She sits on a plump couch, blanket thrown over her shoulders, staring at the swirling mug of hot cocoa in her hands.

  They’re on Polyphron’s first floor, a breakroom. The ingredients scavenged from nearby offices or forgotten cabinet shelves. Randall made one for each of them. Mugs designed to look like snowmen.

  Harriet breathes in the thick, rich scent. Inside are a few marshmallows, floating like white islands in a murky brown sea. “Did ya… make these a lot when ya were mortal, or…?”

  Randall blankly cuts her off. "I don't remember."

  “Yeah.” She curls her fingers around it. “... we never do."

  Silence. An awkward silence, but an easier one. Harriet told him what she could, without the windchimes deafening her eardrums, or tears being born anew. Randall said nothing throughout, staring in that way he always does. Reading her.

  “Fireside...” It’s said with only the barest hint of sadness. Steam wafts casually across his face. “I am sorry.

  “Are ya?” She laughs bitterly, pulling the blanket he’s wrapped around her closer. “Issit not what ya were expectin'? What every Kept goes through? Christ, even Addana-"

  The words die on her tongue. Addana. Harriet got what she wanted from her, and now she wants nothing less.

  "How lucky you are that you were only touched by one."

  Those words still send tremors down her spine. Block her thoughts like Randall's invisible walls.

  “I apologise for her behavior, as well.” Randall nods softly. “She has… always struggled to find community here. It can... complicate her judgement-"

  “Ya don’t have ta make excuses fer her,” Harriet growls.

  “I do,” he replies. “I’m her Keeper.”

  He walks away from the kitchen sink, settling into a chair, but clearly not to relax. Planks of wood pose less stiffly.

  “Five years ago, per Clause 447.c and with written permission from my Keeper, I was given the right to select a personal Oathsworn.” Randall pauses, considering. “For a Veneficii, that is a rare honour. The Guidelines for Keeping-”

  He stops at her snigger. “Guidelines? What Keeper is followin’ Guidelines?”

  “The failure of others does not detract from the responsibility.”

  Harriet’s nostrils flare at that.

  “My Oathsworn needed to be strong. Loyal. Unwilling to shame either Court or Keeper. And, per the Reeve’s decree, they could not be from England. So, I flew to Port Harcourt - Caedmon's oil assets, we told them - and, seeing the state of the villages there, saw at once how I could find them. A contest. I knew the Oathsworn would be my guard. To the one who bested all challengers… papers. Benefits. A plane ticket for themselves and as many dependents as they wished to bring."

  “That’s it?" Harriet furrows. "Addana jes’ beat everyone else?”

  “No. She didn't compete." Randall blinks. “She drove my cab."

  She stares at him. Slack-jawed.

  “You think I am cold, Fireside. You think I see others only as tools. And to an extent, I do." He inhales, consider. "But a tool well used lasts longer. A tool can be improved with care. And each of us chooses to use that tool for wrong or for right. Now, there are five children in this world who will learn more than they were ever promised. Five children who will live better lives than their mother could have dreamed. That is the oath I swore to Addana, same as the oath she swore to me. I used the tool for right."

  For a brief moment, he emotes. Satisfaction. Pride. But it dissipates like water on sand.

  “Now I am handed another tool.” His eyes narrow. "And I can't figure out what the right use is."

  Harriet's voice lowers. “Randall, ya can't let it slide. He's a monster."

  “Soteris’ treatment has not-”

  “I'm not safe!” She takes hold of her arms. “Do ya know how relieved I felt when ya told me he wasn’t here today? How terrified I am knowin’ that he’ll come back tomorrow? Ya can stop it!”

  “It is not that simple.”

  “Why?” Her voice shakes, and she grits her teeth. “There’s workarounds, right? S-Some kinda judge or review o-o-o-or-”

  “Fireside…”

  “Cut him out!” She holds out her wrists. "Take control! Jes' ya an' Caedmon. That’s in the contract, right? Ya already own me-”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not!?”

  “Because we’re Veneficii!”

  He regrets the words the instant they leave him. Randall twitches, his hand gripping the seat, while the aether in Harriet’s skin grows dim, turning her a deathly pale.

  “We?” She says it slowly. Like she's speaking of a curse. “What do ya mean, we?”

  Randall closes his eyes. “Most Nocturni do have an arbitration process, if rarely used. But not you. You…” Exhale. Inhale. “... are of us. The Poisoned Ones."

  Her breath is short. Her heart trembles. As fleeting and terrified as the day she met the man who storms her thoughts. With his swords and songs and bells.

  They called him Poisoned One. And striga. And magi and sorcerer and a dozen other things. But they… but she… she…

  "Crimson storms,” Randall whispers without emotion. “Petunias and lilies trampled by Prussian blues.”

  She can't close her mouth. Her head feels ready to split open.

  “In technical terms, a Veneficii is any Nocturni with an aether concentrate above a hundred-” He stops as she buries her face in her hands. “We are stronger. More volatile. Wholly unsafe. And therefore…”

  She pulls up long enough to meet his eyes. “What? What!?”

  “Fireside, Sunwalker’s laws are clear.”

  His gaze never leaves her. The glow of his eyes. The scars aether makes shine.

  “Your Keeping will not end. And your Keeper cannot change.”

  The windchimes are not patient. They rush in like a whirlwind, the white clouds billowing just behind. Harriet would shout him down, if she had any words to shout. Would laugh him off, if she had any strength to laugh.

  Immortal. The word rings through her mind, large and infinite and impossible to comprehend. Two weeks waiting. Two weeks lost. But if Randall’s speaking the truth, if Harriet can’t get herself out…

  ... not even death awaits her.

  Randall shifts, stilted. “You should drink your cocoa. While it’s still warm.”

  The tears flow freely and frequently, but she lacks the power to sob.

  It goes on for several minutes. The weeping, the sorrow, all of it silently seen by her captor. It grounds her, in its way. The knowledge that, to him, the pain is bright, and visible. Forced into existence.

  No matter how much he’d like to hide.

  She looks at him through a single eye. The deadened expression. The soulless stare.

  “How?” She hates the way her voice shakes. “You, Astrid, all of ‘em. How do ya hear these words… how do ya wear those scars… an’ accept it? Feel nothin'?"

  He hardens at that. “I feel.”

  “Then act.”

  For a moment, Randall’s silent. Then, he sits up, fiddling through his pocket, withdrawing his cigarette pack. He shuffles through the sticks, pulling out one, pushing another down.

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  “We are all born Kepts. Some escape, some ascend. But yellow on silver beads. You know now our hardships, our struggles, and your heart aches for us as it aches for yourself. Like snow that falls on violets and reds.”

  “Yes.”

  “Grey dulling brown. Why do we accept? Black rippling crimson. Why don’t we fight?” His hand stills. “Some, because they truly can't. Others, because they fear the first. A few, like Traynor, choose to believe what is said.”

  “Choose?” Harriet squints. “Ya make it sound like they’re lyin’.”

  “They are.”

  Her brow lifts.

  “Tell me true, Fireside. Do you know why the Keeping exists? Why Sunwalker recreated it?”

  A scoff. “I’ve gotta pretty good notion.”

  “You’re referring to the Keeping as it was made. As the Keeping has become. I speak of the Keeping as it was intended." He withdraws a single cig. "I was once as you are. A Kept of stolen purpose. Lost and angry and afraid. I was told the same stories they tell you. And I believed them just as little. But now, you see my loyalty, my acquiescence, and think it cruelty. That is not what a veneficii sees. We study all that is hidden, and in doing so, learn hidden truths. From each word spoken, two, three, a hundred words more.”

  His eyes linger on a single cigarette. Flicking at the paper.

  “If I tell you that truth, the story the others will never tell, will you listen? Will you... reconsider your assessment? Will you understand why I pause?"

  She scowls. “Think it's pretty obvious that I ain't gotta choice."

  “That is the only time we ever choose.”

  Harriet shrugs, and gives a quick nod. Suddenly, Randall's body changes. The aether forced down. His veins stop glowing, his eyes turn dim. The skin grow a shade so pallid that she finds her eyes shifting away from it."

  “Orange as Sunlight. This makes you uncomfortable, yet it has been your true form for a hundred years.”

  “It's not," she bites back. "We're still human."

  “We aren’t. And there is responsibility in knowing we aren't."

  The aether makes a slow return to his bloodstream. Milky, alien eyes stare back at her.

  “Nocturni are not natural. Like weeds from a foreign shore, we were brought here, deliberately, to wreak havoc and choke out life. And unchecked, we will do so. With an efficiency and a brutality that nature could never rally against. That is why the Keeping exists, Fireside. Not to serve the ancient. Not to empower the mighty. It, and the Court, and all of us, exist for one thing: to protect a world that was not made for us. To protect a world that would be our prey.’"

  "We don't have ta be monsters, Randall."

  “Perhaps. For a time. Until our blood grows thick and the Wilds call. What monster would ever see themselves as such?” Randall rolls back his sleeves, unveiling deep gashes. “We struggle. We adapt. We remember our human selves, and think that makes us a part of this place. It does not. The essence remains.”

  She rubs her arm. Never meeting his eyes.

  “I am not saying we are immune to kindness. I am not saying we have no right to exist. But at least admit the truth, that without Sunwalker, without our laws, this city could not be shared. Our numbers would swell, our powers would be seen. Humans and Nocturni would surely come to war.”

  “A war Sunwalker thought we'd lose?” She asks.

  “No.”

  The word hangs in the air. Silent and certain.

  “... If anyone's startin' a war, it's the Court.” She swallows. “I’ve seen ya butcher. I’ve seen ya steal. I’ve watched Elders cut men into ribbons, Poisoned Ones burn protestors alive. The Court's not a guardian, Randall. It jes' enables those at the top ta act however they wish."

  “Imagine a beast so powerful that he could level a city by himself. A beast so powerful that he can break all known chains.” Randall scowls. “How do you stop him? Do you try to kill him, and die? Do you contain him, and doom the world when he breaks loose? Or do you stall him? Give him morsels?”

  He shows his arm.

  “Take the hit?"

  His voice is fiercer now. More resolute.

  “In a world of fairness, Fireside, you are right. But Nocturni break that world. You, like so many, see how our Elders act and think it the Court's failure. But the Court is a dam on the ocean. Checks on unchecked power. The rocks that stand between a burning and unburnt field. Their excesses are many, and unforgiveable. But think of how they'd act without them. Is gluttony not better, when gluttony leads to sloth?"

  "We coulda stopped them, Randall. We coulda stopped all of this. The Unbound fought fer the people."

  "Rowe fought for the people, and Rowe is dead. Would you compare his struggle to Blackbird's, or Keaton's, or yours?" He waits for a moment, until he's certain she'll say nothing. "The Unbound didn't kill Sunwalker. Sunwalker killed himself."

  Her hands are on her knees. Her eyes on the floor. His words sound like madness. Sweet ambrosia, convenient lies. And yet she's trying to remember what other Courtman has ever spoken of the Court so truly, and freely.

  She can only think of one.

  "So that's why ya can't help?" Harriet doesn't hide her bitterness. "A... bit a' philosophy?"

  “I want you to understand my point of view."

  "Well it feels a lil' worthless when I know what's comin' back from that business trip-"

  “Our laws are breaking.”

  She blinks, looking up at him.

  His face is gaunt. His words are hollow. “Fireside, the Court is going to war."

  "With who?" Her voice shakes. "F-fer what?"

  "For nothing we desire. No purpose we planned. And with the only ones who can still oppose us." He rises from his seat. "Have you heard of the Internet?”

  She nods.

  “And do you know how many Nocturni, in the past five years, have been executed after their nature was revealed online?”

  She shrugs. "Thirty?"

  “Three hundred and twenty-one.”

  Christ. That's impossible. More than one a week. A tenth of the whole Court. A higher kill-count than hers.

  "H-how did so many...?"

  “A fledgling insists on keeping his MySpace. A Kept is eager to show off their powers. An Elder, lonely for centuries, is desperate for any warmth." Randall frowns. "There are as many as deaths. The Court moves slowly. Enforces slowly. By the time we knew of the crisis, two-hundred were already exposed. For a century and a half, the Law of Secrecy has been challenged. The humans who know our nature, barely contained. Mass discovery is inevitable."

  “But... surely Blair would-”

  “He tries. Not as hard as he should." Randall lifts his brow. "Imagine that you are a human, and know that we exist. Paradox and Poisoned Ones and blood-feeding all. You have a father. A child. What could a politician say that could possibly give you pause? What politician, in that moment, wouldn't want to be rid of us?"

  Harriet’s squeezing the mug. Suddenly pale. "So yer little glow-in-the-dark VCR is s'posed ta stop a crisis the Court made?"

  "I won't deny it."

  "How? All I've ever seen it do is flash lights."

  “Would Caedmon have invested so much if we weren’t sure?"

  "There's gotta be other-"

  "There are. But Harriet..." She's startled to hear her actual name. "... Soteris has a solution now, and we've already run out of time."

  Her breath is ragged. She remembers his words, pounding in her skull.

  Fireside is for us.

  Fireside will make us human.

  “Why not tell me this from the start?”

  “If we had, would you believe?”

  "Wh-what happens if Hestia fails?”

  "Many die. Humans, Court, Unbound. It will be worse than any Revolt. More destructive than any Elder."

  She bites her lip. Fiddling with her sweater, her hair. “... that... doesn't..." Her face hardens. "That doesn't give him an excuse."

  “I know.” He cradles his cup. “But we need him as much as we need you."

  "So ya'll write him a ticket ta abuse me?"

  "Your Keeping was not made because you are weak."

  Randall's tone is back. Sharp, and full of feeling.

  "Fireside, know that I want to stop it. And in other circumstances, I would. But we are two of the most powerful creatures to ever walk this Earth, and that demands a burden, from both of us. We cannot act alone for ourselves. In every choice, in every circumstance."

  She listens more than she sees. A sorrow. A desperation. The wall Randall builds for himself breaking down.

  "We must consider, always, if the whites are truly worse than the blacks.”

  Randall glides to the sink. Slowly emptying his mug.

  “Take your time here. I need to clean the station. Consider my words. You do not need to agree with them to-"

  “I wanna help.”

  He pauses, turning back. Harriet glares.

  “Not the Court. Not him. But if yer speakin’ the truth… if people are gonna die..." She makes a face. "Fireside will be built."

  She’s not sure how sincere her words truly are. There’s no doubt that Randall believes what's he saying. But Rowe once told her that men only argue that they are right when they are terrified of being wrong. If she wants what he has, she has to repackage it. Agree with him, at least partway.

  For once, Randall’s caught off-guard. “I… your compliance-”

  “No." She lifts her hand. "Not compliance. Not obedience. If we do this, we do it as the Unbound would. Not fer free."

  His eye twitches almost instantly.

  “Ya told me ta look at things from a different perspective. I am. I'll stop this war, but if I do, yer gonna help me."

  A long pause. Harriet tries to mirror his gaze, focusing on his shoulders, his hands, never his eyes. Eyes that burst with blue flame, even now.

  “... What did you have in mind?”

  He’s interested, thank God.

  “The tests. They were useful, right? More than ya expected?”

  A slow nod.

  “How often are we gonna test ‘em?”

  “I... haven’t determined-”

  “Let me." Her eyes spark. “I pick the day, I pick the time. Ya might not even get notice. But I promise, once I walk in that lab I will do whatever ya say. Perform whatever needs performin'. Jes' give me two things.”

  She lifts two fingers to signify. Randall’s voice sharpens. “Which are?”

  “Ya tell me everythin’ that’s goin’ on. The why, the what, the how. If I'm this needed, I can't be kept in the dark."

  "Agreed."

  She has to stop her shoulders from relaxing. "An’ ya gotta promise ta keep them out.”

  “Them?”

  “Soteris." She swallows, judging the gamble. "An' Addana."

  He visibly bristles, but she stays firm. "Addana is there for my safety-"

  “Ya want my powers?” She rises from her seat. “Give me somewhere safe. Give me some control. Somewhere I can hide! Or what happened downstairs? They're gonna get a lot bigger. They're gonna get a lot worse."

  He blinks. Looking away. Confirms her guess, that the explosion wasn't something he controlled, as much as her.

  Harriet crosses over to his side. Reaches out and grabs his arm.

  “Randall… this is the right thing."

  The fabric scratches her palm.

  "This is how ya use the tool."

  Cold flesh against cold.

  His eyes are different, up close. She searches for answers, for affirmation. Instead, she finds a brilliant swirl, and not just of blues. Lavender beads on silver threads. Flickering yellows, merging with greens. It all blazes from his irises like solar flares, uncharted and bright with aether.

  For the briefest of moments, she sees him as he sees her.

  “I see now why Chrysanthou insisted upon you,” Randall says. “You have his flame.”

  The comment takes her aback, which Randall uses to break from her grip and walk to the door. Her mind freezes, terrified that her play has failed, when-

  “After each test, you will tell me what he says. Who he meets. What he’s done to you.” Randall doesn’t turn back as he speaks. “I will listen, and I will remember.”

  The door closes, and clicks, locking her inside with a cooling mug of cocoa. But at this moment, it doesn’t matter. She already feels warm.

  A smile grows on Harriet's lips as she puts her hands to her sweater, her breast. Listening to the thump of her heart. An ally. A confidant. Or, failing that, a source of information.

  Not for a saviour she can't see, but for the day she breaks out herself.

  Chapter 17: A Starless Sky, though I might release a small Patreon Exclusive first.