“Amelia Ivy Crawford.” A soft voice drawls, emphasizing each word as if it was new. Or, perhaps, old and forgotten. “As I live and dream.”

A shadow crosses the warm light pouring from the door, cutting it in half and leaving me in the dark. Drawn from my thoughts, I look up, past the servant and to the shadow’s source.

There, cast in black, is an old... something. Enemy? Acquaintance? Pain in the tail? 

A woman in an ankle-length yellow dress, wrapped around by embroidered flowers like a climbing trellis. Long, golden hair, immaculately brushed and gleaming, with tiny white feathers curling around her bright grey eyes and flecked across her temples. She smiles at me, but it’s not reaching past her high cheekbones.

I don’t just know this woman— I grew up with her. And, Gods, she’s grown up from the impish cousin I remember, grown up into a woman that knows precisely how pretty she is, and of course she's a Mageblood now.

I smile back, baring my teeth and fangs. “Elizabeth Tousavon. Or, do you still go by Lizzie?”

Elizabeth’s lips twitch. She laughs gently, putting a white gloved hand over her mouth. “Oh, goodness, it’s been so long. Let’s not use that among proper company, though?”

Then perhaps I should stay as Amelia, too.

She trails off, and I take that moment to nod at the servant and stride up to Elizabeth. She’s still standing in the middle of the open door, but now that I’m closer, the light peeks over her head and onto mine. “Mind letting me in?” I say, gesturing past her. “I’ve been invited, if that’s your worry.”

“Oh, I’m well aware. Walk with me, Amelia?” Elizabeth steps to the side, cocking an eyebrow and turning her head to examine me with one eye. “Better to enter with company, than be the victim of twenty curious heads, hmm?”

Elizabeth is planning something, that much is obvious to me. Maybe I could’ve worked it out five or six years ago, when I was up to my shoulders in this nonsense. Now, though, all I have is rusty instinct telling me to be careful, to stay on alert. It’d take me weeks to sort out the new tangle everyone’s gotten themselves into, time I don’t plan on taking off from Delving.

“You know I don’t care about that.” I snort, flick my tail out to one side. “Sure, though.”

I stop short of correcting her on my name, though. Nicknames don’t exactly stick in this crowd, and... maybe my name will even carry some weight. I stick out an arm, she puts her hand on it, and we walk across the main hall. The sounds of conversation grow louder with every step, and a tug to my arm points us towards an open door.

“Right, then. How late am I, L— Elizabeth?”

“Fashionably so, fear not,” she replies. Her eyes flick up and down my body, and a soft smile spreads across her lips. “And truly fashionable, too. I’d be hard pressed to say you’re a gritty Delver, at first glance.”

She pauses, looking at my back. “Well, until I see how much of you has changed— look at that tripping hazard you call a tail. How do you not destroy every carpet you come across?”

“You’re not so bad yourself.” I snort, keeping the rest of my earlier thoughts to myself. If she’s going to be backhanded, I’ll just ignore it rather than play into her game.

“Of course. And tell me, dear; how has it been, coming back to your old stomping grounds?” Elizabeth continues, tossing her hair over one shoulder. The move exposes tiny feathers behind her ear, at least until she smooths her hair over. Glancing at me out of the corner of her eye, she wrinkles her nose. “We heard you tore apart a monster with your hands, as absurd as that sounds. Not the most graceful execution, is it.”

That gets a chuckle out of me, no matter how cutting her words are intended to be. I bring up my free arm, and with a flex of magic I coat my hand in scales. Fingernails blend to claws, and I wiggle my fingers. “These aren’t just for show, Elizabeth.”

“Here you are, showing them and truly enjoying yourself.” Elizabeth smirks, tilting her head. “Far more interesting than being human, I think we can agree.”

“I wouldn't count us as being not human,” I object, letting the scales on my free arm fade away. My response is habitual, even instinctual; years of working with Delvers and Mages had made this debate a familiar one. “Just a different sort.”

“A discussion for a different time, perhaps.” She turns to face me, and we stop just outside the door to the sitting room. The murmur of conversation is loud enough now that I can pick out individual words that rise above the hum.

I can see a vaguely familiar man looking over his conversation partner at me, though it’s clear he doesn’t recognize me. Still, when he inclines his head in greeting, I do the same in return. There’s no reason to be rude.

“Do you plan on staying, Amelia? Be honest with me.” Elizabeth tilts her chin up and rests it on the back of her fingers.

“Have we been lying this whole time?” I arch an eyebrow, dismissing my scales and crossing my arms. “Why are you asking?”

Elizabeth matches my expression, her lips quirking into a tiny smile. “Some things never change, do they? If I wanted to rob the Crawford Estate of its mysterious treasures, I would’ve done so years ago. No, Amelia, I just want to see if you’re going to sink your fangs into local politics.”

I let that sarcastic comment slide by with a chuckle. Leaving for five years with only a butler to manage the estate is bound to make a few rumors about what was inside. “It's been nice to visit, but...”

Trailing off, I curl my tail around my leg.

The food is nostalgic. Sleeping in my old bed is nice. I'd been here for only a handful of days and I'd already done something idiotic. The Restoration Church still holds a grudge for those long, long legal battles and some of my less legal solutions to their thievery. I do too, but it's something I'm only feeling now that I'm here.

I don't say any of that.

“I don't think I'll be staying,” I say instead. “It’s nice to be back, though.”

“I see.” Elizabeth nods, her expression unchanging. Her hand slides up my arm, and she pats me on the back. “I had almost hoped otherwise. Winston isn't the firm hand he needs to be, and I doubt you'd have the same problem. And by the Hero, this city could use a Delver.

“Now, we've waited out here long enough, and I'm sure they're buzzing to meet this new, taller Amelia. In we go.”

Winston? Soft? Is that what she's implying? He's kind, sure, and that's good for the city. He cares, unlike many Lords I'd seen and met. But he pulls strings like a puppetmaster when it’s needed. At least this reveals her angle, now.

“Everyone! I'm happy to re-introduce an old friend. Or enemy, for some.” Elizabeth raises her voice, pushing us forward into the room.

It's a large, well-appointed study, with scattered chairs and walls lined with old tapestries. A wide window on the back wall exposes the gently rolling hills behind the manor, glittering gold in the last light of dusk.

There's also people in the room, unfortunately. People I recognize vaguely, and in the pause, it looks like they're slowly recognizing me, too. Winston, dressed in a fine green suit, raises a glass of wine at me.

Right. I remember how this goes. Time to show credibility. “Dame Amelia Ivy Crawford. Lesser Lady of Craumont, Two Grand March Delver.” I announce myself, giving a curt nod to the room. “Good evening, everyone.”

Most of them go right back to whatever conversation they were in, sipping wine and lounging in plush chairs. Elizabeth slides past me, calling out a black-haired, portly man named Phillip and striding over to speak with him.

I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding, dropping my tail against the carpeted floor with a thump. Thank Adamantine for the small mercies, I guess. No questions, not even a batted eyelash at the extra height, the shape, the... me, as I am now.

Then again, I can see fangs on at least five people here, and there's a brown tail on a guy over in the corner. Seven of twenty-two, counting me— quite a bit higher than the average on a city street, that's for sure.

Whatever the case, there's an empty set of chairs quite close to where Winston is, with a wine bottle and empty glasses. More importantly, one of the chairs has a gap between the back and the seat, with sturdy armrests holding the back in place instead. A seat I can actually sit in comfortably!

I make my way over, giving nods to a bunch of people that look vaguely familiar, and seat myself. It's tempting to uncork the wine with a claw, but that's going to draw eyes... and when I focus, I can feel how much magic I've burnt today, keeping myself intact.

No wine for me, then. Now that I think about it, it'd probably look bad for me to get even slightly drunk tonight.

Something unpleasantly purple flickers by the corner of my eye. I do my best to ignore it, even when it clears its— his, maybe, from the sound?— throat.

I make a show of people-watching, to make it very clear that I'm busy. That's Restoration Church purple I'm seeing, so no thank you. Brave man, though. Or foolish. I remember breaking a lot of noses, getting back some of the things the Church stole. Not a good idea in hindsight, and it dragged out the proceedings up at the capital by months... all the more reason not to bother me, because I’d won anyways.

“Dame Crawford?” they say loudly, shifting into my field of vision. Oh, gods. He’s really wearing a Restoration Purple coat?

Can I ignore this? I glance around, checking to see how many eyes are on us. Most of them. None openly, but the room is quieter and I can see the glances sent our way. So, I can’t ignore this, and I can only guess that it’s what he wants.

But I won’t let him stand over me. So, I turn to face him, and silently drink in his features. He’s on the shorter side, with dark, weathered skin, curly black hair, and an equally black beard. His features remind me a bit of the merchants from Ducros, with their tales of rough seas and strange, broad-leafed trees.

Curling my tail out of the hole in the chair, I stand, peering down and making him crane his neck. “I am her, yes. And you are?”

He takes a step back, and I curl my lips into a relaxed grin. Just a hint of fang. “Alain Hendrick, head clerk and servant of the Restoration Church. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Alain sticks out an arm, palm facing upward.

After a brief internal debate, I grit my teeth, keep that smile on, and clasp his arm in greeting. “That’s a rare attitude for the Restoration’s followers around here.”

He releases my forearm and takes another half step back, barking out a too-loud laugh. More eyes on us, now. “Ha! Yes, unfortunately so, yes. Which is why I’m seeking you out, despite the apparent risk to life and limb. Exaggerated, I’m sure; five years later, level heads are prevailing.”

I peel my lips back, showing more sharpened teeth. “I don’t plan on hurting anyone, no. So what’s this reason?”

His throat bobs. “I... yes. I heard that one of our number had some choice words for you. Words that I assure you do not represent our core beliefs. So I have come to apologize, and to assure you he was reprimanded.”

My expression must be showing how incredulous I am, because he plows right along.

“Formally, yes, and on behalf of Priest Dongbaek and the full Congregation of the Restoration, I apologize for the actions of one among our number.” He bows, and he sounds genuinely penitent. “While we have much we have disagreed upon, that should not have happened.”

Of course, everyone is watching now. Everyone is waiting for me to answer... as if I have a choice.

I can choose how I say it, though. I breathe deeply, loosening my throat and adding just a drip of magic. “I accept your apology, Alain Hendrick. Thank you.”

My voice rumbles and hisses, filling the air, heavy enough to silence the room.

Conversation returns. Gazes scatter, and I expect I’ll be gossiped about tomorrow. Tonight, depending on how many servants overheard.

Alain beams at me, but he can’t quite meet my eyes. “I’m relieved, yes,” he says, much more quietly. “There is more, of course.”

“I guessed,” I cross my arms, lying through my teeth. “What do you want?”

“A deal,” he says plainly. His eyes flick across the room. “Not now. After dinner, if you’re so inclined, Dame Crawford?”

Tilting my head, I wave my tail from side to side. I’m curious enough to hear him out, at least.

“I’ll consider it.”

“Oh, thank the Restoration. I will approach you then. Thank you for your time, Dame Crawford.” He inclines his head and turns away, releasing me from this nonsense.

I turn, flicking my eyes toward Winston. He raises an eyebrow, and I jerk my chin towards Alain in return. Winston rolls his eyes, nods, and gestures towards the window he’s wandered over to while I was talking. There’s two glasses of white wine sitting on a table next to him, one half-empty and the other untouched.

Fine. I stalk over, sidling by a stout man excitedly telling Elizabeth about “Steam-powered production mills, my dear. They’re the future of the Free Kingdoms— and it can be the Ayldom’s in particular! Tousavon’s river is...” Looks like Elizabeth is trying to drown her boredom in wine.

As I approach, Winston picks up the full glass of wine and offers it to me. I ward it off with a raised hand. 

“You invited him.” I say, keeping my voice low and light.

Winston sighs, setting the glass down and running a hand between his horns. “I did. They have significant pull in Craumont, and the Ayldom as a whole— I’m not about to push them to the corners. Not with the amount of good they do.”

He’s avoiding the answer. He’s avoiding his own point. I raise an eyebrow, casting about for a chair I can sit in while he mulls something over in his head. No good seats, so I just lean one shoulder against the wall, leaving my tail to swing free.

“The common folk treated it as a spectacle, but many in this room remember how the Church tried to take an orphan’s home. You returning was bound to incite some tension, and I knew Elizabeth loves to stir things up,” Winston picks up the half-full glass, drinks it down in one go, and stares out the window. 

“It seemed like the easiest solution. Even if you had said no, it would have been you, not me speaking for our families. I’m shocked you took that apology, truthfully.”

That gets a snort out of me. “You’re the savvy one, Winston. I couldn’t reject it without making things worse for you.”

He shrugs. “Nonetheless, I’m glad you took it. They might be more cooperative, if they’re not afraid of Dame Amelia Crawford swooping in to raid their basements and vaults again.”

Oh, that. “Not my finest moment. If they can manage to stay out of my business, I’ll stay out of theirs.” I allow. But he’s getting off topic again, I can tell— dancing around something I haven’t yet seen. “Get to the point, Winston. I’m here for something, and it wasn’t that little power play.”

Winston looks at me. For a moment, his expression cracks. Anticipation and fear burn behind the calm half-smile, and the year of age between us stretches out to a decade of wear and tear. It’s enough to make my heart ache, and to make me want to reach out and comfort him.

So I do. I land a hand on his shoulder and squeeze it gently. Once his expression smooths over, I take a step back and wait.

I don’t have to wait long.

“We need your help, Ivy. We— me, my love, and Elizabeth— we can’t fix it,” Winston says, his voice calm and soothing, as if we were discussing the weather. He lowers his voice, to a whisper, barely audible even to me. “But if I tell you, I know you’ll stay, even if you don’t want to. We'll talk after dinner.”

Winston straightens and brightens, raising his voice to carry across the room. “And it’s been such a joy catching up, cousin. But I believe it’s nearly time for the main meal. I’ll have to go and check the preparations.”

I don’t even have time to argue before he strides off, taking the second glass of wine with him.

I’m beginning to think I should’ve taken it when I had the chance. Maybe a whole bottle, given that’s what it takes to get me even slightly drunk.