O Happy Dagger (Briony, Red, Chase's Story)

[Content warning: this story features heavy discussion involving murder, demonic possession, murder investigations, pregnancy, and birth, with some references to or mentions of religious hysteria, assault, and infant death.]

Part I: Amid the Thorns

Briony rode her ahfuri past the flat, unwelcoming stares of the Prum townsfolk, staring straight ahead with a polite—if slightly vacant-looking—smile on her face. She was telling herself not to take it too personally. While she had been to Ambryn once before, she had never been to any of the outlying rural towns populating the immense farmlands surrounding it: Ambryn, “the breadbasket of the East,” sat within high walls on a golden plain several hundred miles wide, a crown jewel resting atop a vast, complex network of agriculture and rural industry that stretched out in all directions like rays radiating from the sun. Although Ambryn itself was a metropolis with a mixed population comparable to Haven’s—with Diminished and Norm folk living and working side-by-side—the hundreds (or even thousands) of tiny farming villages that dotted its outlands, toiling and harvesting year-round to feed the city’s many mouths, were significantly less urbane. Riel had warned her not to expect the warmest welcome. Depending on where they were situated in “the valley,” many of the people in these isolated country hamlets had never left their communities, and some towns on the outer perimeter didn’t even have an inn. This particular town, Theydon-Prum, was about as insulated as you could get while still technically being within the proximity of Ambryn.

Still, she was taken aback by the outright hostility of the stares she received as her ahfuri padded through the village’s main thoroughfare. In most places that weren’t used to Diminished guests, the attitude tended to be more fearful or avoidant: she remembered how, in Lockwood, people had either gawked in open awe or had scurried back into their houses at the sight of their team. But the people here were not shy about expressing their distrust of her; some openly spat on the ground as she rode past.

Still, she did her best to ignore it, and when she finally rode up to the local magistrate’s office, it was in relatively good spirits. A haughty-looking servant in belted indigo was waiting on the steps to meet her; Briony dropped lightly from her ahfuri’s back and brushed some of the travel dust from her uniform before giving a slight bow in greeting, as was the custom in this region of the Damba Plains.

The servant’s gaze raked her. “You must be the new maid we sent for.”

Briony blinked in surprise. “No—I’m from the Shepherds’ Order.”

“Ah,” drawled the servant, stepping forward to accept her travel pack. He gave her a long, wary up-and-down, taking in the silver-threaded uniform, Gonturan glinting wickedly from where she was buckled against Briony’s back. Then her petal-pink hair, the half-pointed ears. “I never would have guessed.”

Briony’s cheeks warmed. Sometimes she didn’t notice right away when a person was being insincere. She asked valiantly, “Have my partners arrived?” Red had already been in the area when the mission orders came in, visiting his sister as well as Ambryn’s library for research purposes; Chase had come along with him to make a diplomatic call on Ambryn’s Thieves Guild.

“They arrived an hour ago.” The servant was now eyeing her ahfuri with the same gimlet suspicion he had turned on her; Serrasri bared one fang and laid her ears back in bored feline displeasure. “What am I supposed to do with that?”

Right, places like this didn’t have ahfuri catteries. “Put her in an empty stall farthest from the horses and leave her alone. She won’t give you any trouble so long as you treat her with respect.” In fact, she’d heard that Serrasri had mauled a handler who’d pulled on her reins too hard when she was an adolescent, but Briony didn’t think this fussy servant was likely to try anything like that. He grimaced but reluctantly took the Serrasri’s lead from her, holding it as gingerly as if it were a live snake; Briony whispered Be good in clumsy Elvish—one of the few phrases she’d managed to pick up from Tallys—in her ahfuri’s ear, then turned to make her way up the magistrate’s steps alone.

The magistrate’s manor—Briony saw now that it was actually a residence, not a true office or town hall, as she had been expecting—was a large, two-story estate, trimmed all over with gold and green furnishings. It was simplistic in its styling, especially compared to the ornate, glittering mansions of Haven or even the homes of Lavinet’s “country” cousins, but there was some obvious status here. Riel had explained the whole complex political system of Ambryn and its Aytolis Valley to her before she’d departed. The political leader of the city itself was the governor, who answered directly to the Autarch. Directly beneath him were the twenty-something magistrates dotted all over the valley, who oversaw their own smaller parcels of the rural outlands. They were generally in charge of two to ten of the little towns and hamlets; some of those villages had elected town elders or mayors who communicated the needs of the citizens directly to the magistrates, while others were consolidated into their own homogenous communities under the magistrates themselves. Theydon-Prum, he’d said, was one of those that was overseen by the magistrate only, along with the eight other villages he supervised—but that kind of situation usually bred “willful ignorance and gross neglect,” if Riel knew anything about local politics. And Briony was willing to bet that he did.

Another unfriendly servant pointed her towards the magistrate’s conference room. Briony walked in to find Chase casually draped sideways across a high-backed chair, his legs dangling lazily over the armrest as if he owned the place; Red sitting in the chair beside him, looking massivelyuncomfortable and sipping politely on what looked like a lemonade; and a thin, impatient-looking old man with withered golden skin sitting across from them, pursing his lips. The room was stuffy; it was unseasonably hot for late spring, the discomfort it caused worsened by the fine golden dust from the plains that seemed to stick damply to everything and itch; and so there was a sheen of sweat beading on the old man’s upper lip, and yet no one had bothered to open a window. All three of them looked up eagerly at her entrance, having clearly fallen into an impenetrable, awkward silence. Chase waved with a grin and said, “Peaches! Great timing. We were just running out of things to talk about.”

Suppressing a smile, Briony gave a hasty bow and said to the magistrate, “I’m sorry if I’ve kept you waiting—I came as quickly as I could.”

The magistrate made a slight gesture, one of dismissal or permissiveness, and bade her to sit. As she did so, exchanging a smile of greeting with Red and flicking Chase’s dangling foot out of her way, the man said in a very dry, reedy voice: “As I was telling your comrades, I’m not sure why this meeting was even necessary. I already included everything I know in the report I sent to your headquarters; anything else I have to say would be redundant, and I’m a busy man. I’m not in the habit of wasting my time.”

Briony immediately felt a spark of temper at his tone, and just as quickly smothered it. She had technically been named team leader for this mission, since she had been at headquarters when the assignment came in and was better briefed—so it was up to her to be diplomatic. She forced a smile and answered, “We always find that it’s better to hear the situation from the people directly involved. Please, tell us in your own words what you think is going on.”

The old man scoffed, but seemed to decide that complaining any further was counter-productive. He said in a clipped voice: “The villagers have been showing up at my doorstep every evening, weeping and gibbering about some sort of demon they claim has been prowling around the valley. Apparently several farm animals were killed over the last weeks—cattle and sheep, mainly, and one dog. Then, just five days ago, two girls were killed.”

“Has anyone seen the demon?” Red asked. Revenants and Imps, the most common forms of Endarkened, were both easy to spot.

The magistrate shook his head. “None. All of the killings took place at night, save for the two girls, and no one saw who was responsible for them.”

“Then how do you know it’s a demon at all?” Chase asked. “How do you know it isn’t, say, wolves or bandits?”

The magistrate gave him an acid look. “I thought it was up to you to make those conclusions, not me. But from what I’m told, these killings have been in a violent, ritualistic fashion, done with a serrated blade. The animals were left to bleed out where their throats were cut. Wolves didn’t devour them or drag them off; and bandits aren’t generally given to killing animals for random sport.”

“And what about the girls?” Briony asked.

“Both were found in the river with their throats cut as well,” the old man replied. “By the same blade as the animals, it’s surmised. They were last seen going to the riverbank to wash laundry—the two were close friends, I’m told—and they were found a day later, their bodies floating downstream.”

“Their names?” Red asked, flipping open a small pocketbook and scribbling notes down.

“You can learn them from the townspeople, I’m sure.”

The indifference in his voice made Briony bristle a little, though she kept her own voice calm as she said, “How old were they? Had either of them been acting strangely recently?”

The magistrate withdrew a handkerchief from his chest pocket and coughed thickly into it, then used it to mop his forehead. “I wasn’t given those details. As I said, I’m a busy man—and I’ve been ill of late. I don’t have time to learn each and every village yokel’s name or habits.”

Again, that flaring of her temper was hot and acute, but Briony visualized stuffing it back down inside of her in a mental exercise she’d taken to calling “stoppering up.” Ever since she’d received an informal warning from Blade for making one too many cups explode and punching through one too many walls, she’d been trying to meditate with Tallys to separate her powers from her emotions, as well as taking magical control lessons from Red that were usually reserved for reckless adolescents. It was all a bit embarrassing, but she thought she was managing some success at it.

Chase, however, couldn’t claim any such thing. He was staring intently at the magistrate now, his body language relaxed but quite still. He said in a soft, perfectly friendly tone that Briony had come to recognize as his first warning to an opponent: “Doesn’t seem like you mingle with the peasants much, magistrate. What’s the deal? Too close to retirement? New to the job, recent demotion to the post?”

The magistrate flushed; his skin took on an unhealthy, mottled hue. “What did you say?”

“It seems like what you could be dealing with boils down to three things,” Red put in hastily, trying as usual to avert disaster. “Especially if no one has actually seen anything monstrous or demonic lurking around, which rules out Revenants and Imps—they aren’t exactly hard to notice. So.” He began ticking off fingers. “It could be a human killer, which is possible but less likely: it would be strange if they’d escalated from killing animals to humans in a matter of weeks. But it’s not out of the realm of possibility. You could also be dealing with a Thrall, which is an Endarkened that has taken possession of a human vessel, and is using it to enact violence in order to fuel the demon’s powers and allow it to grow stronger. Or you could be dealing with a Cacophant, which is a powerful Endarkened that can take on human forms and disguise itself without the need for a vessel. But if such a demon were in the area, I doubt it would waste its time killing animals or even villagers when it could be using its powers for far more sinister—and subtler—purposes.”

The old magistrate was frowning now, clutching his balled-up handkerchief to his mouth as he breathed wetly into it. Momentarily distracted from his ire at Chase, he said with genuine concern: “So if it’s one of these—Thralls—that means…”

“The demon could be inside someone, yes,” Briony finished. “Potentially even someone you know.” She had always found Thralls among the most unnerving of all the forms of demonkind: the idea that a trusted friend, a neighbor, even a parent, could be sharing a mind and body with a demon was a twisted one. That a person could be having a conversation with someone they’d known all their life, none the wiser, while the Endarkened looked out at them through stolen eyes, reading the faces of those around it to see if they’d guessed the truth—or even plotting their murders—was enough to give even the most hardened Shepherd nightmares.

The only good news was that, if it was a Thrall, it should be relatively simple to find. When people were unwillingly possessed by a demon, their struggle with their unwanted parasite was self-evident; the demon and host would be in a constant battle for control, resulting in odd behaviors and idiosyncrasies that loved ones should notice (unless the victim lived in isolation, which was sometimes the case). The other complication was that if the Thrall had willingly accepted the demon into their body, welcoming them and freely relinquishing control (usually in exchange for something, power or revenge or sometimes even love), then the possession was seamless, and therefore undetectable.

But she wasn’t going to worry about that now. “Who should we talk to, if we wanted to learn more about the murdered girls, or to find out if anyone around the village has been acting strangely?” Since you clearly have no clue yourself. He probably wouldn’t have noticed if that servant outside had turned blue and grown a second head.

“Ah—I’ve taken the liberty of arranging for you to stay with the Talward family,” the magistrate said. “They are a respected and well-connected family in Prum, enough so that they have several houses on their farm, for various in-laws and cousin-branches and such. One of the girls who was killed was their cousin—they can tell you everything you need to know.”

Red glanced up from his scribbled notes, raising his eyebrows; Chase seemed to read his thoughts and said with mock-innocence, “Are we not staying here with you, magistrate?”

With the nearest inn being an hour away, the protocol was generally to stay with the community’s leader while they carried out their investigation, especially if he had ample space like this manor. Briony had done so in Lockwood, Red and Chase in Wallmire, and so on and so forth. But the magistrate said gruffly, “No, as I said… I’m ill. And I’ll be leaving within a few days to seek treatment in Leore, so I thought it best if you stayed with a family who could provide you with all the details you need.”

So your estate will be empty, and you’re still not going to let us stay in it? She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry—the idea of a leader who would abandon his people during a time of crisis like was absolutely galling, and for a brief, gratifying moment, she fantasized about somehow getting him recalled from his position. Who would she even talk to about something like that?

“I’m not sure if I can allow you to leave just yet, magistrate,” she heard herself saying, distantly aware of an irritating itch under her collar; the room’s overwhelming heat was beginning to affect her. Something high and tight was beginning to thrum warningly at the top of her skull. “If there is a Thrall somewhere around here, we’re going to want to lock things down to prevent its escape. Imagine if our laxity allowed it to reach somewhere as far as Leore. The havoc it would wreak would be unspeakable.”

The man’s eyes bulged unpleasantly. “Surely you are not implying what I think you are,” he hissed. “If I were—were—possessed, why on earth would I summon you here to begin with?”

“I’m not saying it’s you,” Briony returned with a forced, unnatural smile. “It could be someone in your household, one of your servants. We simply can’t take any chances—you must understand that it’s for your safety as well as everyone else’s.”

“You have no authority to stop me! I am a provincial magistrate—”

“And I am a Shepherd captain, entrusted with a sacred duty by the Autarch herself,” Briony said, her tone flatter now. “When it comes to hunting down demons, you will find that I dohave the authority. I could even place you under arrest if I wanted, and the Autarch and my Order would back me.”

Not technically true—in a court of law, they had not reached the threshold of evidence that gave them a solid indication that there was demon-work afoot, thus giving them sovereign claim over this case—but this rotten, callous man didn’t need to know that. Instead, he only narrowed his eyes and tightened his lips at her, his glare almost poisonous enough to strike her dead.

“Well, we should be going,” Red said then, rising to his feet and tucking his notebook away with a false breeziness. “As Captain Stormbreaker said, it’d be best if you didn’t leave town just yet, magistrate. We might be back to ask further questions.”

The man allowed them to file out without another word, stewing in silent resentment as he continued mopping furiously at his forehead. Chase waited until they were back onto the manor’s front steps before giving a low whistle. “Nice work pulling rank on him, Peaches. Man like that deserves to be humbled every once in a while.”

But Briony blew out a breath and shook her head; she was already wondering if she would come to regret that minor victory. As the rude servant in indigo approached with Serrasri, she said under her breath, “You don’t think he could be a Thrall, could he? He’s in such a hurry to leave, dodged all of our questions—”

“And how long has he been sick?” Chase muttered. “Awfully sweaty, he was. Could be the demon poisoning him from inside-out?”

Red frowned, mulling it over. “Possibly. But he did make a good point: it wouldn’t have been in his interests to summon us here if he were the possessed one. And he seems very separate from the community—he’s not the type to walk around amidst the villagers on a day-to-day basis. Surely someone would have noticed him stealing out of that manor, killing cows and whatnot.” He shrugged. “I don’t think we can rule anything out, but he’s low on my priority list, personally. I’m more interested in seeing who’s really entrenched in life around here first.”

Briony sighed. “All right, then. I suppose that means our next step is to go meet our new hosts.” She made as if to descend the front steps, then did a clumsy double-take and turned to give them both a quick hug. “Hello, by the way. Nice to see you.”

Chase gave her a big, cat-like grin. “Hi. Let’s go catch a demon.”

#

The Talwards, it turned out, were prepared to give them a warmer welcome than either the magistrate or the other townspeople. They owned a large property comprised of several dozen acres at the edge of town, consisting of fruit orchards, wheat fields, and even a sizeable garden and greenhouse full of timid spring blooms. The oldest daughter, Wintry, ran a flower shop in the more populated hamlet of Windleton about ten miles away, with two of her four sisters assisting as shopkeepers and apprentices. The parents—a benign, humble couple in their sixties—the two other sisters, and their spouses and grandchildren worked the farm and sold fruit, vegetables, and Mrs. Talward’s fabrics at various markets around the valley.

Scattered throughout the property were various different farmhouses and dwellings. Wintry, a tall, statuesque blonde who had seemingly been nominated as the team’s guide and de-facto hostess, explained that these homes had been built to accommodate different branches of the family over the years. When the first Talwards had arrived and settled the land, the eldest son had gotten married, and he and his wife would have built their own home to start life as a married couple under their own roof; they would have still resided on the farmland they were set to inherit, but without having to live under the domain of their parents. And then his siblings would have done the same, or he would have built a home to accommodate the relatives of his wife in their old age, and so on and so forth. The result was that there was an unoccupied two-story cottage already set up for Red, Briony, and Chase to stay in.

“I hope we’re not putting you out,” Briony said after Wintry brought over a simple supper of roast chicken, potatoes, grilled vegetables, and beer from the main house.

Wintry waved a dismissive hand, leaning back against the kitchen counter while she watched them eat. She was a stout, strong-looking young woman around their age, with a stark, honest face and her pale yellow hair scraped back from her forehead in a severe bun. She had a frank, no-nonsense air that Briony instinctively liked: it wasn’t warm or sweet, exactly, but it was kind and forthright. “Not at all,” she said. “My mother’s always pleased to cook for guests—if you compliment her when you see her, she’ll work herself up into a frenzy of wanting to feed you more and more dishes. It’s a pleasure for her.”

The young woman seemed so much at her ease talking to them—as if they really were normal travelers or acquaintances—that Briony felt compelled to ask, “And you don’t mind that we’re…?”

Shepherds, she meant, or Diminished—at least in the case of her and Red, though she had her suspicions about Chase—and belatedly she realized that she could be looking a gift horse in the mouth by drawing attention to that fact. But Wintry merely shook her head and said plainly, “Mother’s from Ambryn, and so is all of her family; we grew up visiting them every summer and even most winters. So we don’t have any ill feelings towards Mages, not like some folk around here. You don’t have anything to worry about from us.”

So there was that comfort, at least. But then Red looked up and said sympathetically, “The magistrate told us that your cousin was one of the girls who was killed.”

Wintry’s face sobered, and she straightened from the counter and dropped her arms. “Cousin-in-law, really,” she said. “She was a cousin to one of my sister’s husbands, but with how farm families work—” She shook her head, as if to cut herself off. “Never mind. Yes, she was a relation, and a very sweet, innocent girl who never harmed another person in her life. Her name was Fawn Woodsbury. She was twenty years old.”

She gave her own accounting of what had been going on in Prum over the last several weeks. First, Farmer Bluefield’s prize ram had been found with its throat cut, steaming in the pasture behind his house. At first the town gossipers had speculated it was the result of some feud or land dispute between the farmer and one of his rivals, one Sonny Wyddowsen; but then more and more animals turned up, seemingly at random, each with more violent stab wounds than the last—as if some effort had been made to ensure the poor creatures’ pain was drawn out. After two weeks of this pattern, an idle comment from a more traveled neighbor over in Windleton had sparked a panic: Endarkened fed off of pain, didn’t they, he’d remarked, and if someone was killing these beasts for no discernable reason—not for food, nor profit, nor spite—then wouldn’t the next possibility be a demon?

And then, of course, came the murder of the two girls. Fawn Woodsbury had been the village darling, it seemed, named such for her huge, doe-like eyes and sweet mien. She and her childhood friend—Ève Typhaine—were last seen by Fawn’s mother, headed to the river to do their washing. When Fawn didn’t return for dinner, a search party was raised, and Fawn was found in an off-shoot fishing pond downstream from where she’d left her basket of laundry. Ève’s body was found an hour after that.

Briony scarcely knew where to begin. Her instincts told her something was afoot, but whether it was demonic in nature, she couldn’t be sure. “Would anyone have reason to hurt the girls?” she asked. She didn’t like that her mind went straight to assault, but…

Wintry hesitated. “If they did, I would hope it was someone not from Prum. Fawn was loved by all: she was always running around the village, doing errands for grandmothers too old to leave the house for long, picking up salves at the market for a neighbor boy who’d skinned his knee. She would give anyone the shirt off her back without hesitation. I can’t think of anyone in this community who would have any cause to hurt her.”

“Did she have any suitors, maybe a secret sweetheart or even a jilted beau or anything like that?”

“None that I’m aware of. Boys and girls alike had a fondness for her, to be sure, but not in any way that would have stirred evil feelings. The people in this community all grew up together, and I think there were always feelings of friendship to soften any rejection.”

“Had she been acting strangely at all, in the weeks leading up to these killings or during them?” Red interjected.

“Not as far as I know, no. She was her usual self, trying to be helpful to anyone who needed it. She did drop off a pie to Mrs. Lyssos, whose dog was killed, but that was a day after the fact.”

“There’s no way we could see her body, is there?” Chase asked then. At this, Briony grimaced. Although Chase was probably thinking of forensics, she’d heard that Diviners and Sages could glean information from dead bodies, but it was an art she had no practice or interest in; she doubted Red could stomach it, either. Wintry, looking rather taken aback by the question, shook her head and replied, “No. They were found five days ago, and they were in no condition…” Looking troubled, she trailed off for a moment before shaking her head again and finishing more steadily, “No. Fawn was buried on her family’s land, and so was Ève.”

“And what about Ève herself?” Briony asked. “Fawn sounds as if she was very popular—but what about Ève? Would anyone have cause to hurt her?” Had someone targeted the other girl, and was Fawn merely an unfortunate witness and byproduct of the subsequent murder?

A flicker of uncertainty crossed Wintry’s face. “I didn’t know her myself,” she said slowly, “but from what I’m told, she was a quiet girl who kept to herself and hardly socialized with anybody other than Fawn. Personally, it’s hard for me to imagine how anyone could hold a grudge against her when she barely spoke to others… but…” The look of unease strengthened.

Briony, Red, and Chase exchanged glances. “But?” the thief pressed.

At that precise moment, they heard screaming from the front gates of the farm.

The screams contained such genuine hysteria and panic that Briony found herself shooting to her feet as if lightning had zipped up her spine. She grabbed for Gonturan just as Red picked up his warhammer—she saw a look of alarm cross Wintry’s face as she seemed to recognize the source of the screams—and then they were all turning as one and rushing out of the front door of the cottage, which was situated closer to the gates than the main house was.

A young woman—a girl, really, no older than seventeen—with fiery red hair streaming out behind her came running up the dusty path, nearly collapsing into Wintry’s arms as she wailed and babbled at her incoherently. Her eyes were wide and panicked; tear streaks marked her face like chalky scars.

“You have to come quick, please,” she sobbed, clutching at Wintry’s upper arms. She scarcely seemed to notice Briony, Red, and Chase standing nearby, looking around for the imminent threat. Briony’s heart was rabbiting in her chest. “It’s Kaitrin—the baby’s coming, she’s screaming and bleeding so much, and m-my father—he says he’s going to killhim—”

“Let’s go,” Wintry said immediately, hitching up her skirts and breaking into a run. The girl turned with a ragged sob of relief and began to sprint blindly back the way she came; Wintry said to Briony, “Tell my parents I’ve gone to Heddi and Kaitrin’s house—and that if I’m not back by dark, to send my brother-in-law with the gun.”

“Hold on a moment,” Briony said, darting to catch up with her. Red turned back to the house to alert the Talwards of what was going on, while Chase fell into step behind her. “What’s happening?”

Wintry shook her head curtly. “Trouble,” she said briefly. “Kaitrin—our neighbor, and one of my sister’s friends—she went to stay in Ambryn last summer with a friend. Came back pregnant. Normally that would be trouble enough, but—”

Oh no. “The father?” Briony asked anxiously. “Is he Diminished?”

“That was the rumor, though I don’t think she would have admitted to it until strange things began happening around her house,” Wintry answered, her voice hard and flat as she ran. “Bottles exploding during her morning sickness, lights blowing out when the baby kicked. My sister says Kait finally had to confess the truth to her father and brothers, who—well.” She glanced sidelong at Briony and Chase. “They’re not the type to welcome you into their home, let’s put it that way. Heddi and Kaitrin were planning on slipping away soon and returning to Ambryn to deliver the baby somewhere safe, but it seems the One-God had other plans.”

Briony threw a look back at Chase; he nodded and tilted his head expressively. “We’re going with you,” she said. It wasn’t Shepherd work, and it wasn’t technically their business, but—hang it, it wasn’t as if she had a perfect record to begin with, anyway.

Heddi and Kaitrin’s home was significantly smaller and scrubbier than the Talward farm; there was only one building, tucked deeply into a tangled snarl of low thickets and barren trees that indicated orchards gone fallow. Now the dwelling was surrounded by some sad-looking lean-tos that suggested the family made their living from hunting and fur-trapping rather than from tending to crops. Briony and Chase followed closely on Wintry’s heels as she shouldered her way in through the heavy, battered-looking front door. The former gladiator took in the scene at a quick glance; four men were crammed into the threadbare, plain, low-ceilinged room, arguing thunderously while a very small older woman lay wretchedly on the lone couch, muffling her sobs into her apron. Strangled moans and cries of pain sounded through a door in the far corner, which presumably led into a bedroom; Wintry and Heddi headed straight there without pausing, slipping inside before anyone in the house had time to acknowledge their presence.

Briony braced herself for what was to come. Behind her, she felt Chase tense lightly, ready for action.

“Oi!” A small wiry man half a head shorter than her surged forward with an expression of outrage. He didn’t seem to know whether he should pursue his other daughter and Wintry into the bedroom, or focus on addressing the bizarre-looking strangers at his front door; he opted to confront the foreign threat first. “Who are—get out of here! This is my house!”

“Don’t worry,” Chase called back, his tone light and even. “We were invited.”

The man—whom Briony had to presume was the patriarch of the household—had finally caught sight of her pink hair, and the look of loathing that came over his thin, drawn face then was enough to make her own heart burn in fiery response. “My name is Captain Stormbreaker,” she said, trying not to let her voice tremble with emotion. “This is Captain Trinaeste. We’re Shepherds staying at the Talward farm, investigating Prum’s recent troubles. Your daughter asked Wintry to come and help Kaitrin with the baby, and we came along to see if you needed—assistance.”

The man spat on the floor, a mere inch from Briony’s boot. “Don’t need your help,” he said. “Nor Wintry Talward’s. Better for that spawn not to be born.”

Stopper it up, Briony told herself, keeping a fierce clamp on her bridling magic. Gonturan was kindling to life, too, indignant at his attitude, ready for anything. “Even if that means your daughter will die?”

“T’would be her punishment for bringing such evil into this world.” His eyes flicked over her hair again, lingering on the iladrin he no doubt saw in her eyes. A shriek came from the other room, followed swiftly by Heddi’s frantic sobbing and then Wintry’s voice, issuing firm orders. The woman on the sofa sobbed and buried her face in her hands.

“Not my Kaity, not my Kait,” she moaned.

“Hush, woman,” the father said, turning to her savagely. “The One-God knows all. If she dies alongside the devil-child, Xe would be striking their wickedness down before they could do any harm.”

Briony held on to her calm, but it was a struggle; fury lined her bones with gunpowder, stoking her veins with heat and light. “What wickedness are you accusing the child of, exactly?” she demanded. “Simply existing? Do you think the One-God would allow Mages to exist if they were all evil? What could a baby do to you?”

He came a step closer and practically sprayed her face with saliva. “It’s a Mage’s bastard, and it bears a Mage’s powers,” he said venomously. “Since it’s lain in my daughter’s belly—she’s done things that I—that—nature would never allow.” He shook his head, his apparent disgust overcoming his capacity for words. “I thought that once the spawn was out of her, she would turn back to normal, but now I fear that she might be corrupted for good.”

Briony felt a faint prickle of confusion—could a Mage infant endow a non-Mage mother with powers while in the womb, however temporarily, or was something else going on? But then she felt a pang—for all she knew, she could have done the same thing to her mother, whoever that was, and powerful Mage babies just did things like that, and this was simply her ignorance talking—so she forged past it all and said through gritted teeth, “I’m sure she’d be happy to leave this place with her baby once she’s well enough to travel—”

“Better that it kills them both, and she finds redemption with the One-God!” the man spat, and whirled as if to lunge towards the bedroom. The woman on the couch screamed. His sons gave a shout of some emotion Briony couldn’t name.

Chase pulled out his gun and fired it directly into the ceiling; everyone in the room froze at the tremendous sound it made. Briony seized the back of man’s shirt and yanked effortlessly, sending him crashing to the floor on his back. She stood over him as he scrambled away from her, unharmed but howling with indignation and rage; she saw his eyes go from her to Chase, standing with the gun now dangling insouciantly in his left hand, and then to Red, who came puffing up to the doorway in that instant, his hand on his warhammer as he took in the scene.

“You will not harm that child, or your daughter, or I will drag you away in chains so fast your head will spin,” Briony said, looking down at the man and hardly knowing what she was saying. That high, tight, buzzing feeling had taken over the top of her skull again, pulsing and throbbing dangerously. She felt as if she was watching herself from a very long ways away. Her voice sounded altered and foreign to herself. “Do you hear me?”

“What right do you have to come into my house and give me orders?” the man panted, scrabbling to his feet to face her. His sons crowded uncertainly behind him, but came no closer to the three intruders. The wife had stopped crying and was now simply staring at the whole debacle, her mouth open in frank astonishment. “Who are you? What are you? Shepherds? What cause do you have to be here, unless you think that spawn is a demon, too?”

“I’m more likely to think you’re the demon,” Briony cried. “What kind of human wishes death on his own daughter and grandchild? Only a damn monster hopes for that!”

He swung at her, loosing a wordless roar of pain and rage. Red gave a low cry of warning; Chase darted forward to intercept.

Briony felt her thoughts white out as she set the man on fire.