"Open up!" Silence was her only greeting, and Nissilât pounded on the door again. "I know you're in there!"

This time she heard stirring in the room beyond, followed by a gruff voice. "For kruvas̆' sake, what do you want?"

The metallic clink of a bolt thrown backward followed, and the door opened a crack. "I told you not to bother me - oh!" The commander paused in surprise. "I'm afraid my men didn't warn me you were coming, Lady Nissilât"

"Your men don't know I'm here," she shrugged. "I didn't feel like waiting around for them, so I took the fast way up."

"The fast way up? Is there some secret passage I don't know about?" The man's brows furrowed as he echoed her, and Nissilât rolled her eyes.

"Relax, it's something I and only I can use. A mage's prerogative," she winked, and the lines on his face eased.

"Bloody magic," he muttered with a shake of his head, though there was no real vitriol in his voice.

"Can I come in?"

With a sigh, Tōrîl stepped back and swung the door open. "Apologies for the mess, but I wasn't expecting any visitors."

She blinked as she stepped inside, her eyes struggling to adjust to the darkness of the room, but once they did, she barely held back a snort. "You call this a mess?"

The room was practically spotless. The floor shone glossy with a fresh coat of wax, his armor laced tight on its mannequin, and even his bed was so perfectly made that she bet she could bounce a gold coin off the sheets. The only thing that was even a little out of place was the small table sitting beneath the window, which was buried beneath a half-dozen maps and scattered books.

"I pity your wife if this is your idea of a mess," she shook her head in amusement. "That poor woman must be worked to the bone trying to keep the house clean."

The commander scowled. "I like things clean - what of it? Now, I assume you have some reason to be here besides pitying my non-existent spouse?"

Her grin faded as she remembered the reason she'd come. "Unfortunately, yes. Jasper wanted me to work with you on preparing the fort for an attack."

"You think they're attacking soon? Why now?" His face hardened as she filled him in on all they had learned.

"I just can't believe it." He leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair with a weary sigh. "Damqa's a traitor…"

"That's what you're worried about?" she raised a brow. "We've got bigger fish to fry than that girl."

"I know," he agreed, "But it's hard not to worry about her. We were supposed to get engaged, you know? We had almost agreed on a contract, and then her relatives from Merôm wrote. I wasn't good enough for their granddaughter, wasn't rich enough for them. It's hard not to hold it against them, but I still don't wish to see her executed for treason."

"The empire would have to know about her treason to punish it."

"You mean you haven't told them?" his frown lightened.

"No, and Jasper has no intention of informing on her as long as she does the right thing now." Of course, whether I end up telling the Emperor about her is another matter. Nissilât didn't particularly care about the girl's act of treason; it wasn't as if the citizens of Stryn were known for their loyalty to the Empire, after all, but she could see the advantages in keeping the proof close to her chest. She hoped the meeting with the Emperor would go well, but if it didn't, she could always offer up a traitor as a peace offering. It's not like she doesn't have it coming.

"Good, good," he bobbed his head in relief. "She doesn't deserve to suffer like that. Now, about these plans." He swept the maps of the table, returning them to a cabinet in the corner and returned with a schematic of the castle. "This is the most accurate map I have, complete with my own notes on every passage I've discovered."

Her frown deepened as she scanned the blueprint. "There are five passages that lead outside the walls?"

"Five that I know of," Tōrîl corrected her. "It wouldn't surprise me if there are more."

"What good are walls if there's a million ways to bypass them?"

"I'm afraid my predecessors were more concerned with smuggling goods past the checkpoint than defending the fort," he answered wryly. "It's been more than three hundred years since the last time this place was actually besieged, but I agree they're a concern. The last time I checked, this one and this one," he pointed to two of the tunnels on the map, "we're in extremely bad condition. It should be easy to collapse them in on themselves."

"These two we should keep open," he pointed to two tunnels that exited from the twin keeps of Dūr-Sūqerbettû. "If the worst happens and the castle falls, our priority will be getting as many people as possible out of the hands of the Bloodspiller. Maybe it will at least weaken his bloody portal."

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

"Those tunnels could just as easily be used to infiltrate the castle," Nissilât pointed out.

"Only if they know they exist. The Bloodspiller may be a talented mage, but he's no mindworm."

"Who needs a mindworm when you have traitors?" she countered sharply.

"If you're worried that Damqa will let them in-"

"I'm not," she interrupted him. "The girl doesn't strike me as suicidal, just a bit too sentimental when it comes to family. But that doesn't change the possibility that the damage has already been done. There's a good chance the stoneflesh know about these tunnels."

"But didn't you say their leader was working with us now?"

"Yes, but the mage outranks her. We have to assume the tunnels are compromised."

"Then we'll put a guard down there, but we're not collapsing them. The men won't fight if they know we trapped them in here to die."

"They will if they know the alternative is being sacrificed."

"They stay open," he repeated.

"So be it," she sighed. While Nissilât didn't agree with Tōrîl's decision, she didn't have the authority to overrule him. Letting the matter drop, she tapped on the last tunnel marked on the map. "What about this one?"

"We don't need to worry about that one; it doesn't go anywhere."

"You mean it collapsed?"

"No, it was never finished. That tunnel is a relic of the Fey Wars. At one point, there was a plan to develop a Sanctum down there, but construction was abandoned once the tide turned in the Empire's favor. There's a large empty chamber down there, but no exit to the outside."

"Moving on then…" She shoved the map of the castle aside and reached for the next stack of papers he'd brought over. "Is this your roster?"

It was late into the night when she finally left Tōrîl's tower. At his insistence, she departed the proper way, a decision she soon regretted as the guards at the gate leapt to lewd conclusions about her presence there. Suppressing the urge for a little light murder, she made it past the gates without incident and reached the tavern.

Most of the villagers had already cleared out for the night, and a quick sweep of the room told her that the others weren't there. She stopped at the bar long enough to down a bowl of stew and headed up to her room.

Tsia was already fast asleep, her dark curls splayed across the old straw pillows of the inn. Slipping out of her robe, Nissilât pulled back the covers and tried to will herself into bed.

She was exhausted, and not with the simple tiredness that came at the end of a normal day. No, hers was the sort of exhaustion that sinks into your bones, that turns your limbs to lead and your eyelids into curtains of steel and yet…

She rubbed her neck unconsciously, a shiver running down her spine as she remembered Markinu's hands wrapped around her throat.

Tsia stirred, snaring the covers more tightly around her as she rolled in her sleep, and Nissilat turned away, her chest heaving as she struggled to breathe. I need air.

Tears stained her cheeks as she struggled with the latch on the old window. The wood was so swollen by the endless rains, she could barely budge the lock, but eventually the iron whined free, and she pushed her head through the opening.

Her breath eased as she sucked in the harsh air and, as the cold rain beat against her cheeks, washing away the salty tears, she began to feel better. But the thought of sleep frightened her. Maybe I should meditate.

The window was a tight squeeze, but with a little contortion, she scrunched her shoulders and wiggled her hips enough to pop out onto the roof. She moved carefully on the soaked reeds, but they bore her weight until she reached the shadow of the old chimney. Propping herself against it, she leaned back and looked up at the sky.

A thick blanket of clouds obscured the heavens, hiding the gods from her sight and, perhaps, she thought glumly, her from theirs. Nestling closer against the chimney, her thoughts turned to her talk with Bēlet-Imtu.

The goddess had been frustratingly vague when Nissilât had quizzed her on fighting the etemmu that haunted her. It was no surprise; the goddess was a Fey, after all, and the Fey were not known for rendering aid without compensation. That she'd saved her from Markinu once was already more than Nissilat could really expect.

Still, the thought of just rolling over and accepting her price ground at her. True, Bēlet-Imtu had only asked a favor, a favor that Nissilât might well have been asked to perform anyway. She'd agreed to help the goddess when she'd accepted her class, after all, so why was she so resistant now?

Because I don't like to feel pressured. As petty as it was, she couldn't bring herself to take Bēlet-Imtu's offer, at least not until she'd exhausted all other avenues. The problem, though, was that she didn't know how to defeat the etemmu on her own. The primary method was out of the question. As much as she wished she could let go of the guilt that plagued her, Nissilât knew she wasn't ready. Not yet.

But Bēlet-Imtu had hinted that it was possible to fight the eṭemmu directly, if she could only figure out how to do so. Closing her eyes, she tried to meditate.

I am the flower in the Void, the life born from death.

Her skin grew cold as she focused on the image, a chill stealing over her that made the stormy winds feel balmy. The chaos around her faded away as she slipped into the silence, as her blood slowed and her heartbeat fell, as her essence coiled within her chest.

I am the rot in the world, the death born of life.

A door so old that its wood had turned to stone appeared before her and she reached out a sluggish hand. Its hinges squealed in protest as it swung free, and she stepped inside, her body now cold as ice.

Dimly, she was aware of the goddess' realm coalescing around her, but Nissilât rejected its presence, for it was man, not god, she'd come to see.

Markî̂nu.

The jungle trembled and shattered beneath her will, and the Void answered as the face of her love appeared before her.

He was beautiful, as perfect as the day she'd first seen him, training soldiers in the courtyard. A faint sheen of sweat coated his brow just like then, and a roguish smile lit up his face. But she knew it was not him, only the thing that had stolen his memory.

"I'm tired of running."

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