"She ate it's heart!"

"Excuse me-- what?"

 

Arthur and I sat beside each other, facing the mirror. 

I paused, my hand halfway to my face with a mascara brush, and shot him an incredulous look. “Say that one more time,” I asked. “I didn’t quite hear you the first— did you say she ate the heart of a fire elemental?”

Arthur nodded, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Yeah! Yeah. The Warden ate its heart and took its power for herself.”

“I’m sorry— she also took its power?” 

“Yuh huh.” He turned from the mirror to shoot me a confused look. “Is that—“

“No— I’m just having a hard time believing it,” I sighed, running the brush through my lashes. “Fire elementals— Elementals, in general, don’t have a corporeal form to interact with— they’re just whatever they are. They don’t have organs— or a ‘heart’ to speak of, really. And you said she shoved a hand into its chest and ripped out a heart?” 

“I mean—“ Arthur tilted his head as if recalling a memory “— that’s how the story goes, yeah.”

“I—“ I shoved the exasperation away, letting it out in a long exhale. “Whatever, I suppose. I am surprised that they didn’t get scared of her, after watching her eat the heart.”

“Well, yeah, like— the heart-eating is a little far, I guess, but she’s done a lot of good for the Empire.” He counted off on his fingers. “Her debut achievement, her history as a soldier before she became a Keeper— she even helped reclaim some territories, recently. It’s also pretty helpful that she’s married to our foremost Alchemist.”

“Our foremost free alchemist.”

“Boo— like the Empire alchemists have anything on him. We both know in a competition he could beat out all of them. At the same time.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Arthur smiled. “You’ll have to tell me about him, when you meet him.”

“Oh— actually I, uh, met him earlier.”

“Oh! Really?” Arthur perked up. “What for?”

“I…” I swapped my mascara for eyeliner, deciding how much I wanted to tell him. 

It would be a damper for him to know how different he is from the stories, but you did say you’d communicate better. 

“ I met him as I was coming out of the infirmary. He approached me and we had a little meeting. Which is why I took so long coming back from the infirmary.”

“Oh? What was he like? Was he like how he was in all the stories?”

“What— the ones where he keeps live monsters chained in his lab? Or the conspiracy that he’s looking for a way to resurrect his dead wife, and that he married the Warden for benefits?”

He huffed out a sigh and gave me a dry look. “You know what I’m talking about.”

I softly laughed, relenting. “Alright— alright. He’s not at all like the news would make him out to be. You’d think the man would be neat and meticulous, given all that he’s achieved. But…” I trailed off, mind reeling back to my conversation with him. “But he’s not. Fleming is the opposite, really. His office was messy, and so was he. He looked…”

Arthur sat on a stool a little ways away, raptly hanging on my words. He’d forgotten all about the cuff he’d been trying to button. 

“He looked under the weather, to say the least, and— ” a frown came to my face “— he spoke like a noble.”

“Good noble?”

“Bad noble. He spent a majority of our time talking about how he wanted to fund my research and stuff— but he said in a way that implied he also wanted to take credit for it.”

“Ooh.” Arthur’s face scrunched, and his gaze turned reassuring. “But that’s a really good opportunity. Are you gonna take it?”

“Yeah. I know— I just— I’m not sure. It’d be good, and I’m sure he could help, but I don’t think…”

“You don’t think you can work well with him?”

“Yeah.”

He hummed in reassuring understanding and dropped the topic. Silently, I thanked him.

“Anyway— where were we?” I said. “I was talking about how utterly unfeasible and quite impossible the act of eating an elemental’s heart is?”

Arthur laughed along. “Haha, since when were you an expert in creatures? Maybe it was a new species of elemental?”

I raised my chin. “Since this afternoon, actually. I studied up in anticipation of this conversation.”

The question of what that charcoal-snow woman was still danced at the edge of my attention. 

After my fruitless visit to Belfaust’s library, I had found Arthur leaning over a railing near a cliff. Apparently, Clara had to run off to fulfill errands a little while earlier, and he hadn’t been waiting long, he assured me. When I asked what he’d been doing in the meantime, he’d replied that he was birdwatching. The geese at the bottom of the cliff, I presumed. I didn’t step beside him to check— I found that the heights around Tisali drove an uncomfortable feeling into the pit of my stomach. If Arthur noticed I’d been walking deeper inroad, away from the ledge, he didn’t say anything. 

The two of us had eventually made it back to my family estate, by which I promptly— admittedly— passed him off to Esmerelda to handle for a bit while I went skimming through my own library for any sort of answer. I hadn’t found anything that I hadn’t already found or known. Then, the hour made itself known, and the other obligations in my life had to take precedent over it.

“Really now?” His eyebrows raised and his eyes bright with mirth. ”So you saw this conversation coming?”

“Of course, I’ve found myself deeply blessed with unknowable foresight,” I said without missing a beat. “You could call me a fortune teller, really.”

He played along. “Could you tell my fortune then?”

“Oh— I’m so very sorry.” I made a face of mock-disappointment, laying a free hand over my chest. “I don’t seem to have my cards on me.”

“Oh…” Arthur returned my look of heartbroken dismay, and I thought that was the end of our little bit, but he continued. “… could you read my palm?”

My mask of professional sadness twitched. After a heartbeat, I asked, “… Do you want me to?”

Then, it was Arthur’s turn to be surprised, as if he expected me to walk back my words. “I— can you really?”

“I— uh…” A heartbeat passed before I smoothed over my expression. “Of course, absolutely. Come closer.”

Arthur’s expression grew doubtful at my momentary hesitation, but scooted closer to show me his hand. I grasped his in my mine, palm up. I took a moment to draw on a trickle of ether, letting it cloud my breath as I made a few faces of quiet contemplation and consideration and tilted my head this way and that as if the lines on his palms meant anything to me.

It didn’t, naturally, I had little talent in Divination, and I was pretty certain that most Diviners that did things like palm readings were hacks. 

“Ah…” I softly exhaled, making sure my breath tickled his hand. “I see, I see… Truly troublesome, indeed...”

Arthur grew restless, fidgeting in my chair the longer I took to— supposedly— divine his future based on the lines of his palm. In reality, I was just coming up with the best tale to wind him up with.

I let a furrow come to my brow, and my frown grow into a concerned scowl. “That’s not good.”

His hand went still in mine, and I continued, “Before the year’s out— you— or someone you know— a horrible fate will befall them…”

My solemn gaze tilted up to find his eyes searching my face. He stared at me, as if in disbelief, as if in actual concern, as if looking for the trick.

A heartbeat passed. I swallowed, and did my best to look just as surprised as he.

“I…” Arthur slowly said. “… really…? Can you— who?”

I felt the corners of my lips tug up, and kept my gaze on his palm. “You.”

“What…?”

“It says… it says you’ll be swindled by a fortune teller who told you she can read your palm.”

His expression twisted— accusatory and stricken. “Wait—“ he sounded horribly accusing and scandalized “— you’re— you’re just winding me up!”

My mask crumbled, and I hunched over, snorting and doing my best to swallow  pulling laughter. “No— nooo— of— of course not— Ha!— certainly… certainly not…”

Arthur made an uncharacteristic tongue-clicking noise, before away. He breathed out, both annoyed and amused in the same breath. “I should’ve known from the way you clammed up initially…”

I nodded along, smug and still catching my breath. 

A knock came from the door, before Esmerelda pulled it open, bowing. “Lady Estelle. Mister Bell,” she said, her eyes smiling at the two of us. “Stephen’s prepared the carriage. We can depart whenever you’d like.”

“Of course, thank you, Esmerelda.” I stood, doing a small twirl in the mirror. “How do I look?”

I’d scrounge up an old dress from my dresser the moment we’d come up— notably, not in blue, as Arthur had so callously insinuated. It was a black, A-line dress that had open-shoulder sleeves and stopped just above my ankles. Detailed gray embroidery ran along the edges of it, depicting some kind of pattern I couldn’t exactly describe. A mess of whorls and loops I’d first mistaken for runework, before realizing that none of it actually formed a proper shape. My hair— which I’d normally kept unbound— I had pulled high and into a ponytail, leaving just enough hair to frame my face. I’d replaced my glasses with a set of contacts. I’d dug out a pair of fancy boots from one of my closets— since trudging anywhere in this city was miserable enough, doing it any form of heels would have been hell. I’d forgone my normal heavy cloak, replacing it with a lighter shawl that features floral lace at its hem. 

It also, disappointingly enough, didn’t have pockets. Which meant I couldn’t carry my Focuses. Not that I expected to use them— I’d just gotten use always having them on me.

Arthur made an appreciated gasp. “You’re pretty as always, Elle!”

Esmerelda nodded along, smiling. “Stellar, my lady.”

I inclined my head, bowing. “Thank you, thank you, truly.”

Arthur’s outfit hadn’t changed much— he still wore the dark trousers, though had traded them for a nicer pair. His boots had been cleaned; his hair swept into an artfully messy and waved version of his usual style; he’d exchanged his cloak for a bark-brown waistcoat and jacket, though he didn’t want to wear a tie, and left the collar of his pressed shirt unbuttoned. 

“Right then,” I said, turning to Arthur. “Let’s go then, yeah?”

 

[][][]

 

The Angel’s River was a small, high-end establishment mainly situated along the mountain ridge of Tisali.

Though, if one looked upon it without any context, they would most likely think it to be a small clerical building. Clean, sheer-white steps raised cleanly from the street, devoid of snow and water. Warm heat radiated off the steps in waves, only getting stronger the closer to the actual building we got. Arthur and I passed little pillars of stone holding up a domed roof, and a brass sculpture of clicking gears and wires opened the doors for us. 

Arthur nudged me uneasily as we stepped past. “Elle,” he whispered, “what was that?”

“An automaton— a more sophisticated take on Golems.”

The inside of the building did little to dissuade the idea of it being an office building. It had a front lobby with marble tiles, with another expressionless automaton standing beside a door. As we approached, it clicked and whirred, before it’s mouth opened. I felt my skin crawl as Divination washed over us.

“Estelle Berchon Laurent?” it whirred, before turning to Arthur. “Arthur Bell?”

“Yes.”

The automaton bowed, extending a copper arm towards the door besides it. “Esteemed guests, be welcome.”

The door swung open, and after a hesitating moment. The two of us stepped through. 

The other side of the door opened to a large, circular room. It was similarly composed of clean-cut stones, and the ceiling had a fresco of… some Angel doing something. I wasn’t well-versed in theology, but the Angel had their hands clasped together, with water flowing out between their fingers. In the center, a boat sat in a river that ran through the room. Seats were on the boat— three placed equidistant from one another around a circular table, with another automaton standing behind a stove top and counter standing a little farther away. 

It appeared that the Warden was not yet here.

“Should we…” Arthur began, just as confused as I. “Should we sit down…?”

I sighed, looking around one last time, as if the Warden had been cloistered in some overlooked corner. I stepped onto the boat, immediately swallowed down my dislike for the way it imperceptibly rocked, and took a seat. “Might as well. I don’t think it’d start until everyone’s here.”

The Angel’s River was a unique dining experience— typically, one would walk into a restaurant and order food, then have it brought to them by a waiter. But the Angel’s River was less a singular restaurant stuck in a single location, and more a series of buildings spanning the entirety of the city, situated periodically beside their personal waterway. A waterway which they sailed ships down while cooking food for their guests to eat. 

It was an experience one couldn’t get anywhere else— novel, one could call it. In my eyes, it felt like needless indulgence. Expensive simply for the uniqueness, rather than any sort of quality. 

My eyes eventually found a clock on the wall. It was a couple minutes past six, the time the invite had said to arrive by. Absently, I drummed my fingers on the tablecloth. I glanced over to Arthur, only to see he looked restless. I didn’t blame him— the Gilded Cage had always been a hero to him, and now he was finally meeting her— on the basis of possibly working with her, no less. Anyone would be nervous.

Five more minutes passed.

Then, another five.

And another. I found my fingers drumming absently again, and breathed out to settle the anxiety growing in my stomach.

Another five minutes passed, after that.

And another.

Then, as the clock hit the halfway mark, as the anxiety slow gave way to dull-eyed boredom, the Warden strode in. 

Larissa Fleming had arrived in unadorned and well-used full plate armor— complete with a great helm tucked beneath her arm. She strode through the door, and stepped on the boat, clanking and humming a wordless tune all the while, before dropping into the seat across from us. She set the helmet besides her. A smell like a coming storm accompanied her, and I frowned.

She came to a formal dinner appointment in armor? 

The Warden looked old— papery, spotty and sallow skin clung to jutting bones. Deep-set wrinkles and scars littered her face, and I could see gray shocks running through her ratty, straw-like frazzled mop of hair. Which was strange— as far as I knew, and as far as Arthur had told me, she couldn’t have been any older than forty. 

War has a way of aging people, I suppose. 

The moment she got comfortable— she shoved her chair away from the table, and kicked up her armored feet— the boat shuddered, and I watched as it pulled away from the stones, and began to move down the river. The Warden cleared her throat, cracked her fingers through her gauntlets, and motioned roughly for the automaton behind Arthur and I. 

She called in a leathery, whip-crack of a voice: “Start the courses already! I’m a busy woman!” She let out an imperious sigh, before draping her hands in her lap. Her storm-gray eyes lazily flickered to us. “Aight— what were your names again?”

I shot a glance to Arthur, who looked just as vaguely off-kilter as I felt. My frown grew, and my eyes narrowed. 

“… Estelle Laurent,” I slowly said.

“I— uhh…” Arthur began, hesitant. “I’m Arthur Bell— I— we’re—“

“Oh.” Her eyes widened in slight recognition and she snapped. “Right— right. You two. The star girl and her little knight. You know the ponytail girl.”

… the ponytail— oh. My mind took a moment to place the description. Clara— Clara wears a ponytail. 

“Little knight…?” Arthur murmured to himself. 

“Right, well,” the Warden continued on, waving Arthur off. She took her feet off the table and ran an armored hand through her hair. She sighed heavily, before scooting her chair back up towards the table. “Out with it— make your case.”

"I— what?”

The Warden’s shoulders drooped, and she let out a heavy sigh. Her expression wrinkled with boredom. “Look look look. I’m a Warden, hon. I can’t spend my time coddling children—“

Beside me, Arthur murmured, “… children…?”

“— while there could be lives at risk. So make your case. Why should I begin to hand you two assignments?”

Irritation grew my frown. This wasn’t exactly how I had imagined the Gilded Cage, much less someone of her stature— but Sigurd had also been contrary to my expectations, so what did I know? 

“Well— I— uh…” Arthur hesitated, slowly overcoming his initial shock. “Clara! We worked with Clara—“

“— and?” the Gilded Cage cut in, voice sharp. “So what? From the report, it doesn’t seem like the two of you helped much— just more people to save—“

“That’s not—“

“Unless, of course, you’re calling your little friend a liar?”

Arthur clammed up, and I pursed my lips, mulling over anything I could add. Attempting to argue that we were prepared for assignments like the last ones would be moot— we’d escaped in the most messy way possible, and I’d ended up hospitalized for a good portion of time. I knew a losing argument when I heard one.

You also murdered a lot of people, a voice hissed at the back of my head. I ignored it.

Could I argue for our potential for growth? No— 

“Well?” the Warden insisted.

“I… no… no— Clara didn’t lie…”

“Then try again. Why should I let you on assignment?”

Arthur took a moment to think, before perking up again. “We— we sparred with Clara earlier—“

“Spars are different from real fights.”

“We’re— we’re already involved with—“

“People are involved in accidents all the time,” she drawled, drawing away. “Someone whose caught in a fire and survives isn’t suddenly qualified to fight fires.”

Neither of us had a retort for that. The automaton from earlier silently made its way to our table, and set down its bowls without a word. Arthur muttered a thanks, I kept silent, thinking and frowning. Larissa looked bored, before digging in. The first meal looked to be some kind of stew— I didn’t try it. The sudden shift in atmosphere had killed any appetite I could’ve had. 

Around us, the city crawled by as the boat slowly sailed forward. Stout, intricate buildings sculpted from large stones sat on our right, each individual homes or establishments— no apartment complexes, those didn’t exist in the upper districts. The setting sun sat on our left, dripping dying light across an open horizon of the city. Despite the lack of walls on the boat, the cold never reached us.

Across from Arthur and I, the Gilded Cage shoved another spoonful of the broth into her mouth, smacking her lips. Noisily, she dropped her spoon into an empty bowl, letting out a contented sigh, before her expression turned stony as it turned back to us. “Let me ask you something—your little girlie here hasn’t said a word the entire time— does she even want this?”

Arthur’s face grew troubled. “I— yeah, of course— we both—“

The Warden clicked her tongue, and Arthur fell silent. “She can speak for herself, knave.” She turned towards me. “Go on, girl. Speak, or do you need your little knight to speak for you? Do you want this opportunity?”

I paused to mull it over.

When I had walked across Belfaust’s bridge, earlier that morning, I had confidently declared what I would be willing to fight for: To protect Arthur— to keep him safe. I knew that it had to be more complicated than that— that there would be nuance and compromises to be made with that kind of assertion, but foolishly, I had decided to shove the concerns away for a later date.

Now, not even twelve hours later, I’d been met with a choice that threatened to make me take back my words. If I said no, we wouldn’t be involved anymore, there’d be no need to fight, and Arthur would be safe. Conversely, he’d be sad, and I didn’t want that. If I said yes, then I’d need a convincing argument as to why we were capable— 

And do you have one?

I thought for a moment. No, no I didn’t— but being qualified and having the potential to be qualified were two separate things. 

But what do you want? Arthur to be happy and in danger? Or him to be safe? 

My eyes flickered to Arthur whose face had slowly grown worried over my pause. My heart wrenched, and I bit my lip, steeled my gaze, and answered: “Apologies. I was reaffirming my resolve. I do want this opportunity.” 

The grizzled Warden froze, then barked out a harsh laugh. “Resolve? Girl— if you had resolve, you wouldn’t have hesitated— you would have spoken first, rather than let that wannabe hero speak for you.” Her gaze hardened. “Don’t waste my time. Tell me your real answer.”

Out of the corner of my eye, Arthur’s face twisted into anger, and he shot up. “Hey!— she— she told you—“

She turned a smoldering gray eye to him. His rambling petered out. “Boy,” she warned, voice sharp as a knife. “What did I say? The girl can speak for herself.”

Arthur’s frown grew, and he opened his mouth to speak.

“Arthur,” I said, turning back to the armored woman in front of us. “It’s fine.”

“But—“

“It’s fine.” 

Arthur fell silent, and I took a deep breath before meeting the Warden’s eye again. “I was considering my words.”

She softly grinned, full of scowling bemusement. “What is there to consider?”

“You are a Warden. I had known my answer— but I simply wanted to show the proper respect in my response. That is why I paused— you have my apologies if it offended you.”

Larissa’s gaze stuttered, blinking once in slow comprehension before the hard edge in her eyes returned. “Very slimy, little noble,” she rasped. “An acceptable answer. One I should have expected, however I still don’t like it.”

Arthur piped up again. “You’re— you’re not gonna hire us just because of a single response— she— Elle just—“

The Warden ignored him. “Who are you two? Answer that for me.”

“I— I’m Arthur Bell! Seeker-in-training—“

“— because I came to this dinner appointment to get two more people who could fight the good fight. I came here only to be met with complete strangers I’d never heard of.”

“Forgive me for the interruption,” I slowly said. Arthur and the Gilded Cage’s attention turned. “But I was under the understanding that you came here to get to know us? To see if you could trust us with assignments?”

“Y— yeah! I— isn’t that right?”

She flicked her chin towards Arthur. “You I care little for. I know who you are now. It’s her I want to know.”

My thoughts choked down the anger that nearly bubbled over, turned my attention to the odd feeling I’d felt earlier. The discrepancy between who she was, and how she presented herself before us. 

Certainly, stories can be exaggerated. Maybe she just hates nobles? It wouldn’t be the first time, or really that unusual. 

Was there something I wasn’t seeing? Maybe. Maybe I’d read too far into it. I responded, because she was still waiting for an answer. “Estelle Laurent. Dreamspinner. Seeker-in-Training. Daughter to the Duchess Laurent.”

“Ahhh,” the Warden hummed, scoffing. “You’re her little whelp. Tell me— how’s she doing?”

My frown deepened. “You know her?” 

She only raised her brow fractionally while the full attention of my thoughts turned to their possible relationship. 

It wouldn’t be far fetched for her to know my mother— she’s— I paused — She’s what, exactly? 

It’s not as if I kept myself updated to what my mother was up to, and it wasn’t that I never sought her out in the news— there was just nothing to find. For all I knew, my mother could’ve been traipsing around the countryside vacationing, or dead. Though I doubted the latter— as the title and all its problems would quickly find itself on my doorstep. That left the possibility of her residence in the city— though, with her obsession with achievement, I found it difficult to believe that she’d settle for a life outside of the spotlight.

The Warden’s eyes bored into me from across the table. How does she know my mother? Fame? Colleagues? Workers— 

Stop, she’s goading you. There’s little evidence that she even knows— 

“Well?” Her expression tightened. “I asked a question. Do not answer it with one of your own. Answer, or does my status cause you to consider your words again? Shall I send for your mother to come hold your hand, so that you may speak freely?”

A memory: My mother’s hand grasps my own, comforting and warm. Snow drifts from the window, and she lightly jostles my arm. 

“My little star,” she begins in that lullaby-like voice of hers, “watch the snow, and learn.”

“What am I to learn from the snow?” I said, confused. “Mom, it’s all the same.”

“They are like people. Despite how they all look, they return to the same place, and are each utterly unique.” 

“Being unique sounds scary.”

My mother squeezed my hand. “Even the loneliest people had those they called friends.”

Normally, I avoided thinking about certain things if I knew it to hurt me. Normally, I kept the memories under lock-and-key, sequestered away in some dusty corner of my mind while I buried it in a hundred other little tasks of worries. Some facts, like the fact that she was my mother, and that she was a duchess, didn’t hurt. I’d had over a decade to familiarize myself with that fact, whether it be people speaking about her, or my Shade flinging it in my face as a reminder.

Normally, thinking about my mother would have been fine— even speculating about her on most days wouldn’t elicit a response, but the Warden’s implication that she knew her had that little box of memories rising to the surface. The reminder of things she no longer did had knocked the lid askew. 

The cold logic muttering at the back of my head fell silent— swallowed by the sudden pit of indignant sorrow that had opened in my chest. The anger I’d initially felt stood by the side, present, but incomparable. I swallowed, my vision falling out of focus. A familiar numbness climbed through my limbs, and a sigh disguised as breathing bubbled up. 

Arthur stuttered to a start again. “Hey—“

I didn’t hear anything else Arthur said. The Gilded Cage cut him off without a look. “There’s no need, surely. It’d be a bit pathetic to continue to cling to your mother after everything, isn’t it?”

I know that.

“Though—“ she continued “— it does make sense, I suppose. There’s little to expect from someone who can’t even Shroud.”

I know that, too. 

Arthur sputtered, an expression I couldn’t read on his face, “She doesn’t need to Shroud to—“

Her eyes bore into my own, and her voice rasped like nettling straw. “Do you need him to hold your hand? Need a white knight?”

Arthur was still speaking, but I couldn’t make out his words. I swallowed, blinking my eyes back into focus and shoving the pit in my chest away. ‘He’s— he’s not a knight.”

I disliked how small my voice sounded.

Something in her eyes flickered— a brief flash of disappointment, probably. “Then what is he?”

Rationale muttered something about playing dumb, taking her words by their most literal. It sounded very quiet among the torrent of barely suppressed sorrow. “A… friend,” I slowly answered. “A childhood friend.”

“Oh? Not more than that? I was certain, considering everything you do for your penance.”

“I’m— what?” 

The sorrow shifted, giving way to the cold anger I’d pushed away.

“Someone like you would never associate with him. Did you think I couldn’t see all the secrets lingering beneath your skin? All the things you’ve left unsaid? All the foxes you stuff beneath your shirt, even if it kills you?”

The retort died on my tongue, stilled by the memory of my breakdown in the carriage the day before. 

I promise I’ll make an effort to communicate more clearly, rung like a bell in my head.

I had, hadn’t I? I’d made good on it, even if it was truly with Clara, rather than Arthur. Was it enough? I had told him about my meeting with Sigurd— and not much else. The difference lay between what I thought the information would accomplish— I still hadn’t spoken to him about why I broke down so heavily during our carriage ride— 

Had I ever planned to tell him? Or would it have become something I never spoke of— that we both pretended didn’t happen? 

A part of me hummed, There wasn’t a good opportunity— when were we supposed to tell him? Right before we met with the woman who would give him a job to dive exactly back into the situation that originally caused it? 

That’s an excuse— I made a promise to change, and didn’t commit to it. 

My Shade’s voice slipped into my head, whispering, Do you really want to change? Really? Truly? Do you want to ask yourself this question again? 

Before I could come to an answer, I became aware of Arthur’s voice, slowly muttering, uncertain and worried, “… Elle— Elle? What is she—“

Habit spoke for me, answering both myself and Arthur. “Nothing,” I nearly snapped. I turned a sharp gaze towards the armored woman sitting across from me. “She speaks of things she knows little of.”

“I know little?” the Warden barked out a harsh laugh. “Will you tell him, little fraud? When will you confess the full extent of your failures? Never? Going to drag them to the grave with you?”

“… fraud…?”

“It’s nothing,” I spat with disdain. “What would you know, Warden?”

“Oh— I know quite a bit—“ her smile became amicably wolf-like “— About your mother. About you. About the complexity of the relationship between you and him— how you bear the burden in the hope that it’ll make you worthy— that sufferance creates worth and value in the eyes of the Angels, that by suffering you’ll become worthy of a happy ending.”

“That’s enough.” 

“Oh?” the Warden’s eyebrows raised, as if I’d said something funny. 

I continued, cold venom etched in my words. “There is little point to antagonizing potential subordinates— you gain nothing from saying— no, accusing me of these things. I could have you tried for slander— I had expected a Warden to hold themselves to a higher standard— it appears I was wrong. More importantly—“

“Accusing,” she echoed.

I cut her off. “More importantly, you do not know me.” 

Across from me, the Warden raised an eyebrow as if to ask if I were finished— looking at me as if she were waiting out a toddler’s tantrum. Anger boiled in my throat, and then she spoke. “I do not accuse, little star. I simply state the facts. I will acknowledge that there is little point to insulting subordinates. I simply wished to know whether you wanted this opportunity. I wanted to know why I should hand the responsibility of lives over to a girl who refuses to change.”

I froze, at war with my own burgeoning emotions and the practicality of the situation. A part of me shouted for me to deescalate, to salvage as much as I could, so that Arthur may still be able achieve the things he wanted. Another part solemnly whispered that everything was over, that I’d ruined everything so utterly that there was little to be retrieved.

The boat shuddered, then stopped. The midway stop of the boat ride made for restocking the dishes. Dimly, I realized that neither Arthur nor I had touched our stew. 

The Warden sighed heavily, turning a piercing eye to me. “At the start of this dinner, I had no idea who you were,” she said, voice sharp like lightning. “Now I do. I see you, Estelle Laurent— and I see a shivering girl who’s too afraid to step out of her mother’s shadow.”

My chair clattered behind me, and before I could stop myself,  I spun on my heel and stomped off the boat, through the doors, and out into the cold, leaving the Warden and Arthur behind me.