Aven’s eyes weren’t on Mother this time. They were instead on the slight form of his younger sister behind her. In some ways, Viola hadn’t changed at all. Still pale and skinny, black hair hanging in the same stringy strands she used to chew on. But in other ways she’d changed more than any of them. Namely, the fact that she was walking without any difficulty at all.

  From birth, Viola had been cursed with a sickly disposition and a twisted spine that made walking painful. Even as a little girl, she was stubborn enough to do it anyway - and Aven was a foolish enough boy to enable it, taking her on “adventurers” that occasionally left her bedridden afterward but also left her smiling and laughing about them for weeks.

  No smiles on her face now. No hint of laughter on her gaunt face.

  “Viola,” Aven whispered.

  Helena was frozen in shock. She took a step forward towards Viola, then stopped. Viola locked eyes with her and looked similarly frozen.

  If any of them were going to actually move, it might as well be Aven. He moved to embrace a sister he hadn’t seen in eight years.

  Viola jerked back and shrieked, “Don’t touch me!”

  And when she did, black spikes burst from her skin like a speartail’s spines.

  Aven stared in horror at the spikes flaring from his sister’s skin. Horror turned to rage.

  He rounded on Mother, the void in his blood rising just as strong as it had when he saw Hanion. “You gave her voidblood?!”

  “I cured her affliction, yes,” Mother’s voice and face alike showed not even an ounce of remorse. She put a hand on Viola’s shoulder. “She took to it faster than you did, Succeeded where you failed.”

  “Gods,” Helena breathed, her face mirroring Aven’s horror.

  “Mother saved me,” Viola whispered, gaze falling to fixate on the floor. The spines retreated back into her skin, sealing shut without a trace.

  Mother squeezed her shoulder and gave a proud smile, “It was your own strength that brought you, Viola.” That pride twisted into a smile directed at Aven, “As it was your weakness that made you what you are, Aven. I knew what my children could do. Even when your Father despaired. I knew that both of you were strong enough to handle this. But where you rejected your inheritance, Viola embraced it.”

  “Don’t,” Aven took another step forward, only stopping when Helena put her arm on his. “Don’t you dare compare me to this.”

  “I suppose I’m the family disappointment now,” Helena’s voice dripped with bitterness, “To have my body remain as flawed as the gods shaped it.”

  “Hush,” Mother waved a dismissive hand, “This is a reunion. We should be celebrating.” She turned to Aven again, “We are all here, together again at last. A family united and complete again.”

  “Except Father,” Helena noted.

  “A man whose pride and rigidity were his downfall,” Mother chuckled. Almost fondly. “His inability to accept that which he could not control was his greatest flaw. It’s what turned our marriage so sour so swiftly. And it’s what brought him to death. Good riddance from the world.”

  Aven didn’t know what to be more horrified by. That Mother spoke of her murdered husband’s death so lightly. Or that he agreed with it. He’d always told himself that Father’s death was a horrible tragedy. Trading the chain of his life for the burden of his death. Hearing Mother say this, however, all Aven felt was relief. Father was dead. Good riddance, indeed.

  “Everyone who matters in our family is together again,” Mother said. “My pride and my joy.” She tenderly squeezed Viola’s shoulder. “As you could be if you allowed yourself, Aven.”

  “Really?” Aven asked. “You’ve changed your tune from earlier this evening. I thought you were already proud of me.”

  A faint flicker ran across Mother’s face. One that vanished so fast, Aven almost didn’t catch it.

  What was she doing? Mother couldn’t have forgotten their conversation earlier. She handpicked every word as if each was an arrow specifically chosen for her target’s heart.

  She turned from Aven and gave her oldest daughter the look she always used when about to begin a lecture. “You could earn my pride too, Helena. Your only flaw, as always, is in the company you keep.”

  “Oh, is that right?” Helena’s mouth compressed into a razor thin line. “I’ll search out a better man to threaten my husband and daughter in the future then! I’d hate to be caught with someone else who disappointed you.”

  Mother had never been near so harsh to Helena as Father had been to Aven. But there was always...a coldness. An indifference. Helena alone among them had never shown an inkling of vis power. An excellent mind, a diligent work ethic, impeccable manners. But nothing more than natural. And from the few times Aven had met Emil Folis, he was the exact sort of man Mother would disdain. A frivolous fop with no ambition at all, yet a man who brought Helena joy.

  “You would have done well to stay in Tenebras, Helena,” Mother said.

  “Well, here I am, my presence as inconvenient to you as ever,” Helena replied. “For reasons I have no idea. And why are you here?”

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  “I am here because my research is of vital importance to the future of the empire,” Mother said. “My knowledge is a lever, and with it I can move the whole empire.”

  Aven’s mind, already churning with the void and rage, turned back to a more pressing mystery. “But why is Hanion here?”

  Helena frowned. Equally perturbed. He had killed on their behalf, and now she had been made a judge to suit their purpose. But as to what that purpose was...

  “Control,” Aven decided. “Control over Tenebras. That’s what the Shadow Order seeks.”

  “Then why come to a meeting in a different province entirely?” Mother posed the question in the same tone she’d used in their lectures. As if she already held all the answers but refused to offer any conclusions her pupil hadn’t yet realized themselves.

  “To expand their influence to other provinces?” Helena posited.

  “Influence is a powerful tool.” Mother’s tone was again one Aven recognized. This one reserved for when a pupil had brushed upon the correct answer but largely missed the mark. His childhood memories didn’t quite capture how patronizing it felt. “But it is only a tool. A tool must have a purpose. What purpose would the Shadow Order’s influence serve?”

  “What indeed?” A mental voice echoed. Not Esharah’s or Mensikhana’s.

  Aven realized that neither of the two had spoken for a long while, and he’d been so caught up in meeting with family that he hadn’t noticed.

  Hanion vis Dreamweaver strolled through the door, smile on his face, “My apologies for intruding on what has no doubt been a touching family reunion.” A lie, since he’d obviously been listening through the link with Helena. “But when a lady slips away from her guard, it can cause such alarm.”

  Helena flinched, but did not otherwise move. And Viola, still at Mother’s side, stayed with her.

  “I think,” Hanion smiled at Aven. “You should see to your charming Mindspeaker friend. She’s likely in quite a bit of...distress right now.”

  Friend. Singular. So Hanion still hadn’t realized there were two of them. But Aven had seen what the Dreamweaver’s illusions could do to one’s mind. If he had attacked either Esharah or Mensikhana...he needed to get to them. Now.

  “Why are you here?” Aven snarled, moving warily to the door.

  Hanion made no motion to stop him, “I’ve neither obligation nor inclination to tell you that, Aven. I’d advise you to be careful. You are not nearly so important as you believe, but if you make yourself enough of a nuisance, then your dear Mother won’t be able to protect you forever.”

  “Protect me?” Aven laughed. “I haven’t had protection since long before I met you.”

  Hanion gave Mother a pitying look, “Children can be so ungrateful, can’t they?”

  “It’s every good parent’s wish that their child never knows how much danger they’ve been saved from,” Mother replied.

  Hanion shrugged turned back to Aven. “Now that I’ve retrieved my magistrate,” he gestured to Helena. “I believe our conversation is concluded.”

  When Aven moved towards the door, Hanion again made no move to block. No move to attack. Only gave a small smile as if to say a silent, “I’ll deal with you later.”

  That made Aven all the more uneasy. Hanion was not a man who would hesitate to kill if he had the chance. But he wouldn’t do it here. Not without Governor Iraias making the rest of the Tenebras delegation pay for his crime. And the only reason he’d been able to get away with murder before was through anonymity. And using others as tools, just like he had used Aven. Hanion vis Dreamweaver never wielded the knife himself. He left that to others.

  Which only made Aven more afraid for Helena. Fears that he couldn’t put to rest right now.

  * * *

  “I loved you,” the voice sobbed even as Esharah shoved the spiked chain into the man’s wrist. The Thorn in her back pulsed, drinking eagerly of the young man’s pain.

  Zoran was his name. A boy Esharah had condemned to Hellfrost. One of many missions that to her was only a crossed name on Madame Truthteller’s list. To him, it had been the world. Then his damnation.

  Esharah felt all of Zoran’s pain. She tried to take more, to shield the boy from the torment that she had brought upon him. There was far too much. Taking more into herself only deepened her own torture; it did nothing to relieve his.

  “For false love, you stole from the empire,” Yvris’ voice reveled in the boy’s judgment. “You violated the laws your swore to uphold.” The head warden of Hellfrost pressed a claw to the Book of Souls, and Zoran’s howl rose stronger. “This is a just punishment. And you, Esharah, brought this boy to Hellfrost. That you share penance together should be a lesson on what happens when one leaves the proper path.”

  She couldn’t speak in reply. Every breath scraped over raw flesh, worn from hours of screaming alongside those she judged. Those she had brought to Hellfrost. Now those she helped suffer.

  At last, Yvris released Zoran and let the boy free of the cursed chain. He was not the last, though. They’d barely finished half the line of those to partake in their penance. A dozen more to go today. Some whom Esharah had placed in Hellfrost herself. Some whom she’d deceived exactly like she had Zoran.

  Esharah felt all their pain. Their betrayal and horror at what was being inflicted upon them. Their hatred for the inquisitor who had brought them to this place. She felt it, and she knew she deserved every moment of suffering for what she had done-

  “Esharah!”

  She jerked awake, still half lost in the memories, still half certain that the Thorn was again in her back. Making her relive every second of torture she’d helped inflict on others.

  But the Thorn was long gone. And she was in Northstar, not Hellfrost.

  Aven was the one shaking her awake. She’d...somehow fallen asleep in this alley.

  Right. Hanion vis Dreamweaver. She and Mensikhana had held him off as long as they could, but then...

  “Mensikhana?” Esharah asked.

  “I am unharmed,” the reply came to both of them. “I am sorry I couldn’t help you. His mind is dangerous.”

  “No, you were right to retreat,” Esharah rubbed her temples, trying to dispel the ghosts of pain. “The Dreamweaver...he was too much. Aven, did you...?”

  “I met with Helena.” Aven helped her up, and they staggered down the street together. At this hour, half the people on the street were drunks staggering home, even in the wealthier parts of Northstar. “Thanks to you, we could meet.” He paused, “I...don’t have much to show for it, but I had the chance to talk with my family again. Thank you.”

  Even as exhausted as she was, mind feeling like it had been run over by a muskox, Esharah could tell Aven was holding quite a bit back. His mind was even more of a whirlwind than usual. And yet he was still trying to make her feel like they’d accomplished something.

  “Do you...think we deserved what we suffered in Hellfrost?” The question slipped out of Esharah’s mouth before she could stop it.

  Aven had said as much once, and she’d often felt it. That all their suffering was a just punishment. And still they fought against it, because the man who oversaw their punishment was cruel beyond any justice. But if it hadn’t been Yvris...

  “Tanya once told me no one in Hellfrost gets what they deserve,” Aven replied, still supporting her as they walked. “I’m inclined to agree. Do I deserve a captaincy? Do I deserve being with Aelia? Who knows. I’ll still fight to keep them.”

  What did she have to fight for? Esharah didn’t have an answer. Maybe just the hope that there would be a future worth fighting for.

  * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

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