But a few days later after Emalia had come up with an acceptable alternative plan, we were off at sea. Novakrayu faded into the distance, obscured by the morning fog that swallowed all but the immediate surroundings. It felt as if we were wrapped up in a thick cloud, the outside world a mystery. I gave one last attempt to peer through the ocean mist at the city we'd called home for only a matter of days, feeling a flutter of anxiety swirling in my stomach. All will be well. The men have their orders. Their oaths. I thought of Protis. As instructed, my Soulborne had veritably disappeared, climbing into a well-found hiding place in the ceiling of the fort.

I'd given excuses to any who'd asked after the Soulborne's whereabouts, gesturing toward some secret mission in the north. Most had accepted such reasonings, but the boyar Elizar was harder to satiate. To him, I concocted a fable of Artifact hunting in buried ruins, as our Column sources had supposedly hinted. This seemed to mollify him. However, he was also worried about the leave of my mercenaries but didn't push, for he believed it was a gesture of goodwill on my part. After all, why should I fear for my life in the care of Novakrayu's soldiers and sailors?

Our ship bore two masts bearing triangular sails that caught the wind at nearly any angle—a strange, ingenious invention borrowed from a wreck from the isle. This spawned many considerations in my mind for what technological progress had been made, given such isolation of the isle. Our ship was entirely oarless, which was strange for a war vessel, but had a large hull with a few separate rooms on deck and below. I suspected their fleet was modelled after commercial vessels, intended for eventual trade in the nebulous future.

The people of Novakrayu were hopelessly optimistic about their prospects, after all.

There was also a small boat secured in the center added just for this trip. But our ship was not alone, for there were about a dozen other vessels in the sea, all near enough one could see most even through the thick fog, varying in size and complexity, though ours was the largest. We went slowly, for there was little wind.

"I hope you appreciate how dangerous this is now," Elizar said from behind me. I turned and faced him. He wore a thick cloak and hat of fur, though it was a fine enough Spring day. An amusing contrast to my simple, fair-weather robe. "In a day's time, we could all be at the bottom of the sea, cursing ourselves for taking such a foolish risk."

"Perhaps," I replied. "Or dead in some pit outside Novakrayu, now ruled by the Targul."

He grunted, frowning back at the city. "They're coming for us, Aspartes. All of those savages. They raid our lands, leaving no innocent free from their terrors. There is a reason I am here with you, sailing toward our second greatest enemy. It's more than opportunism."

"Do I seem like I need convincing?"

"If we're to work together in the future, yes. I know how you see me. How the others see me. But you don't understand what I've dealt with. How I rose from my father's station, bringing order to Novakrayu when all else worked to see it collapse in waste and want." He clenched his fists, pressing them into the deck rails, long, straight hair fluttering gently as a contrast to his grim expression. "Voivode Krayusky is a fine enough voivode, but he lacks the depth necessary for the future of our people, you see? I'm not the perfect man for the job, but I am the best the city has. Without me…" He trailed off, scoffing.

I looked at the profile of his lean, studious face. For the first time, I felt as if I understood him at a more foundational level. Eizar didn't just want power and authority; he wanted praise. He wanted appreciation. He wanted to be the savior and be recognized for it too, and, just perhaps, in a different reality, he might have been all he wished to be.

I said nothing for some time, letting the sounds of the ocean drift over us in a peaceful repetition.

Finally, Elizar broke the calming silence, "This hinges on us avoiding a naval engagement with the islanders. How do you pose we do that? It was believed you could ward them away, force a negotiation with Sorcery. Is this true?"

"It would be simpler if you had Artifacts to amplify my power," I replied.

"Even if we did, Novakrayu has no Sorcerers to identify or use them. And the priests are reserved about sharing such things. But your Emalia would have found that out. She's a curious one. Sometimes, it seems like she's the only real priest among you."

I glanced Elizar's way and found him watching me with a little smirk under keen eyes. "A bold accusation," I replied, keeping a straight face.

"An observation. But I think I know how Nova politics work. You need the Column's support, so you give them mock authority, and it is easier positioning yourselves as priests, for where in the world is the Column not known?" he asked, smile growing ever-wider. I didn't react, but it didn't seem to matter, for he was already sure of himself. "But sooner or later, I would have to find out, wouldn't I? You're a boyar, perhaps even a voivode yourself, but certainly not a priest. I know a man born into aristocratic blood when I see one. And your wife."

There was no point in convincing him otherwise, for it was a convenient enough spin on the lie that it did no harm. More likely, it benefited us. Still, it all made me wonder why it was that no one ever truly questioned our authenticity. It was as if they were all so desperate to believe us from Vasia, wielding ultimate authority, and that was that. "I'm not a voivode, but I am a boyar like yourself. An advisor to the tsar." There was victory in his eyes when I said this, so I continued, attempting a tone of casual expertise and disinterest, "The reasons for the priestly façade are as you say, but it was also important to test your city's level of commitment before revealing our hand. It also protected us, even while here. A priest cannot be ransomed. A boyar can."

"The priests won't like it, but they don't have to know until this is all done, do they?"

"No, I think not."

He grinned, nodding along. "Now, about your Sorcerous demonstration. What's your plan?"

I stared across the water straight ahead into the fog, imagining a fleet of my people manifested before us. Would Maecia be there? If so, I could send a flare of weak Soulfire into the sky—it was something we did during the war to signal. I was not powerful enough to do much more than that, as it was, unfortunately. "I will send a signal in the sky, then we shall move forward, leaving the other ships behind. They should view it as a sign for peaceful negotiations, and if not, be hesitant to face a Sorcerer who can wield Soulfire."

"What if they don't bite? Or attack anyway?"

"Then I demonstrate why being our enemy is an untenable position."

He chuckled, patting my shoulder as he went to walk away. "I can see why you were chosen for this. Even if you were a novice, I'd believe you more dangerous than the islanders themselves."

I watched him go, then gazed upwards to the ship rigging, how the sailors worked the ropes and kept the large vessel on course. Unlike the boat from Delues to Nova, this would take more skill and manpower to operate. My throat went dry. I thought of Feia. In the small clearing near the pond, frost creeping upon us, a small fire, furs, and each other to stay warm. The fervency in her eyes and passion in her body. And yet I did not know if it was blood loss from injury or Corruption that had killed her. I should have done it alone, I thought, watching the wind catch the sails, flexing lines, rippling canvas. She never should have…

What was done was done. There was no use agonizing over it. All I could do was move forward and ensure nothing was in vain.

Besides, if we won and the Vasian threat was destroyed, the Crown of the Column could be mine. With that, there was potential to erase it all and bring her back. Her family back. To right my failures and the world's wrongs.

But first, we had to win.

…

"I have the same feeling now as I did then," Emalia said to Sovina. "We're on the precipice."

Her companion nodded, hair caught in the gentle breeze, loose strands from her tight braid tossed in the air like eddies in a current. She was even more beautiful next to the sea where the faint blue in her eyes was emphasized by the water; here, where the color of the waves had a slight green tint to it, Sovina's eyes seemed to match the blended cool palette beautifully. "At least it's a day at sea this time, rather than a week."

"Truly." They'd been onboard for a few hours now, and the hustle and bustle of the sailors and warriors was growing much. Emalia rubbed her head, feeling a little dizzy and sick. "I might head down and get away from this."

"The fresh air might be helpful."

"Even so. I just want to try."

Sovina squeezed her arm. "Okay. I will be a moment longer."

"Of course," Emalia murmured, gazing at her once more, then turned and left. When with Daecinus and Demetria, before Novakrayu, they didn't bother hiding their relationship. Daecinus already knew; perhaps he'd always known something might happen, even when Emalia didn't. She smiled, almost laughing at herself. Demetria was happy for them, and very attuned to knowing when they needed alone time, and distracted Daecinus accordingly. If the situation were different, perhaps we'd all get along far more. Then she thought of Sovina and Daecinus, and a small burst of jealousy crept up her stomach, vile and sick. She shook her head, trying to ignore such foolishness. She was happy Sovina could find friendship in a time as strange and isolating as this.

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Venturing down a ladder, the hull of the ship held some supplies, but mostly hammocks for sailors and passengers. She shared a room with the others, secluded from the general population on board according to her station—an honor she still didn't feel quite right accepting. It was quite dark, lit by small airholes at the top of one wall, currently shuttered. She stood on the tips of her toes to open it, exposing the cramped, musky interior with a few rays of murky light.

Before she could turn, everything went numb.

Emalia collapsed, mind alight with the sensation of icy fingers tearing through the folds of her brain. The agony of it made her gag, convulse, and writhe on the ground. Her muscles were frozen, horribly taught, near convulsion. Through it, she cracked her eyes and found two others in the room with her. One she recognized: a priest in plainclothes. She'd spoken to him at the temple? Maybe not. Seen him, certainly. The other, a man with a shaved head and clean face, frozen in intense concentration, cradling something out of sight. They were muttering to each other.

Emalia tried to move, but nothing responded, so she lay there, trying to fight it, absorbed in endless agony.

The priest bent down. He put a hand on her head and stared at her. She wanted to bite his fingers off and claw out his eyes, but she couldn't move a muscle. It was like when Raizak—or the Souls—had a grip over her in her visions. She sputtered, spittle flying between bone-crackingly tight clenched teeth, words half-formed, lost in the pain.

"Give in to his search, Priestess or pretender," the priest said, hand clamping over her mouth as she tried to scream futilely. "This is for your own good. We must have verification. We must know the truth."

She tried to damn them, but instead felt something snake down her spine like nails through her bones. Emalia convulsed, entirety wracked with sharp pain.

The priest said something. He grunted in frustration.

Sorcery, she thought, finally a coherent idea forming through the horrid torture. Sovina had explained how she resisted the Crown of the Column's influence. This must be simialar. Emalia tried focusing on Sovina. On their bond. On her love and dedication, and all the things that bound her to the physical world. She tried to fortify her mind against the onslaught, was torn away, then crawled back and held on once more.

The bald man growled out a swear, perhaps a demand. She couldn't tell.

The priest held her face and leaned in, staring into her eyes. "Let him in, or this will kill you. Who are the two who call themselves priests? The pale ones? What do they want with the island savages?"

She focused on fighting it. Didn't think of them. They had no names. They were no one. She was Emalia of the Column, born again in its sanctity, raised in its honor, absolved of worldly burdens. Fortified in devotion to Raizak. To… Raizak. He was… He was her patron god, her giver of visions… No. Not anymore.

The pain redoubled, agonizing.

The gods would answer her. Knowledge would be had once more, and truth would prevail.

"Give us the truth, Priestess."

The truth would prevail!

"Tell me the truth!"

Someone banged on the door and hissed through it. A warning? She couldn't tell.

The Sorcerous onslaught wavered. She caught the gap and pushed her entire being into it. The grip over her broke. A gasp caught in her throat as she lurched up, eyes peeled wide, heart fluttering in her chest in a rhythm that didn't feel quite right. The priest leaped over and tried to grab her. She could scarcely move, horribly sore and cramped all over, yet she rolled back out of his reach. He came forward again, snatching her arm. Her free hand scratched at his face, fingers searching out his eyes. He screamed as she dug in, a howl ripping free from her own throat. Something hit her head, and she fell back, dazed. The priest scrambled up, away, holding the side of his face, blood between the fingers. He cursed at her, turned, and stared. Emalia followed his gaze.

The door was open, and who she guessed to door's exterior guard for the ambush fell inside, howling. Sovina was atop him, jamming a dagger in his neck. Her sword was in his stomach, the point coming out his back. It stuck into the wooden floor as he collapsed, she atop him. Daecinus strode in past. The bald man lifted a skull—the thing he'd been cradling—like a weapon. Something happened she couldn't see. Sorcery, certainly. Daecinus scowled and the bald man froze, dropped the skull, and went to scream. Before he could, his skin turned pallid, then black like horrible frostbite, and his muscles thinned into nothing before he collapsed. He was emaciated as a starved corpse when he hit the ground. Dead.

The priest pulled a cloak off the body of his companion and tossed it through the windhole as he backed up to the wall. "So it comes to this," he whimpered.

Sovina lurched forward with intent to kill, bloody sword in hand, but Demetria, who was just behind, grabbed her and held her back. Not that she could hold the guardian. But a few muttered words stopped Sovina's efforts, and she instead went to Emalia, weapons abandoned, pulling her in. Emalia's resolve shattered, and she felt tears wrack her aching body in massive, heaving, silent cries. Nothing, not even the agonizing visits from Raizak, was as bad as that pain. The only thing that came close was the summoned priest's Spell that nearly killed her in the Column's heights.

Daecinus's words drew her scattered mind in from its hazy retreat of fear and pain. "You were trying to steal her memories," he said to the priest as he picked up the skull the bald man was holding. "On a live human? With this crude implement?"

"I shall not die a martyr," the priest whispered, then the air seemed to shift, coldening, thickening.

He's a Sorcerer too? Emalia's mind rattled off. What does that mean about the priests of Novakrayu?

Suddenly, the priest's efforts seemed to halt, and his expression of fiery desperation melted into terror. His veins darkened slowly as Sorcery overtook him. Like a vice tightening. The priest went to shout out, but no sound left his lips. His knees gave way, and he slid down the wall, arms falling limp to his sides, exposing a scratched and bloodied face and ruined eye. Emalia glanced at her own hands, realizing there was gore under her nails. She wiped it away with disgust, her gestures tremoring.

"What are you doing?" Sovina asked Daecinus. "We need answers."

He didn't reply, but Demetria was close by. Her voice was chilly and distantly professional. "He is doing that which they tried to."

Emalia swallowed. She looked away, finding the space outside their room crowded. People kept their distance by a few paces, but were lined up, staring in. "Sovina," she said, voice scratchy, as she pointed.

"Don't worry." Her love hugged her again, and the relief from the closeness was distracting and blessedly relieving. The pain from the Spell was deep, still lingering in her Soul.

"This is a matter of the Column," Demetria announced, facing the crowd. "An attack upon one of our own has occurred. If any others are part of this plot, ensure their identity will be discovered, and due recourse shall come. If you know of anyone engaged in this cowardly assault, report so now, or bear the consequences."

They mirrored and shuffled. Someone broke through. The boyar Elizar. "By the gods! What has happened here?" He stopped at the sight of the bloodshed, paling. "There was screaming and…" He must have seen the priest inside, Daecinus facing him.

Demetria explained the nature of the ambush as a thing of cowardly suspicion about intentions of power grabbing. How they were trying to find out Nova's political machinations. Emalia looked from the crowd to the priest. He was crumpled on the floor, face frozen in horrid fright, flesh pale as bone. Daecinus stood over him, unmoving. After a moment, he blinked, and the priest collapsed, dead.

"This Artifact is narrow in application, usable only upon Souls inhabiting bodies." His lip curled in disgust, and he turned to face the gathered crowd beyond Demetria. "Your priest and their agents are cowards, fit for damnation." His eyes narrowed, and the skull Artifact cracked, then shattered into pieces, a ghastly wail hissing forth from the remnants, dissipating in the air like steam from a quenched fire. Daecinus let the pieces fall to the ground and dusted off his hand. The Sorcerous Eye Artifact under his robe glowed, though it was faint enough that only if one knew it was there, they might notice. "Let this be a warning to any subversive elements that yet remain. Defy us, face annihilation. Our treaty is a precarious thing, and this act has nearly extinguished any hope of you calling yourselves Vasian again. Tread lightly."

Demetria added on, "Return to your duties. Our mission has not changed. And do not forget our promise: if there is a traitor among you who is not revealed, all who knew and did nothing will be punished."

The boyar came forward, shaking somewhat, professing ignorance, promising punishment, and apologizing profusely. Emalia watched him glance from her to the dead priest and back to Daecinus. He could barely look at the Sorcerer, he was so afraid. Daecinus sent him away, issuing the same command Demetria had announced. Elizar swore to uncover and further plots, if there were any. Emalia believed his excuses of ignorance.

"Their Souls were shielded by something—crude, but effective work. Still, I learned that this is a plot of their temple, greater than just these few men," Daecinus said, then knelt beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "What were they looking for?"

"Give her time," Sovina interjected.

Emalia sat up straight and took a deep breath. "It's okay. The pain is mostly gone." She tried to remember but could only recall the agony. She spent almost a minute in thought, then shook her head. "I don't know. But they asked about you and Demetria. Who you were."

Daecinus nodded. "I thought so. They suspect us yet, clearly."

Emalia grunted in agreement. "Why wait until now to attack?"

"No Protis. No mercenaries. They wanted to avoid reprisal if they failed. And our guards were down—I didn't look for any Sorcerers onboard. But what would success garner if we were already underway?"

"There should be others in place," Demetria said. "We must caution ourselves against hostile action. Whether direct or not."

"They cannot face me. To do so would mean death—this has confirmed it for them."

"Perhaps. Or perhaps they will risk it anyway if it means protecting Novakrayu."

"They could sink our ship," Sovina added, frowning in thought. "Light a fire, sunder its hull. And we can't be everywhere on board to watch. Not if we want to stay together."

Daecinus stood and faced the corpse of the man Sovina had killed, face scrunched in concentration. Slowly, the body rose, creaky and unstable. People outside gasped, not having fully dispersed, it seemed. The Shell let out a rasping breath, more Sorcerous than biological, and turned to face Daecinus, who said, "Patrol the hull. Watch for sabotage and plottings. Howl upon sighting of anything that might threaten us, but intervene only when necessary."

The creature trudged outside. Everyone shuffled away from it, giving it a wide berth. He turned back to her. "Are you alright to move? We should be above deck just in case."

Emalia nodded and stood with Sovina's help, then limped outside on her shoulder. "He threw a cloak out the window. I don't know what it does… but maybe they can hide Sorcerers."

Daecinus nodded in thanks. "Go above deck and rest, Emalia. Be near life."

People watched as she passed, wide-eyed. Some stared inside the room after them, but no one dared enter. If they didn't fear us before, they do now, she thought, and for some reason, it saddened her. And to think the temple, even in its unenlightened folly, seemed to connive this assault… She felt terrible. And worse, guilty that deep down, she was almost glad—for now, she would bear less remorse when their city was taken by the Targul in a day's time.

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