EMMA

  "Thank you." Emma said for the sixth time in a row.

  She had completely given up on varying the words she used to say it at this point, and resolved again to find a way to show it as soon as she could.

  Mirri had just apologized for handing Emma a stack of bedsheets because they 'hadn't planned for guests.' There was only one bed, and it wasn't a bunk, but the rest of the space was a far cry from the blood-soaked and monster-infested floorboards of the north tower.

  "To do less would be neglect." The priestess gave the same reply that had become customary over the last few minutes, and barely looked back on her way out the door.

  Mirri's pacing of the words was so exact that Emma was starting to suspect it was a prayer or aphorism of some kind. Something so well-practiced it might as well be instinct, like the sway of her hips seemed to be.

  The complaining started almost the moment the door was shut. Just as soon as Calen was busy pretending not to study Mirri's retreating tail end.

  "Em, what the hell was that?" The urgent whisper completely belied the situation they found themselves in.

  For the first time since the bombs had dropped, there was no ticking clock on her life. No looming threat was coming for them with bared teeth, there wasn't a need to be presentable for a meeting with an important and powerful stranger. Nobody was in any danger at all.

  Emma's stomach grumbled a bit of disagreement at the thought.

  No one was in *imminent* danger unless their hosts forgot how often humans needed to eat, but even that seemed like something they could fix by asking. All of their problems were solvable with words.

  As much as Calen had just *repeatedly* tried to mess up that stroke of good fortune.

  "That was us, getting offered literally everything we agreed that we wanted, and more?" Emma pushed back. "I mean, it's not perfect, but they're obviously doing their best with a... a hard situation."

  Calen's jutting chin told her he was confident he had found a fault in her reasoning before he even spoke.

  "Yeah, that's exactly why I don't trust it. We still don't know what they *want* from us." He stressed, waving his hands at nothing.

  Well, not nothing. Just the moderately furnished guest room they had been led to, barely two dozen steps from Isha's office, and more importantly, two dozen steps from what was apparently one of the only real bathrooms on the *continent*.

  The magic lizard people deserved at least a little more credit than Calen was giving them. Dragon. Magic Dragon people. Dragonborn.

  Emma took a breath, and refocused.

  "They *wanted* to know what a revolver was, and you almost blew it by being rude when they asked." she shot back at his scowl, which only deepened.

  "I wanted to see how far they would push about it. And they didn't want to know that until I accidentally told them it was important," The justification fell out of Calen's mouth almost immediately, which meant he had at least thought about it, just not very well. "They want us to pick up all that shiny magic metal that *definitely* isn't cursed in any way shape or form."

  The fidgeting told her she had struck a nerve. He was invested in the outcome, but reaching for a distracting change of subject because he knew he was at least a little wrong.

  Hopefully he would puzzle it out without dropping the stupid little piece of metal. The brass disk obviously had something to do with how guns worked on this planet, and Mirri had been shot less than two hours ago.

  The least he could have done was hidden it, after she reacted, instead of spending the entire meeting *playing* with it after trying to deny their hosts information about an ancient firearm from Earth.

  "Isha literally asked you about guns before you said anything," Emma went for the real argument first. "And don't be superstitious, that shield saved my life."

  It had saved her more than once, if she counted all the times Mahira had used it to keep her alive while she dragged Emma through their failed retreat across the pass.

  "Right, I forgot, curses aren't real, because magic isn't real," Sarcasm dripped from Calen's voice as he doubled down, metal pinging off his fingernail. "So we should *totally* trust the first people we meet to have our best interests at heart when they—"

  Emma managed to avoid swiping at the stupid coin as it spun through the air.

  "The world ended less than a day ago. You want to talk about best interests?" Emma's feet moved on their own, pacing back and forth while the words poured out. "We're alive, inside a fortress, wearing clean clothing that isn't even ours, breathing fresh air, under the protection of whatever passes for a local government, instead of stumbling around a radioactive wasteland hoping someone will let you into a bunker before the flesh finishes melting off my bones."

  Calen's jaw looked wired shut by the time she was finished. The rain pattering against the closed shutters was the only other sound in the room while Emma caught her breath.

  "So I don't care what these people want. I will do anything to keep that for y— us. Both of us." She corrected hastily.

  He noticed anyway. A little pit of guilt wrung the hunger out of Emma's stomach in moments as she watched the fight drop out of his shoulders.

  She had only even missed one dose, there was no way it was the meds yet. Things had just gotten... markedly worse. It was reasonable to feel more off-kilter than usual, or backslide a little. She hadn't had to worry about cannibal warlords yesterday.

  But Calen giving up the argument because of that wasn't fair, because world had just ended for him too.

  "I know all that, Em," The switch to the kiddie gloves in his tone grated almost as much as the confrontation had, but right now a win was a win, so Emma kept her silence while Calen sighed his way to the point. "I'm just worried about what it's going to cost us."

  So far, the 'cost' seemed to be all tied up in the risks they would have to take, and time. They didn't exactly own anything except the clothes on their backs. The clothes that *had* been on their backs, as a gentle breeze on Emma's shoulder blades reminded her.

  Mirri had mentioned a quartermaster and uniforms, but there was no doubt in Emma's mind whose clothing they were wearing right now. There was a tiny scorch mark on the end of one of her sleeves.

  Emma added it to the list of things to make up to Mirri, right after apologizing for threatening her and getting her mentor killed, and moved on for now.

  Isha had made it sound like they were going to be learning to fight and kill monsters, not just defend themselves. But she had also said they had a whole year before they needed to help kill something else big, and that was only if they wanted to keep the Seraph Steel past then.

  So as long as nobody was taking bites out of either of them, then...

  "Nothing I'm not willing to pay," Calen flinched a little when she said it, but Emma pressed on. "But they want both of us."

  It was a little bit of a lie. Isha had made some allowances for 'capability and demeanor.' If Calen couldn't learn to actually fight, they might be in an awkward spot, but not totally disqualified from help.

  The half-lie got her a deep breath, and another ping of metal off Calen's fingernail while he contemplated. He didn't even seem to realize he was staring at a wall for way too long.

  "We're not splitting up. This is the best bet we know about," Calen admitted with another scowl. "Even if I think you're being—"

  "Good," Emma interrupted him before he could ruin it. "We'll do this together. Ow!"

  Sitting down had elicited a pop from some of the threads in her borrowed clothing, and Emma felt *something* jab into her hip, almost-painful.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  It was the knife. Bending at the waist had thrust the tip just through the lightly grayed cotton she was wearing, and sent a nova of static through Emma's side.

  "Em?"

  "Nonononono." She wasn't even talking to Calen as she jolted back upright, ruffling past the clothing to examine the wound.

  The blood on the blade had been dry, but it *was* blood she had just carelessly stabbed herself with. On a planet where eating other people's mana drove you insane. Did blood transfusions count? Was it something treatable? What if she got a totally unrelated disease from it?

  Emma had no intention of going down in history as the first person to die of a magical alien blood disease, but her mind immediately jumped to an even worse scenario.

  What if she *didn't* die from it, and she just had to suffer forever? What if she got a fever, and her brain swelled, and it wasn't *her* anymore by the time her body fixed things?

  Mahira had literally warned her that she might not appreciate the 'gift' of immortality. Or long life, or whatever she had.

  But Emma's frantic search turned up nothing. There wasn't a single drop of red staining her hip, or the dress, or the knife, even when she—

  "Em," Calen snapped his fingers in front of her nose, jolting her out of her narrow focus. "Em, deep breaths, and tell me what's up. Point, wave, whatever. What's going on?"

  The blade, when she carefully retrieved it to study, was fine. It *looked* sharp, aside from a few minor imperfections and obviously worn sections. The tip still had dried blood on it, but it was the same minor splatter from before, nothing new.

  The same burst of mana that had saved her from more than a dozen injuries during her flight across the field had protected her again.

  "I'm fine. It didn't go in. I'm fine. Just got the tinglies where it almost got me. I'm safe." She reassured them both.

  She took another controlled breath. Five seconds in, five seconds out.

  Calen failed to swallow a noise at the back of his throat, and eventually snorted. He looked half-offended, half amused.

  Emma's eyes narrowed on their own. He was definitely holding something back, and she was definitely going to regret asking, but...

  "What?" She challenged him.

  "Did you just call magic 'the tinglies?' Does it actually feel *that* good?" His grin was half the joke already. "Because the last time you pulled that word out was describing—"

  "Oh, shut up. You know what I mean." Emma interrupted him with burning cheeks.

  Calen had acted like he had always known it was going to happen for her eventually, but she had been excited. It was new, and she hadn't known things wouldn't last. There hadn't been a totally insurmountable three hundred and eighty four thousand kilometer gulf between them yet.

  "No, I don't, that's why I was worried about being thrown in a volcano," The grin faded from Calen's face after the self-deprecating joke. "But um, we're both aware our guests might not see your status that way, right? We don't know what they think about... y'know."

  Calen formed 'scissors' with his forefinger and middle finger on each hand, crudely pressing them together all the way to the first knuckle.

  Emma ignored the vulgar gesture, and grimaced at the idea she had overlooked. She couldn't help casting a sidelong glance at the muddied clothing she had hung over a bedpost, including a sweatshirt that was more than borrowed at this point. Putting it away unwashed would have felt wrong.

  There wasn't a closet she could see, just a wardrobe that was big enough that she could fold herself into it, if she needed to.

  It wouldn't be a comfortable experience, but it was possible.

  "Strangers with unknown cultural values, yeah." She acknowledged.

  "They might not care, but... yeah, we should find out at some point," Calen finished lamely, drawing his hands apart. "I just don't want the people in charge of our next meal trying to 'fix' you because of a misunderstanding."

  He even made cute little air quotes with his hands.

  It would be fine. She had already mostly-committed to doing the same thing during the application process for the CDI. Discretion might even be easier because they weren't living with other humans. Just really scary magic aliens, with scales as far as the eye could see.

  Or wander, in Calen's case.

  "We'll find out eventually. And it's not like I'm looking, anyway. But speaking of *looking*..." Emma changed the subject, and it was Calen's turn to go pink in the face.

  "Pfff. Yeah right," He scoffed, too little, too late. "My type is firmly 'doesn't want to stab me,' and I've seen her reach for that knife a few too many times today."

  Calen paused.

  "And, y'know, they're our hosts. Rocking the boat like that would be a bad idea." He added.

  Which both would have been very good reasons for him to not look in the first place. Especially the part about stabbing.

  They also weren't denials, but Emma was willing to let him off the hook now that the focus wasn't on her.

  "Just don't ask her for more than magic lessons, if you really think she would stab you about it," She cautioned him. "Even if she doesn't go for the knife, she might not save you next time you take an unplanned trip off a cliff."

  "Hey, I saved her back!" Calen protested, scratching at his neck. "And you needed her to save you too, when the big guy one was... well..."

  He mimed leaning forward and taking a bite out of something, clicking his teeth.

  Which didn't line up at all with what Emma remembered.

  "What are you talking about?" She asked. "She didn't toss me away, I did that with that big magic shield you said was cursed."

  Calen sighed like Emma had been in a position to see anything other than the actual threat in front of her at the time.

  "I mean the armor was going to eat the mana from the shield, but Mirri hit it with a bolt first," Calen said. "It could only absorb one type at a time, that was why the Venatrix was weaving in fireballs every time she slapped him away."

  Emma suppressed a shudder at the idea, and added it to the list.

  The list was getting long. *Really* long, despite Calen's borderline unreasonable skepticism about their hosts.

  "And you still think they're tricking us into something, instead of just doing their best?" She asked. "Face it dude, we got dragged out of danger as fast as they could, to a room with a view."

  He shifted uncomfortably, pinging metal off his thumbnail once more.

  "It could be both," he suggested, somehow still unconvinced. "The other priestess threw me off the cliff in the first place. Sutai. They clearly have different risk tolerances than we do."

  Which was an interesting point to make. Emma hadn't really been able to follow what Dovin was saying about the tan-scaled priestess on the ride here, but Sutai had played fast and loose with Emma's safety too, while Mirri had been the one to take extra care getting her to the ground.

  "Maybe not. She's from far away too," Emma suggested. "Not as far as us, but—"

  Calen's fingers clicked.

  "You're right," He said. "If we can get her talking, we can figure out how much of what we're being told is true. She might say stuff that Isha or Mirri or Dovin wouldn't tell us."

  Emma's eyes rolled themselves. Even if it was a good idea to get a second opinion, he was being way too paranoid for someone who had almost died without help twice today. If everything on this planet wanted to eat them, then as far as she was concerned, the 'martial instruction' Isha had mentioned couldn't come soon enough for him.

  And it would be nice to have a weapon of her own, if they were fighting mutated wildlife instead of people. Or even just defending themselves from armed people. Isha hadn't been very specific about that part.

  "And if it all checks out, then will you trust them?" She asked. "They literally opened their home to us."

  And it wasn't some stone box underground. They had a room with a *view*, judging by the way the shutters clacked in the wind.

  Emma paced over to the window to check.

  Calen snorted, and caught the stupid coin while she fiddled with the latch. He was getting better at that, at least. Hopefully it would be a few days before he tried any tricks with it.

  Metal was a lot louder bouncing across stone floors instead of carpet. And more annoying.

  "I'll trust them about finding mom and dad when they walk through the door and start talking about stuff that happened on Earth that only the four of us would know," He said behind her. "I know it's still our best bet, but that one is a long shot, Em. A long shot that's going to leave us involved with this power structure for a while before there's even a chance it works."

  Emma's stomach panged again, reminding her how long it had been since she had had a real meal.

  "Do you have a better plan yet?" She asked, throwing the shutters wide.

  The rush of cool air on her face was only slightly ruined by the light rain that speckled through the window. Emma stepped to the side, making room in case he wanted to see.

  The rolling treetops seemed to go on forever to her left, while the ground rose into much less hospitable terrain if she looked straight ahead. The right side was dominated by a sheer cliff face, and she could just barely make out the stone tower that was still standing in the distance, all the way down the forested road.

  Another path stretched from the fortress gates, leading almost straight ahead before disappearing down a slope into yet more rain-soaked forest.

  "No." Calen scowled reluctantly, stepping away from the viewport instead of towards it.

  "Great. Then let's figure out food now, and the rest tomorrow." She said.

  "Food you're going to eat, you mean?" He jabbed.

  It was her turn to scowl.

  "Of course I'm going to eat the food they offer us," She said, pressing on before he could finish re-opening his mouth. "Just like you're going to put those wings on, when they're fixed."

  "*If* it makes sense for us to say yes to that part of the deal," Calen wriggled out of committing to anything. "We still need to know more, Em. We don't even know if they're fixable, or if I can use them. I kind of lack the anatomy for it."

  Emma closed the window to keep the rain out, and Calen visibly relaxed. Why he didn't want literal magic wings if he was afraid of being thrown off the tower was anyone's guess, but Isha wouldn't be offering them to him if he didn't have some way to make them work.

  She shook away the thought. They had more pressing concerns than Calen's mental blinders right now.

  Like food.

  "I know. Just... one day at a time, right now, please," Emma said. "Isha says we have some time until Sariel comes back from whatever they're doing."

  "One day at a time." Calen agreed with a sigh.

  There was a gentle knock at the door, and after a brief standoff, Emma was the one to open it, facing an empty hexagonal hall with some confusion. She could have sworn she saw the tip of a gray tail disappearing deeper into the Warden's Perch.

  That was another apology she would have to work out.

  Just as soon as she could mean it.

  Calen held out an arm to stop her from stepping out to look, and pointed down.

  There were two wooden bowls of steaming vegetable broth on the floor, and Emma had been about to step on them.

  "I guess we're supposed to eat in here instead of wandering around." Calen put extra weight behind the words.

  "Good. I'm all done with stairs today." Emma refused to rise to the bait, kneeling to pick up the food instead.

  Calen could whine all he wanted about being safe and warm and fed, she was going to make sure they stayed that way, for as long as she could manage it.

  On further inspection, it was definitely thickened beef stock soaking the vegetables. There just wasn't any actual meat in the bowls. After a worried look from Calen, she ate it anyway.

  Starving wasn't going to help anyone any more than fighting would.

  Maslow's hierarchy of needs, first proposed in 1943 by Abraham Maslow, is a five level framework often depicted as a pyramid. It is used for assessing how people within a society prioritize their decisions.