*sigh*

[maderr]

It depresses me I never have anything to offer anymore. So many things IP, and none will cooperate.

Don't know when I'll be home tonight, have many, many errands to run *grimace*

Still need to clean this stupid fucking house.

Work, in ongoing fashion, is only going to get worse and worse and worse. x___x

Well, do have some of Butterfly, if you want it. Not much, I know, and we're far from the fun really starting....

Anyway, hope everyone has/had a good Monday.

Prologue and first chapter here.



Chapter Two

Salil dismounted wearily and handed his horse off to the waiting stable boy, handing him a couple of coppers. He strode to the inn and plunked down a single silver.

"You'll have to share," the woman at the counter said, snatching up the coin. "Dinner and breakfast. Third room on the right."

Nodding tersely, Salil turned away and headed up the stairs, oblivious to the shabby surroundings.

Two months now he'd been attempting to track Papillion, and all he'd learned was just how abjectly stupid he'd been for the past five years. Oblivious, the worst of fools.

Cursing softly, he shoved open the door to his room and looked around.

Just as shabby as the creaking stairs and dingy hallway, but cleaner. Three beds were against one wall, a small table with a wash basin and pitcher against the opposite wall. He could just barely see a tin chamber pot beneath the nearest bed.

If he had roommates, they'd left no indication they'd already been here.

But no, that wasn't true…the further of the two beds, the one in the corner, was as neatly made as the closer – but in a slightly different way. As though the person who'd made it was used to doing it a different way than whoever did it regularly. The corners were tucked in, rather than left hanging out.

Shrugging, Salil dropped his pack on the closer of the two beds and then sat down. He raked a hand through his short hair, then scrubbed tiredly at his face. He stood up again to remove his belt, setting the weapon down alongside his back. Pulling the blade free, he examined it without really seeing it.

Well-maintained, balanced, good steel…but not the blade he should have, something inside him said. He didn't understand it. All his life he'd hated that blade, the legacy…now all he wanted was to get it back.

The Spider Blade was his.

He wanted nothing more than to have it back.

Except, perhaps, to avenge his father. His mother. Nova…

Biting back a curse with a rough sound, Salil stood up again and buckled his belt back on, drawing his cloak about himself to hide it. He considered leaving pack, but that only guaranteed something would happen to it. Sighing, not wanting to lug it around the town while he hunted, he bent to heft it – and paused when the door pushed open.

"Come, Tei," a gentle voice rumbled. It was the voice of an old man, and as Salil turned he saw he was correct. The man before him was old, at least fifty or so, though he looked remarkably fit for that age. His hair was gray, thin, slightly overlong. He wore drab, shapeless robes that looked as though they were long past due to join the scrap basket, cinched with a simple cord belt. He led the way into the room, still speaking gently to his companion. "We'll have better luck tomorrow…"

"I hope so," Tei said, and the odd muffled tone of his soft voice caught Salil's attention.

He wore a mask.

In fact, Salil realized, the young…man, to judge by the body shape, what he could hear of the voice…was covered head to foot. Not a bit of his flesh was visible. The robes he wore were dark brown, trimmed in all manner of protective Marks in simple light brown thread. Unlike those of the old man, they were better made – though still rather humble – and clung slightly to his slender frame, displaying shoulders and a chest that could only be masculine. His hands, just visible past the ends of his wide sleeves, were covered in bandages, meticulously wrapped from fingertip to at least wrist…

The mask was painted a deep brown to match the robes, the edges and cheeks painted with more protective Marks. Around the eyes was black paint, adding a dark shadow to the eyes behind the mask. The lips too were painted black, only adding to the strangeness. Salil met the dark eyes watching him, and felt his skin prickle.

A headache just like that which he'd had all those days ago suddenly sprang up. He winced in pain and broke the gaze with an effort. He shifted his attention back to the old man, ignoring the headache and eerie edge of awareness of the strange, masked man.

"Greetings," the old man said politely, making the sign of the Lord in front of his chest – right to left in a diagonal line from top to bottom, then left to right, then one straight down the center where the first two intersected.

Lovely. A priest. At least he seemed to be relatively polite, making the sign even to one of Salil's coloring.

Nodding tersely, Salil swung his pack up over one shoulder and strode past them out into the hall.

He would be stuck with a priest and his…follower? Salil shook his head. He didn't care.

Still, the pulsing in his head did not begin to fade until he was well away from the inn, and he could not escape the thrum of…awareness that had struck him when he had so briefly locked eyes with the masked figure.

Grimacing, shunting the mystery aside as irrelevant against the problem of his blade, Salil focused on what he needed to do – find Papillion.

Who, apparently, had never been a teacher of any sort. It had merely been his way of staying low and out of sight while he did his real – mercenary – work. All manner of things, though for at least the past five years, and very likely longer than that, he was researching further into the Blades.

What Salil didn’t know was why, or how Papillion knew as much as he did already about them. Such knowledge should not be known by anyone but himself and whoever held the other three Blades – assuming time had not rid the world of any of them, which he valiantly hoped it had.

Though he doubted it.

Now, where to start…that was easy enough, really. In the only place outlaws were welcome, or at least tolerated. The inn he'd chosen was just barely on the respectable, safer side of town.

Cherny was a town of respectable size, slightly larger than his own…Salil shook his head, clearing it of the thoughts that tried to plague him. Cherny was also rather well known for its criminal rings. Here, 'respectable' only meant the criminals ordered that portion left in peace, for various reasons.

He needed the openly questionable parts of town. Stalking through the streets, he let his cloak open just enough that those who cared to look could make full note of the blade he carried.

Anyone willing to sacrifice his magic for the sake of a forbidden blade was not to be taken lightly. Potential threats passed him by and went on to other victims.

High above the sky was a dingy, tired gray, as though it wanted to storm but could not muster the energy. Salil skimmed the streets, the buildings. They were a mish mash of old and new, dilapidated and well-to-do. The smell of food poured from several, mingling with the scents spilling from carts along the roadside, not quite enough to mask the stench of people and refuse, decay and grime. He tromped through the streets, ignoring the filth and mud that covered his knee-high boots.

There.

He felt it as he passed a scummy looking tavern, like something crawling up his spine, or flicking in the corner of his eye.

Papillion had been here, and recently. The bastard was not so far ahead of him as he likely wished.

He still didn't know why he could sense the bastard, though it very likely had to do with the blade. Spider belonged to his blood, and no hand but his should ever wield.

A thought flickered briefly through his mind, fuzzy and distant, like a faded memory, that he'd once been told never to touch the blade. Salil dismissed it. The blade was his and he would have it, and Papillion would pay for his betrayal.

Salil would ram it through his chest, right through his heart.

His head pulsed with sudden pain.

My Spider.

Snarling, he stomped to the tavern and pushed the door open with one gloved hand, stepping inside, making his way through the dingy interior, finally finding a table off to the side that was free, signaling a hassled-looking wench to bring him a drink.

He took a disinterested sip of the thin beer as he looked around the tavern, matching the gaze of anyone he caught staring. After several minutes of such games, a man at last stood and moved to his table, eyes never leaving Salil's as he slid into the seat opposite.

"You're an odd one," the man said lightly. "Hair and eyes aside. New in town?"

"Passing through," Salil said curtly. "Looking for…a friend."

The man flashed a grin; it was more a baring of teeth. His face was nastily scared on one side; as though he had been wounded by a blade. Though he couldn't be very old, it was hard to tell – the life of an outlaw tended to age a man fast. "Aren't we all. Friend got a name?"

"Nuit."

Surprise rippled across the man's face before he was able to mask it. "You'd do well to find better friends."

"No, I think I want to keep the one I've got," Salil replied, smiling coldly. "Think you could point me in the right direction?"

The man stared at him, then slowly shook his head back and forth. "It's true what they say about you pale-skinned ones. Crazy. Nuit's too good for this crowd. He's the sort that only answers to power."

Salil had rather figured, given the few tidbits of information he'd so far gathered about his former lover.

Papillion, better known as Nuit, was so far from being the traveling tutor Salil had always known him to be…

How, he'd wondered a thousand times. How had he never noticed his lover never used magic? That he never spoke much of his students? So many little things he'd blinded himself to…

Such as the fact his ex-lover was an outlaw of the highest – or lowest – caliber. One who would do anything for the right amount of gold. Anything.

Even now Salil could smell the smoke, see the ash… He snarled low and shoved the memories back. "So where do I find him?" he repeated.

"Other side of town," the man said, looking ready to bolt. "He only bothers to be found by those who can afford him, and no one on this side of town fits that description…"

Or that degree of despicability. A few drinks bought for the right people had told him all that the notorious Nuit was capable of doing.

Not that he needed to hear it; he knew first hand that Nuit would do anything. Even fuck a man for five years in hopes of being led to one blade. Salil still wondered why – why had Papillion played him so long, especially when he'd said himself that he believed Salil did not have the Spider Blade.

He would be certain to ask before he drove the Blade through Papillion's heart.

Yet, he hadn't come to this tavern simply to be told he was in the wrong place. "He was here."

"Nuit wouldn't come h—"

"He was here," Salil repeated sharply, looking the man in the eyes, noting the fear that flared in them. "I want to know why."

The man shook his head. "I'm just a small timer," he said. "Nuit is over my head."

Salil sneered. "Tell me."

"Not that I can say for sure it was Nuit…" the man said, a thread of uneasiness in his voice. "But someone who fits the description of what he's rumored to look like sat back there." He nodded to the corner of the room, where a small table was currently occupied by a single man slouched over his beer, not moving. "With him. Perhaps only an hour or so ago."

A thrill raced through Salil, to realize he was so very close on Papillion's heels.

Dropping a few coins on the table, Salil stood and strode over to the corner table.

He slid down to sit next to the man, and slowly reached out to flick him gently on the ear.

When the man didn't move, Salil sighed.

Another dead one. He hadn't been dead long, probably not more than a few minutes. Meaning he had just barely missed his chance. Probably a slow acting poison; the man had been dead from the moment he sipped his beer.

Salil bent in close, ignoring the stench, and quickly rifled through the dead man's clothes, searching for any sort of clue as to what Papillion was up to next.

Not that it was hard to guess – he had the Spider Blade and would be searching for the others, but Salil needed to find out where he was going next.

Disgusted when his search turned up nothing, Salil wiped his hands on the man's clothes and then stood, swiftly striding from the tavern and vanishing into the streets, making his way back toward the upper portion of the city.

He was going about this the wrong way.

Papillion wanted the Four Blades. Thanks to Salil, he had one. However, he did not yet have the other three. Rather than chasing after Papillion directly, he should be going after the Blades.

Unfortunately, his father had never made any mention of the other possessors. Very likely he had never known. The people had betrayed the Guardian Blades out of fear and Sealed them away – and made certain they were far apart. Each of those appointed to protecting the Blades had traveled well away from the other three, ensuring that not only where they sealed forever away, they would never meet each other again.

If Papillion had been searching for at least five years, and gotten lucky only because Salil was stupid and foolish and weak…they were at least as well hidden as his father had always made certain Spider once had been…

Shame washed over Salil. A thousand times his father had said…and he had known, but never truly…dead.

He stopped in the street and closed his eyes, letting the shame and anguish wash over him for a moment. Nova's smiling face, his father' stern one, his mother's kind eyes…gone, because of his contempt and lust and stupidity…

Opening his eyes, Salil grit his teeth and pressed on.

The most obvious route to finding the Blades was to look for those of his coloring – according to his father they shared the blood of the Blades and so fell to them the burden of hiding the Blades away, keeping them safe…ensuring the terrible price of their power was never paid.

Hopefully the other three protectors were better about their duties than he had been.

Where to start… Papillion, no doubt, was well ahead of him, and was smart enough to kill his leads after he had used them.

He stuttered to a halt as his head suddenly pulsed with a familiar pain. Jerking his head up, Salil looked around, seeing nothing to explain the pain. It happened only when Papillion was nearby…yet no…this felt…similar but not quite the same. Carefully he looked the milling crowd over again, but nothing struck his eyes.

A 'lady' bent over a stall of perfumes, a pickpocket making off with her coin, various shop keeps, a cart selling meat pies, a few ragged-looking children, a man too well dressed to be in this part of town…and a young man stepping out of a bookshop, his long hair in a neat braid, falling over one shoulder. Handsome, nearly beautiful in fact, and his dark eyes were intense. He clutched a paper-wrapped bundle in one arm, and stopped abruptly halfway down the steps of the shop. His head jerked up and he locked gazes with Salil.

The pain in his head flared white-hot, but then someone jostled him, and Salil turned sharply to yank the little pick pocket by the scruff of his neck. He shoved the young man – barely more than boy – into the wall, squeezing hard. "Keep your tricks for the more gullible," he said coldly, taking back the coins still clutched in the boy's hands, then dropped him to the ground, watching as the boy scampered off.

He turned back to the shop, but the man was gone.

Frowning, wondering what that had been about, Salil snarled a low curse and continued on his way.

One headache after another. He was sick of them. Ever since Papillion had stolen the Spider Blade…

The rumble of thunder startled him from his thoughts, and Salil looked up to see that the clouds had, indeed, finally mustered the energy to storm. Gray before, they were now nearly black. He'd been so lost in thought, the lack of light had not properly struck him.

With a sharp crack and a flash of lightning, the rain finally broke, and the crowd of people burst into panicked energy, everyone scrambling to get out of the sudden shower, merchants swiftly packing up their stalls, shoppers running for the nearest tavern or inn, some bolting for their homes.

Salil hesitated a moment, then made for the bookstore from which the stranger who had stirred his headaches had come. A familiar tingling awareness rushed through him, but it did not have the edge that came when he felt Papillion.

Still…that he felt anything was odd.

He wished he knew how to find answers, but his only chance of those had been turned into ashes. Bitterly, Salil wished he'd listened to his father when he'd had the chance. Still, this was a thought he'd had countless times since he'd ruined everything. Thinking it would not undo what he had done.

The Spider Blade was what mattered – and not letting Papillion get the others.

Inside, the shop smelled like dust and paper, a hint of ink, smoke from the lamp at the cluttered counter.

"Can I help you?" asked the old shop keep, looking as dry and brittle as some of the books crowding his shelves.

Acting on instinct, Salil raked a gloved hand through his hair and offered the man a sheepish smile, dipping his head slightly. "This will sound stupid. That young fellow who just came out of the shop, I was quite taken…"

Amusement flickered across the man's face. "He never believes me when I tell him how many times after his visits, I get inquiries." He shook his head. "Sadly, my boy, he is not available to even the highest bidders. You a stranger?"

"Passing through," Salil said. "Though he was pretty enough to make a man linger."

"Quite," the man said with a papery laugh. "He belongs to the Governor, however. Even someone 'passing through' must know what that means."

Salil nodded. The Governor controlled everything, right down to the criminal elements which ran the city. He was far more than a simple head of state. "That is a pity, but I suppose the most powerful man would of course be surrounded by the finest."

The shop keep nodded. "A real shame, though you never heard me say so."

Moving closer, Salil casually laid a few coins down on the countertop, not quite moving his hand from them. "Have you any interesting stories on your shelves, old man? Something a wanderer might find amusing?"

He got a speculative look, but before the old man could speak the shutters behind him burst open, bested by the storm wind, scattering papers everywhere, surrounding them in rustling chaos – snuffing the lamp.

"The weather's been odd for this time of year," the old man said in the near-perfect darkness. Salil heard more than saw as he shuffled to the window, closing and barring it, then returned to the counter.

Softly the old man muttered a few Marks, and the lamp once more sputtered to life again.

A deep ache washed through Salil to hear the Marks, to see them work. From the moment he'd killed those men in the glade…

No longer would he ever be able to use magic, to speak Marks and have them obey him. He could still read them, dispelling the old myth that those who lost the Lord's Touch could no longer comprehend His Marks…but it was a far cry from being able to use them.

Still…looking back, he knew he would not – could not – have acted any other way. Everything had been taken from him, he would kill all those who had ruined his life.

He kept his hand on the coins. "So about those stories…"

"Yes," the shop keep said, chewing on his bottom lip. "There's an old tale about a young man who spends all his free time buried in books. He goes from shop to shop, and when his Lord does not need him, they say he hides away in his room. No one disturbs him there, save his Lord."

"Interesting," Salil said. "What else?"

"Not so much a story, but they say the Governor is going to be out of town tonight. When the Master is away…"

Salil removed his hand. "You're very accommodating."

The old man grunted. "I know who I can throw out." He met Salil's eyes, then scooped up the coins and turned away. "And who I cannot. The guards at the east gate, I hear, are more than willing to accept bribes."

Tossing him a couple more coins, Salil nodded his thanks and stepped back outside, pulling up his cloak to keep the worst of the rain off him as he slowly made his way back to his room.

He didn't know what he was doing, or what he thought he'd accomplish by tracking down some random toy of a criminal lord…but he had nothing to go by but his instincts anymore, and his instincts said to chase the handsome young man.

So he would.

Full dark would not be for some time yet, and he needed to wait until later still. It would also behoove him to learn the layout of the Governor's manor…but that was as simple as knowing where to show his coin.

It seemed he suddenly had a full night ahead of him. Still, he could not deny the satisfaction that thrummed through his body. He might not know what he was doing, why he was pursuing this strange young man…but it felt right, and he was developing a plan, and there was much satisfaction to be had in a definite course of action.

Yes.

He would get a nap, then some food, and by the time he had the information he needed it would be time to make his move on the Governor's estate.

Pace quickening, Salil finally reached the inn and strode up the stairs to his room – recalling only then that he had roommates. But when he opened the door, the room was empty.

Thinking of his roommates reminded him of their strangeness – a priest in a place such as this? Where no one noticed or cared that nearly everyone lacked the ability to use Marks – where being able to use Marks was the anomaly rather than the norm…and the masked figure.

Come to think of it, he'd felt that spike of awareness then too…

Well, no matter. Such an odd sight was bound to alert anyone's senses. He wondered idly why a man would go about so thoroughly cloaked and masked. Certainly not to avoid attention…

It was none of his affair, not unless the figure somehow proved relevant, which he doubted. Anyway, Salil likely would encounter his roommates at least once more, given that evening was falling.

Sliding off his pack, he stowed it beneath his mattress, then hung his dripping cloak on a hook in the wall near the table with the wash basin and pitcher. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he carefully removed his boots, then unbuckled his belt and shrugged out of his damp clothes.

Always risky, to not be immediately ready to bolt – but he was tired. He had traveled here at an exhausting pace in hopes of catching up with Papillion. If he recalled correctly, he'd not slept in nearly three days.

Locking the door, keep his blade ready to hand, Salil told himself to wake in three hours time and then finally permitted himself to fall asleep.


Chapter Three

"Coming here was a mistake," Balen said tiredly.

"Do not say that," Teivel said gently. "You have kept me strong these past two months, Master Balen, do not fail me now."

Balen nodded at the gentle reprimand, but the tension in his face did not ease.

Teivel could not blame him, and privately agreed with him. Cherny was…wrong. Something about the town did not sit well with him. Of course, he should probably feel right at home in wrong…yet he did not.

He wanted nothing so badly as to go back home, to sip tea in Master Balen's room while they listened to the children chase fireflies around the yard, alternating between whispers and rambunctious shouts.

It was not to be.

"Are you certain we cannot speak with him?" Balen asked, speaking to the guard at the door. "I—"

"I know who you are," the guard said curtly, the slightest bit of sympathy in his voice. "He's occupied. I've told him you keep stopping by, but so far he's not been able to make time for you."

Teivel placed his hand on Balen's shoulder. "Thank you," he said, and then turned away with a soft sigh.

He was hot, itchy, and tired. The Mad Queen's voice was a constant buzz at the back of his mind; her words never clear but ever persistent. Teivel dreaded the day he would finally understand her. By then, would he be just as mad?

"Let us go back to the room and rest," Balen said with a sigh of his own. "Perhaps order some food."

Teivel nodded and let him lead the way out.

This was their eleventh day attempting to get an appointment with the High Priest of Cherny. If anyone could in any way help him, it would be the High Priest. Yet…the man was too busy ever to see a couple of supplicants…brothers…

He forced himself not to drag his feet as they slowly made their way back to the inn.

Recalling the hovel in which they were staying, he was reminded of what had only added to his downtrodden mood – though he had to admit that wasn't hard to do these days.

That man…

He had the reddish-blonde hair of those who were said to be the only remaining descendants of those who had once lived in the kingdom of the Butterfly Queen. The blade at his hip said he did not have magic. An outlaw.

Those blue eyes…

They had made him burn, made his skin prickle with sensation, as if every butterfly which stained him had fluttered its wings. He'd felt too hot and too cold, looking into those eyes.

And somehow bereft, as the man turned away and left.

He didn't want to see him, and as it was now evening, chances were good the man had returned to bed down for the night. Teivel shook his head and looked around, eyes landing on a small, relatively-decent looking tavern. "Let's eat there," he said quietly.

"Are you certain, Tei?" Balen asked.

Teivel nodded. "I'll keep my hood up, my face down."

"Whatever you like, then." Decision made, Balen turned and led the way to the tavern, pushing inside and through the small throng of people, wrestling for a table off to the side.

Long used to it, Teivel ignored the way the noise faded as he walked through the crowd and slid into his seat. Thankfully the light was poor; no one in places such as this was ever eager to be clearly seen.

He waited until they had food, tea, then slowly removed his mask and set it aside – though close to hand. Keeping his head down, making certain his hood fell forward enough to hide him from any prying eyes. Gingerly he sipped his tea. It was warm, almost tepid, but still good after a long day of accomplishing nothing.

"Perhaps we should move on, Tei," Balen said, poking unenthusiastically at his bowl of venison stew. "Cherny has proven to be quite useless."

Teivel nodded, not looking up from his tea. "It is rather frustrating. Why does he constantly refuse to see us? I do not understand…" But they had been over this conversation again and again. "Where would we go? All the way to Phioletovy?"

"I do not see we have much choice," Balen replied. "If we must cross the Graveyard itself to save you, Teivel…"

Nodding, Teivel finished his tea and drew his stew close, sipping at the broth unenthusiastically. Ever since the possession, his appetite had been nearly nonexistent. He tried, though, for Balen.

Balen who did so much for him, who should be tending his new temple and followers and cheerfully making Teivel do all the grunt work….

"Now don't get all sad again," Balen said sharply. "We've been over this over and over."

"But Master—"

Balen shook his head back and forth. "No, Tei. You have always been like a son to me, and I know you would do this and more for me. Let us not go over this again. I will see you free of this possession if it is the last thing I do."

"Don't say that," Tei whispered. "Such words can be an omen."

"Of course, Tei," Balen said. His lips twitched. "I sense perhaps our roles are a bit reversed, here."

Tei summoned a weak smile. "Perhaps the madness is spreading."

Balen laughed. "Stop picking at your food and eat properly. You need your strength, Tei, even if eating is an effort for you."

"Oh, and you haven't been picking at yours," Tei retorted. He started to continue when someone hit their table, jostled by the crowd. He flinched and reached automatically for his mask, ducking his head even further.

A second later all was relatively calm again, and Teivel slowly let go of the mask, stubbornly ignoring the way his fingers trembled.

"We should go back to the room," Balen said, eyes on his hand, a worried frown on his face.

Teivel nodded. "That man…" he said, voice still shaky. He did not want to know what would happen if someone saw him, the horrible butterflies. And that man from the room, with the blue eyes that burned hot-cold…

"He was an intense one," Balen said thoughtfully. "I have never seen one of the old race so closely before, not since I was a boy…that was longer ago than I like to think about." He chuckled faintly. "An angry one, that man, but I don't think he'll bother us…why does he trouble you? Is it that he's of the old race?"

"I don't know," Teivel said. "He…makes everything…flutter."

Balen stared at him, then laughed.

"What's so funny?" Teivel demanded, scowling.

That just made Balen laugh all the harder. "Flutter, huh? Do we need to have a little talk, my boy?"

Teivel felt his cheeks burn. "That is not what I meant, you dirty old man!"

"All right, all right," Balen said, making calming motions. "I know that – but it is rare that I get to tease you anymore. So She reacts to him, does she?"

"Dirty old man," Teivel muttered again for emphasis. "Yes, something about him…perhaps it is only that he is of the old race. They are so few…"

Balen nodded. "It's a wonder any of them are still alive, but I suppose the Lord knows what he is doing…"

Teivel nodded and pushed his stew away, picking up his mask. He carefully slid it back in place, hating the feel of it pressed up against his face, stifling and hot. Hiding him from the world…hiding the world from him. "Let's go."

Balen set down a few coins, the sound of metal striking wood muffled by the raucous noise of the tavern. "I cannot wait until we are home and can eat in silence," Balen said as they reached the street and began walking back to their room.

Nodding, Teivel kept his attention on the streets. They were not as crowded as they had been before…but that made them more dangerous. He loved Balen, but the man did not seem as aware of what made this town so wretched.

Teivel knew he didn't comprehend even half of what he saw, but he saw enough blades to know this town lacked magic, which meant it ran thick with blood…not a place of the Lord, whether there was a High Priest or no.

It left a bitter taste in his mouth, which made him wearier than he could stand. He just wanted his life back. To be a priest. He closed his eyes briefly, willing back tears. Right now he should be calling everyone inside and ordering the older boys to bring out supper, making one of the younger ones stumble his way through meal prayers…

Reaching their inn, he led the way inside and up the dark stairs, pausing briefly just outside their door. He could feel it, that fluttering all along his skin. It made his chest tight, made him feel hot and cold all at once. Furiously he stilled the trembling in his hand and shoved the door open.

The stranger was awake, and Teivel swallowed against the sudden dryness in his mouth and throat.

He was all but naked, and Tievel didn't know why that fact struck him so hard – but he could only think now that Balen's joke earlier in the evening was even less amusing now than it had been before.

The short red-blonde hair was messy, as though tousled in sleep, and the heavy look to his eyes emphasized the idea that the man had only recently awakened. He was bare-chested, in the process of tugging on his knee-high boots. Hair sprinkled his chest, trailing down to vanish beneath the waist of his pants.

"I am sorry if we've disturbed you," Balen said as he came in behind Teivel.

Strange paralysis broken by the words, Teivel finally collected himself and moved further into the room. He made his way to his bed and sat down, but never could quite manage to take his eyes off the pale stranger, the sharply chiseled lines of his face. He was severe but handsome…striking. The strange smudge on his cheek only begged for eyes to take an even closer look. Teivel could not resist watching the way muscles rippled and moved as he stood and tugged on his shirt. The way that fabric clung as he combed through his hair, strapped on his belt. Teivel felt a chill as he slide the blade into place , but in the back of his mind the Mad Queen's voice increased in fervor.

His fingers twitched, but he refused to act any odder than he must already appear, though the agony of the voice made him want to claw at his head, tear everything away to rip her out, get rid of her, find peace.

Desperate, he tried to focus elsewhere, but his eye would not leave the stranger.

The Mad Queen's voice rose, nearly screaming in the back of his head, yet still strangely not more than a whisper. But he caught two words.

My Spider.

Just as he heard them, the stranger nodded to them and stepped out.

In his head, the voice once more reduced to a low hum.

Balen spoke to him, but Teivel barely heard him, burying his face in his hands, hating that he could not feel skin, only the bandages against his fingers, the wood against his face. He heard the door open and close but did not stir until he heard Balen return. Then, he only waited as maids tromped in to set down and fill a bathtub, another setting out a tray with tea on the middle bed.

Then he and Balen were alone, and Teivel slowly stood as Balen locked the door.

"Come, my boy," Balen said gently. "I'm sure you'd very much like to be clean."

"Yes," Teivel said fervently, and stripped off his robe, dropping it to the floor. That was followed quickly by his underclothes, and then Teivel was able to start working on his bandages. The long strips of fabric were wound carefully around his fingers and all the way up his forearms, stopping just short of his elbows. He sat on the bed to unwind the bandages wrapped about his feet and up to his knees, then lastly pulled away those wrapped around his neck. Every last bit of him that might possibly be seen by others, they covered.

Free at last, Tei sighed softly and stood. He moved to the bathtub and knelt gratefully in it, scooping up the water and soaking his skin, smiling gratefully as Balen handed him a cloth and bit of soap. "Thank you, Master."

"How are you, Tei?"

Teivel shivered as he thought of the stranger, but forced the thoughts aside. "Fine. Tired. I wish we could find help."

"I wish I could help you," Balen said, a trace of loathing in his tone.

"If you want to get upset about that," Teivel said with a faint smile, "then I am allowed to get upset about dragging you along with me."

Balen laughed, the sound weak but genuine. "Fair enough. Let me help with your hair." So saying, he knelt and scooped water up in the rinsing pitcher, dumping it over Teivel's head, then took up the soap and began to lather the strands, combing through them.

"I am not a babe anymore," Teivel said gently.

"Children always look young to their parents," Balen replied, "no matter how old they get." He took up another pitcher of water and carefully rinsed away the suds. "Anyway, I've seen you wash your own hair. Women must have a secret for long hair they don't share with us lesser creatures, because you're terrible."

Teivel rolled his eyes and did not rise to the bait. He finished scrubbing down and then climbed from the tub. "Your turn, Master, while the water is still warm." He returned to his bed, the heap of clothes before it, sighing low.

"I do not think our strange roommate is returning this night, Tei…if you want to leave the bandages off…"

He shouldn't. Anything could go wrong late at night, in a place like this…but it was so tempting, and he did not think he had the energy… Ignoring his worries for the time being, Teivel pulled his underclothes back on and dug into his pack for a comb, slowly untangling his hair while Balen bathed.

When he finished, he tucked the comb away again and helped himself to the tea brought earlier. Better than what they'd had at the tavern, but not by much. Good tea was yet one more thing he wished. They had initially packed their own, but it had not lasted and what they bought to replace it was never as good.

He sipped slowly, closing his eyes and enjoying the peace and quiet. Normally the inn was much noisier. Perhaps there would be no early morning chaos for once…

"I am going to call the maids, Tei," Balen said, breaking the silence.

Nodding, Tei finished his tea and then laid down, pulling the blankets up over him, making certain not a bit of flesh was visible. He realized abruptly just how tired he was. The constant struggle against the Mad Queen's whispers, the depressing lack of success…plagued by unhappy thoughts, but warmed by tea and the bedding, Tei let himself fall into sleep.


He woke to a gentle shaking, looking up groggily into Balen's far too awake smiling face. "G'way."

"Time to get up, Tei," Balen said softly, pressing a finger to his lips.

Teivel immediately tensed, sitting up slowly as Balen moved away.

At the far end of the room, two beds over, the stranger was sound asleep. He did not move, did not so much as twitch or utter a single sound. If not for the faint rise and fall of his chest, Teivel would have thought the man dead.

Only the fact that he could wake up at any moment dragged Teivel's eyes away from the sleeping form. Grimacing, he retrieved his wraps and began the laborious process of wrapping up his feet and legs, then his neck, holding out first one hand and then the other for Balen to wrap.

Sighing, he then shrugged into his robe and cinched the belt into place, then picked up his mask from the floor. Precious few back home knew why he and Balen had so suddenly left – only Aron, to whom they'd trusted the care of the temple until their return, and Kila, the old woman who kept them all fed and clothed, believing no man capable of properly seeing to such things.

He smiled thinking of home. His mask had been made by Aron, who wanted Teivel to remember them…and that they would be there for him. Teivel clutched it tight, smoothing his fingers over the carefully smoothed and painted wood, the Marks so meticulously written. With a soft sigh he finally lifted it to his face, tying off the ribbons with practiced ease, adjusting until the mask fit properly in place.

Two months he'd been forced to live this way…exist this way…and he could not bear to think about how many more he would have to endure before everything finally ended.

He did not dare think about how it might end.

"Come, Tei."

Teivel stole one last glance of the sleeping man, fingers twitching though he knew not why, then forced himself to follow Balen out the door and out into the streets.

Being early morning, the streets were busy but not quite as busy as they would become later. Right now only shop keeps bustled about, preparing their stores, setting out their wares, mingling here and there with maids and other early morning shoppers fetching what they would need for the day.

The scent of baking bread made his stomach growl, but it would have to wait until they made their supplication at the temple.

Unlike their own much simpler, plainer temple, this one seemed almost to glitter. The stone glittered in the early morning sunlight, a pale, not quite white color. The steps were worn smooth from constants use, almost slick looking, gleaming in the soft light. As they passed inside, the air cooled. It was briefly dark until they entered a room well lit by dozens of Mark lights.

Such a careless expenditure of energy, that. One or two would serve just fine…such a show displayed only arrogance…but the High Priest of Cherny was reputed to be an adept. Teivel could not bear to think the man would fail them.

But as they approached the guard, the very same one they saw every day, he could see in the man's face that today would bring them no further luck. Always they tried at morning, midday, and evening…always to no avail. Their money would not last much longer.

"Greetings," Balen said politely, but Teivel could hear in his voice that he knew it was useless. "We have come to see the High Priest, that he might help us solve the great problem that has befallen us."

The guard just shook his head. "I am sorry." He looked pained. "Truly, I am. He is not here. Not even in the city. I pass along word of your visits, but all to no ava…" His words trailed off, eyes widening.

Teivel felt awareness slice up his spine, make his skin prickle, even before he turned around.

His eyes widened as he did turn.

The man was beautiful. Features so delicately sculpted, skin pale gold, a long neck and narrow shoulders, body slender and fine. His hair was long and ink-dark, woven into a neat braid that spilled over one shoulder to just reach his stomach. His eyes were just as dark…Teivel frowned. Something about those eyes was…off. He could not place what, however.

"Master Enlil," the soldier exclaimed. "What brings you to the temple this morning?"

Enlil raised one hand, and Teivel saw he held a small piece of parchment in it. "I was going through missives and saw one about a peculiar visitor begging for assistance from his Grace. I came to see what the problem was." His eyes slid to Teivel. "I can see the problem is a great one."

"Yes," Teivel said softly.

Balen stepped forward. "If you might forgive my ignorance, good sir, I fear I must inquire as to your identity. Are you a priest?"

The man smiled in a way that struck Teivel as almost sorrowful. "No, I am no priest. Far from it. I am, however, quite close to his Grace the High Priest. If you are amenable, I will hear your problem in his absence, and do what I can to assist."

"I fear only the High Priest himself might lend his assistance," Balen said, "but I will gratefully accept your offer."

Enlil smiled. "Splendid. Follow me, then." Rather than lead them into the temple, as Teivel had expected, he turned and led the way back out – then stopped abruptly in the dark antechamber. He approached a wall and murmured softly. Beneath his hand, Marks flared to life and Teivel saw the wall shift inward. "This way," Enlil said, then vanished into the darkness beyond.

"I do not like this," Balen grumbled softly, "but I fear we have little choice."

Teivel said nothing, merely followed after their strange host.

His skin prickled still, though it did not have the same…urgency…he felt around the stranger who shared their room. 'Master Enlil' did not stir the same odd fluttering sensation.

Both were beginning to give him a headache. What did the strange reaction mean? Why did the Mad Queen buzz to sudden life, vibrating in his head so? Questions and questions, and he sensed there would never be answers.

The dark hallway spilled into dark stairs, but as they went the light increased, until they came out into a hallway lavishly appointed with rugs and tapestries, lit by colorful Mark lights encased in glass.

Poweful Mark work, that. Teivel's breath caught at the sight of them, impressed despite himself. Was this the work of the High Priest?

"This way," Enlil said, hovering in an open doorway. He motioned them forward, and Teivel quickly followed, for the first time feeling a small bit of hope.

The room they entered was even more luxurious than the hallway, tapestries portraying lush fields and noble-looking persons covering the walls. Thick rugs covered the floor, a low fire in the fireplace against the far wall. Partially hidden behind a wall of thin, light fabric was a massive bed. In front of it, where they stood, was a low table and several wide, high-backed chairs.

"Sit, please," Enlil said.

"Thank you, my lord," Balen said.

Enlil shook his head. "None of that, please. I am quite low at the end of the day, I assure you." His eyes flicked to Teivel. "You…make my head hurt…my skin feel as though something crawls across it…who are you?"

Teivel stared back, eyes wide behind his mask. "No one," he said. "Merely cursed."

"Your words are muffled, and hard to hear," Enlil said. "Remove the mask." He moved to a cupboard on the far side of the room and pulled a crystal bottle from within it, as well as three matching glasses. He set everything on the table, the moved to Teivel, holding out his hand. "Why does your proximity trouble me so? It is nothing like I've felt…not even the man last night…" He let his hand fall when Teivel did not accept it.

"What man?" Teivel demanded.

Enlil lifted one delicate brow, but did not reply. "Why are you seeking the assistance of his Grace?"

"A curse," Balen said, face etched with concern as he looked between them

"Oh?" Enlil asked. "I am quite adept at Marks, if it is a curse I might be able to break it. What manner of curse?"

Balen said nothing, merely shaking his head. "The sort requiring a priest – one stronger than I."

"You are a priest, then?" Enlil asked softly. "I had wondered…what sort of curse could be so awful you would try to come here of all places to have it broken. You would do better, I think, to go to the royal city."

Teivel stirred. "What is so awful about this city?"

Enlil smiled, the expression full of bitterness. "If you do not know the answer to that, be grateful. Take my advice, if it is a priest you require – move on."

"Why do you say that?"

"I cannot say," Enlil said. "I take enough risk as it is, but the missive pertaining to your problem intrigued me, and his Grace too often neglects…" He sighed and shook his head, then leaned forward to pour them drinks.

Teivel was struck by what he saw, that he had not noticed before – a dark smudge low on his neck… It reminded him, he realized, of the sooty-looking mark he'd seen on the cheek of the stranger from their room.

By the mercy of the Lord, what was going on? Why were all these strangers causing such strange reactions? He clenched his hands into fists as the voice within him flared again, shutting his eyes, ducking his head, willing the Mad Queen to be silent.

"We cannot reach Phioletovy," Balen said, voice tired but resolute. "Our funds are barely keeping us here, and we are not up to such an arduous journey. We must speak with the High Priest."

"I see," Enlil said quietly. He sipped at his drink, which had a scent that was both bitter and sweet, a hint of nut. He set the glass down with a faint clink, then stood and stepped through the curtain dividing the room in half.

A moment later he returned, carrying a small leather pouch, dropping it in Balen's lap. It chinked with the sound and weight of coins, and Teivel gasped as gold and silver spilled into Balen's palm.

"What?" Balen demanded, choking on the words, shock filling his face. "We cannot accept this, nor have you any reason to give it."

Enlil gave another one of his sad smiles. "It is the duty of all brothers of the Lord to help one another. His Grace has failed most abysmally in that duty, for many years. It is obvious that you need help. Trust when I say his Grace will never offer it. Go to Phioletovy; there is plenty of coin in that pouch to see to your every need." His eyes strayed to Teivel. "Would that I could go with you," he said softly.

Yes.

The shouting whisper of the Mad Queen was suddenly strong in his mind, making him dizzy with it – but then it died, as if her strength was suddenly gone.

"Now go," Enlil said. "I have helped you as best I can, in place of his Grace. I hope you are able to break your curse."

Teivel realized he meant it – meant everything. He held his hand out, and gasped when Enlil took it. Even through the bandages, the man's touch left a tingling burn that singed all the way to his bones. In his mind, the Mad Queen flared.

Dragonfly.

Then she was again silent, as Enlil's hand slid away.

"I must go," Enlil said. "You can find your way out, I'd imagine. I wish you good fortune, cursed stranger, good priest." With a rustle of silk, he was gone, leaving them alone in the strange, beautiful room.

Teivel sighed. "So what do we do, Master?"

Balen grunted. "We leave, before someone realizes some mistake was made. I do not understand this, but I know to accept the blessings of the Lord, no matter what form that blessing may take. We were told to go to Phioletovy, and have been given the means. So we will go."

"Yes, Master," Teivel said softly. His fingers curled, remembering the way Enlil's touch had burned.

Something felt…incomplete.

But in his head, the voice of the Mad Queen was quiet, still. Oddly so. It was a refreshing break from her constant hum of noise.

Whatever was going on, he did not care. Nothing concerned him but getting rid of the Mad Queen, and to do that they must, it seemed, pressed onward.

"Let's go then," he said quietly, and led the way out.