After Fallen left Ardent’s reunion party, Jino went blank. She wanted to be forgettable, forgotten, irrelevant, unobtrusive. Fallen had made Jino brand herself on her first day in the Etherium, and it was not an experience Jino was eager to repeat. Especially since Fallen had waited a day before taking her out of the Etherium so she could speed the healing of it, and only then because it had been infected and looked bad. Fallen could not abide disordered things. Even healed, it still ached, and sliding down the streamers when dancing had made it worse. She’d thought that worth it at the time. Mirohirokon needed a victory. Maybe Jino’d needed one, too, just to prove that she was still capable of winning a skirmish. To remind herself that the war wasn’t over.

When she was alone with Fallen, though, it felt like the war was over.

Fallen had taken them to the garden of one of her palaces. This one was full of space-twisting magic that created impossible perspectives. There were trees that simultaneously grew both in front of and behind each other; flowers that blossomed from lily pads but appeared to be at the bottom of the pond, even while their muted fragrance hung in the air; leaves that reached for the sky and grew into the ground; mosaic scenes made of flowers that showed the same image no matter the vantage from which one viewed them.

Fallen paced along the steps of one circular path, dragging Jino behind her. It looked like Fallen was always walking down, and Jino felt like she was always walking upwards, but the scenery around them remained level throughout. Jino wished Fallen would stop and let her kneel at her feet like usual.

Instead, Fallen dispatched messages from a farspeaker in the shape of a crystal globe. She tapped one foot impatiently as she waited for responses, then twisted to yank on Jino’s collar. “You truly can screw up anything, can’t you?”

“Yes, mistress.” Jino made the tone of her little girl’s voice as dull and dutiful as she could.

“You can’t have resisted the cursed immersion. How could even you mess up a role so clearly laid out for you?” Fallen held the leash in her fist just a few inches short of the collar, pulling Jino’s much shorter form up to stand on her toes.

“I don’t know, mistress.”

Fallen slapped her, hard; Jino’s head rocked back as far as the tight leash would allow. “Don’t mock me, girl. Why did you lie about what your role was?”

“Mistress?”

“Stop that!” Fallen hit her again. Jino whimpered pitifully.

“I’m sorry, mistress!” Jino tried to cringe, which didn’t work well while standing on her toes and held up by the leash. “I was confused after the immersion. I thought what happened was real. Please don’t hurt me, mistress! I am bound to serve you and you alone.”

The gray fox-eared woman snorted. She put her fingertips to the side of Jino’s neck, and black needle-sharp claws sprouted from the tips. “Bah. The only thing you’re any good at is being hurt. Or perhaps making love to your son. That was a convincing kiss. Tell me, is incest common in the Sun Etherium or is it just you?”

Don’t use me to hurt Mirohiro, you vicious harpy. Jino twitched her neck against the claws, to make blood well from pinprick cuts. Voice dull, broken, hopeless, she said, “I live to serve.”

The white winged centaur from the party, the one who’d led the immersion, teleported into the garden beside them. Fallen dropped Jino to turn her attention to the centaur. “Reflections on Water. Were my instructions not clear enough? Why was Ardent Sojourner given Loreveroro’s part?”

Jino’d rather been wondering that one herself. Since Fallen had stopped pacing and released her tight grip on the leash, Jino sank to her knees at the fox-eared woman’s feet. Reflections bowed deeply to her. “My apologies, Lady Shadow of Fallen Scent. Lady Ardent refused to allow her servant Mirohirokon to be assigned the part and insisted she take it herself.”

“Insisted? By Duty, you imbecile, Loreveroro’s part needed to be done properly! If that cow wouldn’t let Mirohirokon take it, then it should’ve followed the script as part of the glamour. How stupid are you?”

Reflections hunched his shoulders. “A thousand apologies, my lady. Ophidion Memory didn’t realize how important this role was to the arc, and since the party was in Lady Ardent’s honor, she thought—”

“Oh, so this is Ophidion Memory’s fault, is it?”

“She was the one assigning parts for them—”

Fallen rested the hand holding Jino’s leash against her hip and leaned back, black eyes narrowed and a small, cruel smile on her dark lips. “Very well. Then you shall see Ophidion Memory punished for it.”

The centaur swallowed, his shoulders tensing. “I’ll reprimand her, my lady.”

“Reprimand? A mere reprimand? For ruining the entire immersion for everyone?”

“Lady Shadow – everyone enjoyed it, it wasn’t—”

“Don’t contradict me. You’ll see her blacklisted from all creative positions. Permanently.”

Reflections on Water raised his torso from his bow at last, shocked. “But that – that’s much too extreme—”

“Is it? Well. We can give her a choice, then.” Fallen smirked. She conjured a branding iron into her hand, with the inverted characters for “Worthless Failure” on it. “She can brand herself, and let the scar heal naturally. Or give up any hope of ever designing an immersion role again. Permanently.” Fallen created a fire pit in the middle of the path. “Send for her.”

Reflections looked as appalled as Jino felt. “Please, this can’t be the only—”

“Do you want to accept Ophidion Memory’s punishment for her, then?” Fallen snapped. She thrust the branding iron’s mark into the glowing coals of the fire pit. “Are you volunteering?”

The artist swallowed. With shaking fingers, he dispatched the message.

“You will administer the punishment, Reflections,” Fallen ordered while they waited. This time, the centaur did not argue.

An uncomfortable minute trickled past. The branding iron sizzled in the firepit, an unnecessary bit of drama. No, Jino thought, correcting herself. It’s necessary for Fallen’s purposes. This is all about dramatic effect. Jino’s arm ached in sympathy. She hoped Ophidion Memory chose blacklisting.

The aether near Reflections uncoiled at last, and a woman with a snake’s body instead of legs curled out of it. “Hello, my lord, what’s the matter?” she asked. Her black and red tail shifted nervously, and she glanced at Fallen and Jino.

“You…ruined tonight’s immersion.” The white winged centaur kept his eyes on Ophidion Memory, but sweat sheened on his forehead.    

She blinked. “What? But it went fine, everyone was—”

“It did not go fine. Loreveroro’s part was too far off-script. Ardent Sojourner should not have been permitted to take it.”

“But it was her party! We went over this already—”

“And you didn’t get it the last time, so we’re going over it again,” Reflections snarled. He stopped, swallowed, glanced at Fallen and the brand, then shook his head. “No. We’re not going over it again. I’m removing you from Through the Glass.”

“What?” The naga recoiled, curling her tail around herself protectively. “You can’t do that!”

“Yes, I can. This is my creative group, and I decide who does and doesn’t belong. And you’re out. In fact, I’ll tell everyone who composes immersions to steer clear of you, Memory. I suggest you find a new pastime.”

“No! No, please, Reflections, I’m sorry, I won’t do it again, please. Immersions are my whole life. You can’t – please don’t do this.” She folded her hands together, cowering before him.

“I can’t rely on you,” Reflections said, harshly.

“You can! Please, there has to be a way I can prove myself!”

Fallen made a little noise in the back of her throat, and the centaur flinched. Slowly, he said, “You…you can…brand yourself.”

Ophidion Memory stared at him, in blank incomprehension.

Reflections pointed a shaking finger to the branding iron. “With that. It’s the only…acceptable punishment.”

Fallen twisted her gray features, irritated. But when she spoke, her voice was even, almost gentle in her disappointment. “Your Queen was counting on this immersion to be perfect, Ophidion Memory. Your ill-considered actions have done great damage to her plans. But pain is a great teacher. Perhaps through that, you will learn to do better in the future.”

The naga hesitated. She picked up the branding iron, shuddered at the glowing, inverted characters. “Isn’t there anything else I can do?” she pleaded, looking from Fallen to Reflections.

“No,” Reflections whispered.

“You can put it somewhere no one will see it but you,” Fallen offered. “Stomach, perhaps. But it must heal naturally. To reinforce the lesson.”

Don’t do it, Jino thought. She understood the point to this tableaux now. It was about control. Getting the fey to do this particular thing didn’t matter. What mattered was making them accustomed to doing what Fallen wanted, no matter how little they wanted it. Fallen would make this cruelty feel like a mercy. She wasn’t using up her influence to compel them: she was expanding it. Both Reflections and Memory would feel more indebted to her after this. It’s not worth it, Jino thought at Memory. Get another hobby. Fallen’s time will pass.

Memory lifted her tunic, revealing skin above her scaled tail, and took the branding iron in aether to hold before her. She had to do it to herself; she’d be invulnerable to anyone else’s attack on her.

“Do it fast, if you’re going to do it,” Reflections said, his voice hollow.

“Don’t do it,” Jino said, and didn’t realize she’d spoken aloud until everyone turned to look at her in surprise. Oops. She spoke quickly; no point in stopping now. “They can’t make you hurt yourself. You’re free. They don’t own you, or the concept of immersions. You don’t have to do this, Lady Ophidion Memory.”

Fallen scowled at her. Jino expected her to hit her, but Fallen shrugged instead. “It’s up to you, Memory,” she said, lightly. “Some prefer disgrace to redemption. Perhaps you’d rather end up like Jiji, here.”

Memory braced herself. She thrust the brand into her stomach, and screamed at the raw agony of it. Jino curled around her own arm reflexively. She didn’t mean to whimper in sympathy but it was impossible not to remember the horror of it, the way the pain of the burn went on and on, long after the iron was removed. She heard the clatter as Memory dropped the branding iron, smelled burning flesh in the air. Jino struggled not to vomit.

Memory shuddered, clutched at her stomach, and let go at once. “Ahhh Justice it hurts, it still hurts, I have to—” she made a little helpless gesture, gathering aether and releasing it.

“Don’t heal it.” Reflections knelt beside her, took her head in his arms to console her. “It’ll be all right. It’ll mend. Just let it be.”

Tears ran down the naga’s dark cheeks. “Aggh, it’s awful, I don’t think we get this kind of pain right in an immersion. It’s so much worse than being cut,” Memory babbled. Reflections almost smiled at that. “Can I cool it, at least? What do you do for a burn, I don’t even know, why won’t it stop hurting? Please, please, just heal it, please.”    

Reflections glanced to Fallen, helpless, pleading. The gray woman stepped closer, and stroked Memory’s hair. “There, now. Have you learned your lesson already?”

“Yes, yes, please, my lady, I won’t ever mess up again, just—”

“Shh. All right. I think we can waive the rest, then, Reflections?”

“Yes,” he growled.

Fallen healed the injury for Memory, and she curled up in relief, still crying. “There, now. Not even a scar,” she said, soothingly. “All better. You won’t ever disappoint us again, now, will you, Ophidian Memory?”

She shook her head, babbling her thanks. Part of Jino had to admire the way Fallen had manipulated her into being grateful for a rescue from Fallen’s own punishment. Jino wondered what she’d see now, if she’d had her son’s soulsight. You were free. But you aren’t any more, are you?

---

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The immersion dissolved around her as her character in it died, and Ardent woke to the world of the glass ship. She was resting on a cushion of air, after her character had toppled over. Miro was suspended in the air beside her, still caught up in the immersion.

Jinokimijin was lying back against aether, one slim hand looped where the sword had impaled her chest, eyes staring towards the spars and streamers of the glass ship’s rigging. Ardent moved over to touch her shoulder. “You all right there, sweetie?”

The girl started, blinking. “Oh! Oh.” She patted her bustier, the chains about her pale-golden wrist clinking, then cupped her breasts with a puzzled expression. Jinokimijin frowned for a moment, then nodded at last. “Right! Yes, I’m fine. I should…”

All around them, the fey woke from the immersion as it ended and they returned to normal interaction with the world. Miro staggered and blinked, as his eyes shifted to focus on the forms in this world again. “No!” he said, in sudden horrified realization. He clapped a hand over his mouth, staring from one to the other.

“We’re fine, sugar,” Ardent told him, gently. “It’s just an immersion.”

“But – you—”

“It was a game.” Jinokimijin shifted to sit, propped on one arm. Her eyes met her son’s, and her lips twitched. “Nothing to do with reality.” Her lips twitched again, and then she dissolved into laughter.    

“Nothing at all,” Miro said, with evident relief, and then he was laughing as well. Ardent wasn’t sure exactly what the joke was, but she grinned anyway, and then giggled, and laughed at the absurdity of it all, of a Sun prince playing a Moon prince killing a Sun prince who was played by his ex-prince father. Reflections on Water flew over to them, the centaur’s hooves pacing in the air as he glided on white wings.

“What’s so funny?” Fallen demanded. Ardent wondered who she’d been playing. Not Storm Driven: the Moon princess had been Skein, Ardent was sure.

“Did you enjoy the immersion?” Reflections asked at almost the same time, looking at Ardent.

Before Ardent could answer, Jinokimijin bounced to her feet and proclaimed, “I loved it! That was fantastic! I’ve never been so excited to get killed in one of these! No hard feelings about stabbing you, I hope, my lady?”

Ardent had managed to stifle most of her laughter, but that made her giggle again. “It’s fine. Sorry about ruining your evil plot.”

“Oh, not at all! Your betrayal of my betrayal was so delightfully dramatic! And I’ve never gotten to play anyone so irredeemably evil before! Destroying two Etheriums so I could take the phoenix rose for myself! Quite a villain you crafted for me, Lord Reflections.”

“Er…thank you…” The centaur frowned, glancing between them.    

“But a villain is best when they’re stopped by the brave heroes.” Jinokimijin gazed fondly at her son and Ardent, who were still sitting. Miro had finally managed to stop laughing, but his lips twitched again at this. “Though I am just a tiny bit disappointed that we didn’t get to see the Sundering you no doubt had planned for us, Lord Reflections. I imagine it must be spectacular!”

The white centaur rubbed the back of his neck, beneath his mane of pale curly hair. “We did put a lot of work into it…”

“Pity. But there’s always the next performance!”

“Indeed.” The Queen came over, waving them up as they scrambled to kneel. “We can’t always have Ardent around to save the day. It’s a pity you weren’t there in the year 800 to stop the Sundering, old friend.”

“Sorry ’bout that, your majesty. I’m old, but not that old.”

The queen smiled. All around them, guests were talking about the immersion and their pieces of the story. From the sounds of it, there were a hundred other stories unfolding during the same event. None of them were quite so grand and climactic as Ardent’s reveal, but no one had spent their time waiting to see what the royals would do next. The general mood of the assembly was good, although Jinokimijin wasn’t the only one disappointed to have missed the recreation of the Sundering. Ardent was sure that Fallen was upset, though the fox-tailed gray fey worked to conceal it. She thought Skein was displeased, too, beneath her surface smile. But Skein made no unkind remarks about the immersion or her performance.

Ardent was aware that the immersion would have gone very differently if she hadn’t insisted on swapping roles with Miro. Miro would have been fully immersed in the role of Loreveroro, and would not have thought to break character to protect the Moon Etherium as Ardent had.

Everyone knew that immersions were not histories, nor records of events as they actually happened. But immersions were effective at making participants feel as if an event were real and true. So it’s another ploy to discredit the Sun Etherium, using our own Sun Host fey to enhance its authenticity. Is this Skein’s plot, or Fallen’s? Why do they care what we think of the Sun Host? Ardent filed the thought away for further investigation later. At this point, it was late enough that she could collect her prince and take her leave without disrespect to her illustrious hostess. Further, she was genuinely tired enough to justify that course, so she did.

---

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Whenever an immersion participant was bored, time would blur for them as they advanced to the next thing they found interesting. In a big immersion like this one, that meant the whole spell made lots of adjustments in the perceptual time of each participant. It sped some participants up and slowed others down based on their various roles, so that no one had to wait on the others.

After what Ardent could only regard as the Evil Plot Revealed scene, time blurred forward. They returned to the Moon Etherium. The Moon Host mood was jubilant, buoyed by their victory. They were eager to celebrate the alliance of Sun and Moon, and looked forward to the prospect of new worlds to conquer. Ardent was sure most of the participants weren’t so immersed that they’d forgotten how this story ended. But no one Lorerevovo spoke with wanted to discuss the possibility that something might go wrong with the ritual. Perhaps they didn’t want to betray their roles, or perhaps they hoped the creators would give them a chance to re-write history with a new, happier ending.

Ardent doubted that was the plan, especially given that the creators had already re-written history in this scenario.

But her faction was keeping a close eye on Lorerevovo, so she continued to play his part and did nothing overt.

In the last hours before they entered the Etherium, she talked to Imilasisi about how they were to ‘poison the channel’. “Through a tincture of rowanwood.” That was a mythical drug that was supposed to drain a fey of all aether. As far as Ardent knew, it didn’t exist. “It won’t affect us personally, since the Moon Etherium will already have drained us of all aether. I’ll give you your dose at the feast before the channeling begins.”

The feast awaited them at the Palace of the Moon as soon as they returned. It was a lavish affair that the creators had taken considerable pains to render accurately in both food and entertainment. Ardent found the care taken in those details depressing in contrast to the liberties taken with everything of consequence about this story.

During the second course, Prince Imilasisi leaned over to murmur in Loreveroro’s ear. “I trust you’re enjoying our first taste of the Moon Etherium.” He waved a hand vaguely over Ardent’s soup, and she saw droplets splash into it from his hand. She laughed and gave him a brotherly slap on the shoulder that knocked his arm forward. He dropped the vial in his hand, bit back a curse, and dove after it as it rolled on the table. Loreveroro stood quickly and slapped a hand down over Imilasisi’s where it covered the vial.

“Traitor!” Loreveroro shouted, as all eyes turned to watch the commotion. “Fey of the Moon Host, we are betrayed! My brother’s foul ambition has led him to seek the destruction of both our Etheriums, so that he may have the phoenix rose’s power to himself alone! He has poisoned my food and his own with a tincture of rowanwood, such that when you attempt to channel from us to feed tonight’s ritual, it will cause a resonance that will devastate Sun and Moon alike.”

Imilasisi stared at his brother. “Have you gone mad? It – it’s not true!” he protested to the assembly. “It’s his plot! To ruin the day’s celebrations and the alliance between our peoples!”

“The only thing I am trying to ruin is your plot!” Loreveroro lifted his brother’s hand, revealing the vial. “That is where he stored the tincture. Test it, if you don’t believe me. But trust this: channel from us for this rite, and we will all suffer the consequences.”

“It’s not mine!” Imilasisi objected.

“I haven’t touched it. A simple information spell will verify that. Besides, I don’t care which one of us they think the villain; your plan is finished either way.” Ardent made her prince’s face grin smugly at him.

Imilasisi stood as well, his right hand still imprisoned in her left. “I don’t know what you intend to gain from this betrayal, brother – but you won’t—”

“No!” Prince Wind Rider flew across the table, a shining steel blade in his hand. Ardent didn’t realize until he was upon them why he’d screamed. She hadn’t even seen the knife in Imilasisi’s left hand. In the Moon Etherium, Prince Loreveroro had no fey evasion with which to avoid his strike, nor fey invulnerability to survive it. She felt a sudden pain in her abdomen, and looked down to see blood spilling over Imilasisi’s hand and the knife hilt in it. Then, an instant too late, Wind Rider impaled Imilasisi through his chest.

The Sun Host prince slumped backwards into his chair, dead, dragging the knife blade with him. Loreveroro staggered. “No,” Wind Rider said again, his expression stupefied by horror and disbelief. He summoned aether, pressed it into the wound in an effort to staunch the bleeding.

Oh, sugar, that’s not how healing magic works, Ardent thought. Even if you could heal a Sun Host fey in the Moon Etherium, which you can’t. Loreveroro reached out to pat Wind Rider’s hand. “It’s all right. You stopped him. The Etheriums are safe. That’s what matters.”    

---

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It wasn’t the most inaccurate historical Ardent had participated in; she had to give it that much. The rules of war the fey had fought under during the battle were reasonably accurate to the period. Landara had rebelled against fey rule, and that rebellion had been put down by joint effort of the Sun and Moon Etheriums. Although Landara hadn’t captured the phoenix rose. It had been stolen and given to them by Water Crossing, a fey who sympathized with the humans and who’d been one of the fey explorers who’d discovered it. Ardent wasn’t sure why they’d omitted that fey’s role thus far. She’d assumed Water Crossing’s betrayal was the one alluded to in the title. Maybe they’re saving her so they can pin the Sundering on her? That’d be a serious revision of reality.

The re-taking of the phoenix rose was likewise severely ahistorical; Water Crossing and the Landaran general had used it to dig into the earth, literally, and throw up makeshift fortifications that the fey armies had spent weeks prying apart. The phoenix rose had effectively given the enemy a source of their own aether in an area far from anywhere the fey could get aether. Resupply had been nightmarish. Ardent wasn’t surprised the creators had opted against re-creating that scenario: it would have been much less fun than leaping about a battlefield, annihilating their foes.

In the immersion, the fey attack had devastated the Landaran army: thousands of corpses littered the field. The fey companies allowed thousands more to flee. The fey had been bloodthirsty during the combat, but their primary goals in this scenario were the recovery of the phoenix rose and the captives. Most participants didn’t care about maximizing their kills, at least not against panicked, running mortals.    

The combined fey hosts had lost five fey, all to attacks aided by the phoenix rose.

That ratio of fallen mortals and fey was true to history. Even four hundred and fifty years ago, when the use of aether was far less refined and fey mastery of invulnerability and evasion had been less complete, aether made the Etherium armies all but invincible against humans.    

Ardent was worried about Miro; she hadn’t realized that his lack of ordinary fey abilities would mean he’d experience the immersion fully. Somehow she’d thought the ability to tailor one’s experience was part of the spell, not part of the fey response to it. She should have known better; making immersion work when it had first been attempted thirty years ago had relied on convincing fey participants to allow a mind-altering glamour to affect them at all. The spells were designed with great transparency to fey senses, so that one could discern both the full extent and short duration of the alterations. But a mortal would have no resistance to it, and neither would a Sun Host fey in Moon Etherium. I knew I should have left him in my suite. Well, Wind Rider seems to be having a good time of it so far, and he’s a hero of the Moon Etherium who survived the Sundering, so it should be a good role. Which was more than she could say for her own part as Prince Loreveroro.

The fey forces rescued the imprisoned fey handily, in immersion-blurred time. Water Crossing wasn’t among them, and Ardent’s immersion-provided memories of Loreveroro didn’t mention her. The captives were all Sun Host members instead of a mixed party. General Qihitinene took possession of them. The Sun and Moon companies parted ways to set up their own camps. The plan was to rest for what was left of the night and part of the day.

But before they slept, General Qihitinene and the Sun princes debriefed the rescued fey. Their leader, Teralele, began with an apology. “I am sorry, my lord, your highnesses. We didn’t know how else to keep the phoenix rose out of Moon Etherium hands. We’d hoped the Landaran gambit would buy more time.”

The general glowered. “At least you got your Moon Etherium cohorts killed by them. That’s something. I wish you hadn’t let Wind Rider take the phoenix rose, your highness,” he said to Prince Imilasisi.    

Imilasisi shrugged. “You did fine, Teralele. And general, they think we’re allies. We helped them save the day. Don’t fuss so; everything is going exactly according to my father’s plan. We’re not going to squander this opportunity on something so paltry as merely making the phoenix rose our own. Oh no. We are going to use this opportunity to destroy the Moon Etherium.”

Ardent boggled at the scene. She reviewed her immersion-memories and…yes. Loreveroro believed that the Sun Etherium planned to destroy the Moon Etherium by tricking them into Sundering themselves. This has nothing to do with any version of actual history. The Sundering wasn’t some botched plot to destroy the Moon Etherium. It was a cataclysm of shared hubris.

Imilasisi was continuing. “Teralele, you and your people will go with whatever representatives the Moon royals choose to the site of the world-portal. The general, my brother, and I will return with the Moon Host companies to their Etherium for the celebration. Our official goal remains as it always has been: consume the phoenix rose in opening the World Gate to give us new human worlds to conquer, and at the same time open a permanent portal between each Etherium and the World Gate. But Loreveroro and I will taint the channel the Moon casters open with us. While the World Gate and the portal to it from Sun Etherium open, the Moon Etherium’s part of the spell will twist upon itself. It will be destroyed in a cataclysm of misfired energies the likes of which this world has never seen before, nor will again.”

What. The Loreveroro-role nudged at Ardent’s mind, urging to endorse this absurd plan of a one-dimensional villain. That was her in-character response. But she was only lightly immersed in the role; she could refuse it if she chose. But Jinokimijin is playing Imilasisi, and as fully-immersed as Miro is. He doesn’t have a choice. And odds are the other villains here with me are played by the presenters, or just glamours. I’m not going to be able to reason my way out of this. And if I get Loreveroro killed here in this tent, General Qihitinene can replace his role in that ridiculous plot.

Teralele looked worried. “But your highnesses! How will you escape this cataclysm?”

“It’s a magical backlash. It will only affect the Moon Host and their Etherium. As Sun Host, we will be perfectly safe. Its collapse may not finish off the Moon Host affiliates at the World Gate, however; we’ll need you to take care of them.”

Ardent was pretty sure that was complete nonsense, just like the rest of this immersion scene. She sighed inwardly. But I suppose I’d better play along for now. Loreveroro smiled. “And even if we weren’t, our lives would be a small price to pay to rid the Sun of the blight of the Moon Etherium forever.”

“Just so.” Imilasisi raised his glass. “Just so.”

---

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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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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.