. “Your majesty.”

“Welcome back, Ardent.” The Queen clasped Ardent’s shoulders. Seamlessly, the Queen shifted her size larger as she stepped forward and embraced her returned subject on an equal footing. A surprised Ardent hugged her in return. Quietly, Skein said, “You have been missed, old friend. Come see me tomorrow.” Ardent blinked at her and nodded. Her majesty stepped back, returning to her original size. Her voice rang out: “Tonight, let the whole of Moon Host celebrate your return to us!”

That was the cue to the attendees to rise. The artists performing the music changed from the queen’s arrival theme to a lively song. Some of the guests resumed their conversations, but others took to the air, aether dancing among the streamers and currents.

The Queen continued to monopolize Ardent’s attention, asking questions about life in Try Again and how she was settling back in at the Etherium. Ardent spoke to her as easily as she had to any of her friends, with warmth and no particular deference. Whispers Rain had retreated out of sight at the change in music, perhaps to join the aether dancers. Miro remained at Ardent’s side, silent. For several minutes, the queen ignored him. Then she glanced sidelong to him. Long black fingers extended to catch the chain of his leash, perhaps a foot beneath the collar. To Ardent, she said, “I am pleased to see you are keeping your new pet in hand.”

“It’s little enough you ask of me, your majesty,” Ardent answered. It was the first time in their conversation she’d used the honorific.

Skein of the Absolute smiled. Pointed white teeth glittered. “Indeed, it is. I would not trust just anyone with a prize of such value, you know.”

“I’m honored.” Ardent crinkled her nose. “Though I’d be more honored if Fallen wasn’t the other person you trusted.”

“After fourteen years, still you have no love for her? But hers is less valuable than yours, you know.” The Queen glanced at Miro. Her round eyes were solid silver, no whites or pupils. Her fingers tightened on his chain, and pulled it down hard. He bent his head, then dropped to one knee at her feet. It was more graceful than stooping, and he could no more resist her aether-enhanced strength than he could evade her grasp. Helpless. She laughed. It was not a kind laugh. “He does that easily, doesn’t he? Do you have a lot of practice kneeling, Sun prince?”

“Yes, your majesty.” Miro focused on his breathing, on calm, on pretending that laugh didn’t rankle. Amateur. She’s an amateur.

Another giggle. “Why do you suppose that is, Ardent? Who did you practice kneeling for, Sun prince?”

“My mother the queen. Her senior husbands. The crown princess.”

“Such a dutiful child. I bet they liked having you kneel before them, little princeling.” His chain clinked between her fingers. “Do you think they knew they were training you to kneel for the Moon Etherium?”

“Your majesty.”

A little jerk of his chain; he controlled his expression, but the collar bit into his neck and his head went up reflexively. “That’s not an answer, princeling.”

Miro bowed his head again. “No, your majesty. They did not.”

“If only they’d known. Think how much better you could be in your new…position.” The Moon Queen wasn’t a monster; he could read that much in her soul. She was no beacon: like everyone’s, her soul paled in comparison with Ardent’s clear, radiant colors. Skein was venal and proud, her soul streaked by petty grudges and cruelty. But there was good in her too: magnanimity, dedication, purpose. She had nothing to compare to the rotting corruption that pervaded Fallen’s soul. Miro wondered why she was doing this to him, what she was hoping to gain from it. “But you know who to bow to now, don’t you?”    

“Your majesty. Whomever my mistress chooses, your majesty.”

The Queen smirked as she returned her attention to Ardent. “I could almost like them, when they know their place. Is something troubling you, Ardent?”

“Hmm? I’m at a party in my honor, your majesty. Whatever would be troubling me?” Ardent’s bland, neutral tone didn’t sound convincing to Miro.

The queen didn’t press it, however. She dropped Miro’s chain with a little flick of her stardusted fingers, as if releasing something distasteful. The music mutated to a new theme, dark rolling notes, and Skein of the Absolute turned to the aether fountain. “Look, Shadow of Fallen Scent has brought her new toy too.”

---

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Floating trays bearing hors d’oeuvres drifted amongst the fey guests. Miro sampled some of the confections as he listened to Ardent catch up with her friends. Many of those present were talking about him, but few bothered to talk to him. He’d been at plenty of gatherings in Sun Etherium where that had been the case; it had long since lost the power to wound. Especially under circumstances like these, when he’d deliberately arranged to be a subject of conversation who’d be beneath talking to. The food was exquisite, artisanal combinations of real food with aether. Someone had put a great deal of care into preparing these delicacies.

“How do you find the Moon Etherium, your highness?” a soft voice asked near him. It took a moment to realize he was being addressed. He turned to see Whispers Rain hovering not far from Ardent’s back, watching him with big golden eyes. She’d delivered the question sincerely, with no mocking stress on the honorific.

“Fascinating,” he answered. “And Mirohirokon or Miro is fine, my lady. My Sun Etherium title is rather out of place, under the circumstances.”

“As you wish, Mirohirokon. You should call me Rain; I’ve never been anyone special in the Moon Etherium.”

Miro glanced to Ardent, who was deep in conversation with Contemplation After the Storm. “I daresay there’s at least one person who’d dispute that.”

Rain followed his gaze. She smiled, cheeks dimpling, but shook her head. “Is the Moon Etherium so different from the Sun?”

“Oh yes. The Sun Etherium is very orderly, at least on the surface. All the architecture is thematically unified from the outside, a city of gold and crystal. Variance in form and lines, to a degree, but…” He gestured to the wild, chaotic city that spread below their feet. “Nothing like this, where even structures on the same block don’t match one another. And the people are the same way. Everyone in the Sun Host looks much like this.” He gestured to himself. “Not exactly the same, of course. Different heights and builds, different skin tones, different facial features, and some wear animal ears, or tails, or wings, though they’re much less popular than here. But you wouldn’t see anyone as tall as Ardent is, or as small as you are. And the two of you aren’t even extreme, for here!”

Rain giggled. “I think Ardent’s a little extreme for anywhere,” she confided, and he smiled. “It sounds so strange, to have everyone look so similar when they could look like anything. Why do you do that?”    

Miro considered that. “There’s a social pressure to conform. You need to be a little different, of course, to be interesting, to get attention. But anyone who’s too different…the crowd will turn on them. They’ll be laughed at, mocked, scorned, until they moderate their appearance and actions to fit in again.”

“Oh.” Rain’s eyes loomed even larger and rounder in her brown face. “Did you like it there?”

“No,” he answered, softly. “Sun Etherium is beautiful, in its way. There’s a wonder in that harmony, in that sense of being part of a vast unity, far grander than any individual piece. I do not say it is inherently bad.” Not all of it. “They aren’t an evil people.” Not all of them. “But no. I did not like it.”

Rain parted deep blue lips to reply, but a stir in the crowd around them caught her attention. She turned to look to the top of the aether fountain-path. Miro looked as well, and saw an antler-crowned figure attended by a half-dozen tiny golems.

The Queen had arrived.

---

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They ported in at the top of a fountain of aether currents made quasi-solid: sparkling white, flashing, rising, and falling around them. The sensation reminded Miro of being borne up by thermals when he was shifted into an avian shape.

Except that he had neither wings nor tail with which to balance, now.

He would have lost his balance had Ardent not steadied them both with a spell. Arm in arm, they descended a path of aether, while all eyes turned to them.

Miro wore a tunic with a laced V-front and tights, under a long open jacket, almost a robe, that flowed behind him as he walked. It was patterned in gold, light blue, and white, in a way that suggested sunlight breaking through clouds. Out of several possible trim options, Katsura had chosen a ruff of frothy white lace for lapels and cuffs. He wore no jewelry other than the collar and chain.

Tall and strong beside him, Ardent was the eclipse to his sun: dressed in the colors of sunset, reds and oranges and a midnight field that sparkled with diamonds. Her shoulders and back were bare, to showcase her musculature, powerful and broad beneath deep brown skin. The sunset-reds flowed around her neck as a scarf, then plunged to frame her extremely ample cleavage, and continued down the sparkling midnight skirt to swirl about her hooves. An assortment of white gold jewelry studded with diamonds complemented her attire.    

It did not detract from her grandeur.

The party was on the translucent three-masted ship that hung unsupported a half-mile above the Moon Etherium. Streamers of aether and silk adorned its spars in lieu of sails. The aether fountain rose from the rear of the ship, its path leading to the glass deck below. A crisp, salty tang in the air added to the shipboard ambience. Starlight sculptures that were untroubled with considerations like anchor points decorated the scene. The sun was setting beyond the mountains, the sky darkening overhead. They were early, but a few dozen guests had already arrived. The other attendees had the wildly diverse selection of bodies and types that Miro had come to associate with the Moon Etherium. Even those who had human-like shapes varied in build, some impossibly slim, others rounded and pudgy, with heights ranging from the dwarfish to the giant. Many of them had obligations to Ardent, Miro noted: slim bright strings she held unconsciously upon them.

A small group of fey congregated on Ardent as she reached the base of the aether fountain. They included a tall cut-diamond neuter fey, whom Miro recognized from court. It welcomed Ardent graciously to the party, and congratulated her on her new acquisition. As Ardent blandly accepted its well-wishes and those of the others with it, a figure drifting towards them caught Miro’s eye. He turned his head to watch a slender female form approach on butterfly wings. She had deep brown skin, delicate features, and curly hair of a dark, vibrant blue. Her eyes were huge and round, with gold irises and long blue lashes. She was tiny, no more than five feet tall, with a waist so narrow Miro imagined he could encompass it with his current stylishly long-fingered hands. Her wings, patterned in translucent blues, twitched to keep her aloft and her head a bit lower than Miro’s. She wore a neck-to-ankle glittering bodysuit covered by a kind of dress made from varying shades of blue and silver ribbons.

The new fey paused a couple of yards away. Her soul was a pretty, delicate thing, like she was, but it was bowed by the weight of some terrible obligation, and marred by dark scars where she had caved to her fears. She saw him looking and lifted one dark hand in a shy wave. Miro offered a gentle smile and a little wave in answer.

Ardent glanced over his head at the motion, and went still beside him. “Well. Hello, Rain,” she said, softly.

Miro turned to the satyress. Her expression was complicated: a smile on her lips, a question in black eyes flecked with the red-gold of channeled aether, wonder and uncertainty combined.

“Hello, Ardent.” The butterfly-winged stranger gave a tentative smile in return. “It’s good to see you.”

“You came. I didn’t think you’d be here.”

Rain lifted her shoulders. “Why wouldn’t I come to welcome my old friend back?”

“I’ve been back before, and you never came then,” Ardent said, her voice soft.

A half-smile made a dimple on one side of Rain’s delicate face. “It was always too hard to say hello when I knew I’d have to say goodbye again, so soon. But you’re not leaving soon now, are you? You re-affiliated. I didn’t think you ever would.” Her large eyes turned to Miro. “And I never thought you would…like this.”

“…yeah. Excuse me,” Ardent said belatedly to the other fey with her. Ardent half-circled around Miro to stand before Rain. “Forgive my manners: Rain, this is my servant, Prince Mirohirokon of the Sun Host. Miro, this is Whispers Rain, my former wife.”

Rain offered her hand. Miro accepted it and bowed with a Sun Court flourish. “It is an honor to make your acquaintance, my lady.”    

“The prince-servant. There must be a remarkable story behind that.” Rain fluttered backwards on faceted wings as she withdrew a couple of feet again. She looked at the chain linking his collar to Ardent’s wrist.

Ardent waved a hand in dismissal. “Surely it’s all over the city by now. We gave it to the Court.”

Rain’s deep blue lips twitched with a suppressed smile. “And surely there was not…time…for all the details.”

“Maybe not.” Ardent took a step closer and reached for Rain’s hands. “Let me look at you.” The smaller fey let her take them. Even hovering, Rain looked like a doll next to Ardent. Their souls leaned towards one another. They might be former wives, but each still held a string upon the other, of obligations left unsettled. On Ardent’s side, both given and received were clear; on Rain’s side, the cords twisted. Miro couldn’t fault her for that; it was still far less problematic than the knotted cords that bound him and his father together. Ardent gazed down at her former lover. “You changed your hair. And your wings.”

Rain ducked her head in a nod, and kept her chin down as she watched Ardent through her lashes. “Do you like it?”

“I love it. Love, it’s good to see you again.”

“It’s good to see you too.” Rain gave a little laugh. “It doesn’t feel real. Are you even bigger now?” She slipped her hands from Ardent’s and fluttered higher to spread them the width of the satyress’s shoulders.    

“Maybe? I didn’t reset my body when I came back. You can gain weight, living in the Broken Lands, did you know? Or lose it, if you don’t eat enough. And I do get a lot of exercise. Also, I cheated when I made this body; it’s a lot better at building muscle than my base shape is. But these—” Ardent put her hands under her breasts playfully and jiggled them. Miro found the motion hypnotic. “I am sure they got bigger, and I don’t remember doing that. Intentionally.”

Rain laughed again, and fluttered close to wrap her arms about Ardent’s neck in an embrace. The satyress closed her eyes and held her in return, one large arm wrapped about Rain’s shoulders, above the wings, and the other encompassed her hips, below them. She exhaled, her face looking more at peace than Miro had yet seen her. He simultaneously regretted the leash, that he couldn’t withdraw to give them privacy, and was grateful for it. He didn’t want to face this gathering alone. And it was nice to see Ardent so happy. “You feel real,” Rain murmured, one little hand stroking the curving braids of Ardent’s piled hair. “I wanted to ask ‘are you sure you’re not an impostor?’ but only the real Ardent would make a comment like that.”

“You should verify me,” Ardent told her, and laughed when Rain cast a spell to do so.

More of the guests had come over to say hello. They accepted with good-humored grace her and Rain’s preoccupation with one another, but eventually Ardent shifted her friend to one arm to greet the others. Ardent made a point of introducing them to Miro. For his part, he tried to keep track of a growing swarm of names. Recognizing souls gave him a distinct advantage here, because while everyone had a distinctive appearance, it was often not the same appearance as the last time he’d seen them. Play Until Collapsing Dreams was here with Contemplation After the Storm, and they still looked mostly the same: feline ears and fluffy tails, Play’s with dark points and beige skin, Storm’s golden-brown and brown-skinned. But they’d switched genders: Play was now male and Storm female. Some of the souls stood out: Grain of the Lyre, whose form was as fluid and translucent as water, had an exceptionally trustworthy soul, even moreso than Play and Storm. Wind Sought, Ardent’s friend from the Promenade, had changed from a glass man to a winged, air-swimming mermaid. Wind Sought’s soul was streaked with unreliability and caprice, but overall kind: more whimsical than cruel.

From the conversation amongst the others, Miro gathered that the party would not formally begin until the Queen’s arrival, when things would, apparently, ‘get interesting’.

He was in no great rush to find out what that meant.

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When they visited Katsura, she had a half-dozen other customers, all likewise preparing for the same party. She ignored them all to rush over to Miro and pick his brain for the details of Sun Etherium celebratory fashions. Ardent suspected Katsura’s eagerness to assist was more out of a desire to amass clothing ideas than anything else. She was surprised by Miro’s willingness to supply the information, even knowing that the ultimate result would be used to degrade his Etherium. Then again, he doesn’t have much reason to love Sun Etherium. Maybe it’s better to feel that it’s Sun Etherium we’re insulting, and not him, personally.

Ardent did not feel much better about any of this, herself.

After Miro had been dressed to his and Katsura’s satisfaction, they had a little time left before the party. Just enough time to fret, and not enough to do anything useful. Ardent took them back to her tower rooms anyway.

She took a seat at her dining table and summoned her storage locket from the jewelry box in the bedroom. Even in the Moon Etherium, space could not be infinitely compressed or expanded. Living beings could not be compressed to less than a thirtieth of their length, give or take. Living spaces were rarely expanded by more than a factor of ten or twenty, to avoid forcing the expansion of fey shifted into smaller forms. Nonliving objects, however, could be squashed much smaller by those with the expertise for such. Ardent’s locket had been designed to take a quarter of a square inch of space and turn it into almost two square yards. When its cover was open, the locket shrank things as they approached its opening, but it still required a bit of jiggling and finesse to place oversized objects inside or fish them out of it. So she put the things she wanted to keep on her in her shoulder bag: Jinokimijin’s notebook, the Ocyale mirror, the tracer golem, the book on channeling, and messages she wanted for reference later. Then she stuffed the bag into the locket and slipped it around her neck, with a bit of glamour to make it match her party outfit.

Miro sat to one side of her and watched in silence until she finished the rearrangement. “Did you want to channel before we go? In case something comes up and you need it.”

Ardent compressed her lips. She certainly did want to, but – “I dunno, sugar.” She reached across the corner of the table to brush back a lock of his hair. It was absurdly long and white-blonde again, in aether-prescribed order, and fell back into place at once. “I don’t want to get you drunk just before you’ll need all your wits about you.”    

The Sun prince rested his cheek against her hand. “Perhaps just a little? Enough to relax?” he pleaded. His ears pinkened. “I’m afraid,” he said, softly, and closed his eyes.

She wondered what that admission cost him. Her fingers shifted lower, to feel the pulse in his throat, steady but rapid. “All right, sugar.” Ardent rose with him, then knelt before him, the long skirt of her gown bunching around her legs. She gathered him close and rested her head against his chest to listen to his heartbeat. “Fifteen heartbeats.”

“Better make it twenty.” Miro cradled her head with one arm, careful not to muss the elaborate net of braids Interlude had twisted it into. “It’s running like a rabbit’s.”

“Then slow it down,” she teased him. He took a deep breath and melted against her. To Ardent’s surprise, his pulse did slow perceptibly. “How do you do that without aether?”

“If you have to use aether to hide your weakness, you’ve already betrayed that you are weak,” Miro said, quietly.

She squeezed him a little closer, nuzzling with her cheek, and breathed open the channel. Fifteen heartbeats still came and went too quickly, but she closed the channel on the fifteenth anyway. She didn’t let him go. He didn’t try to draw away. They stayed like that for some minutes afterwards. “Thank you,” Miro said, at last.

“Heh. This ain’t a sacrifice, sugar.” Reluctantly, Ardent rose to her hooves and released him. She flicked aether over her dress reflexively to smooth it.

“Then for the rest of it.” He lifted his chin as she touched his collar, and spun a chain of white gold off of it. It linked to a bracelet about her own wrist. “For returning to Moon Etherium. For helping me and my father. For caring. Thank you.”

Ardent swallowed, and squinted at him. “You sure I didn’t take too much and get you drunk?”

He smiled, and offered his hand. “Pretty sure. Shall we?”

She took it, and they vanished.

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Don’t want to wait until the next post to read more? Buy The Moon Etherium now! Or check out the author’s other books: A Rational Arrangement and Further Arrangements.