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They left Blackreach in a clash of hooves and faint cheers. Goodman Durin had pressed upon them a fittingly-convenient meal of meatpies and small beer as they had settled themselves for the journey. Gram had left his armor off, yet had pulled a pair of soft kidskin riding gloves from his effects, combined with the cuffed sleeves of his shirt, it concealed much of his new sidhe-wrought flesh — though Lidia wagered it was more for the utility of the steel on the tack than any appearances. They had not lingered beyond that, and she had only enough time for a few quick hugs and tearful smiles before the Black Dog was around the gates, astride his borrowed steed with fire in his eyes.

Gram drove the horse like a man possessed, and it was a thrilling experience. Their flight from the Navel had been under the auspices of worry and fear, but this time they raced the clock as liberators. Lidia hoped she’d done the numbers right, Gram had been too single-minded to ask questions back at the monastery, and her own plans were all in a row now. She just hoped she’d done the numbers right.

They saved a half day on the two-day journey on sheer momentum. Gram drove the horse to impossible feats with pure expertise, a lifetime in the saddle made him and the animal almost one entity, and Lidia could feel it as they ate up the miles in a natural rhythm of canters and sprints. Gram’s eyes ever-fixed on the horizon, the ridge line that marked the way home. He never seemed to waver from it even as they rested in the sole night between them — his eyes fixated on that distant place with unwavering focus. She felt the same fire burning in her, and for that she gave him no grief for it. Both were eager to be home.

They nearly beat the sun to the ridgeline, Gram’s riding like a man possessed, the horse in a lather with eyes wild with glee. They were made for this, these Steppe horses. Gram may as well have offered it two days of hard play, driving it along the ebb and flow of the terrain the way he had. They’d evaded patrols, and picked their way around the edges until they sat high on the southern line, looking down through the trees into the bowl of the Navel’s green from miles apart, but even here — they could see that there was little by way of the blue and yellow surcoats of the Baudelaire men left, the walls and all sheathed in not but the Red Wolf’s colors. She made a face though, at what she couldn’t see.

“Where are ye…” she groused, and Gram turned his eyes to her, and she shook her head. “Dinnae trouble yerself wit’ it loverboy.” She hissed, looking over along trees. She’d have to gamble, no time for anything else. With a hope, she scrambled up one of the nearby trees, Gram’s face a mask of confused interest.

“What are you about there?”

“I told ye nae worry about it!” She called down, taking a moment to marvel at how surprisingly easy climbing was with her new limbs. The short hooves were neat, nimble and surprisingly strong at grasping the odd spur and twig for purchase. No wonder mountain goats were the way they were.

“You are in a tree not hours before a confrontation with my fathers, plural. I feel entitled to worry.” He called back, folding his arms over his chest as Tirrah perked up from her collar.

“Oh, outstandin’, here can ye get this tae th’ top?” She said, passing a silvered mirror to the little fae. Chirping in assent, the little fomori scampered spider-like up the branches to the very tip of the branches. “Ye, jus’ like that, angle it a bit more tae th’ left…” Tirrah followed suit, and Lidia grinned. “Yeah, right there!” She crowed, and without prompting the little fae spat neat globs of her viscous webbing at the mirror’s edges, fixing it rigidly in place.

“Little Redcap?” Gram asked in a level tone, eyes still on the tree as she came down.

“Yes, Loverboy?” She answered, catching Tirrah on her upturned arm as the little hard-shelled pixie leapt down after her.

“If I was not positive otherwise, that would look a great deal like a signal mirror to me.”

“Why, I ‘spose it would, wouldn’t it?”

“Why is there a signal mirror in a tree over my family estate?” He asked, and she smiled, tucking Tirrah back into her place on her shoulder, she looped her arm with Gram’s and pulled him back towards the horse.

“I told ye, nae worry about it. Iffin’ it works ye’ll know, iffin’ it doesn’t — well, we’ll improvise.” Gram’s response was a sound of general displeasure, but she assuaged it by pulling him down for a long, long kiss. The sunlight felt nice this high up, and she had not yet kissed him that day.

“I’ll trust you then,” He acquiesced, and she grinned at him across that intimate distance, rubbing her nose against his.

“’Ave faith, loverboy. Worked fer us so far, ain’t it?”

Gram smiled at her. The little raven gave a harsh little caw that jolted them out of the soft reverie, Tirrah as well watching with wide, interested eyes. The soldier’s smile turned a bit wry, “We have gained a bit of a following.”

“Thought ye’d be used tae performin’ fer an audience,” she teased him, tugging him down for one more shameless kiss. Tirrah chirped out a tinny little laugh.

“I shall have to get used to it I suppose, you insist on filling my life with tiny wonders.” He mused, and pulled her back for yet another kiss. The little raven warbled curiously.

~ ~ ~

They took their time picking their way down from the ridge. Far enough away to be out of the sight of sentries before they cut through to the main road. Coming back to the very front of the grounds again, as they had on their first approach. Lidia felt a strange sense of apprehension as the early morning sun poured into the bowl of the ridgeline, bathing the granite bridge into the keep in a warm light that made her feel far more naked and exposed than she expected. Gram rode them straight up the middle, their sudden appearance out of the trees immediately obvious to the sentries, who scrambled to the walls and downwards, doubtless to deliver word. Good.

“Slow loverboy,” She said, squeezing him from behind. “Let ‘em get a good long look at us.”

“Whatever you have planned, I hope it works. We will be quite exposed here.”

“I’m countin’ on it.”

They drew back to a lazy canter as they hit the bridge, Lidia proudly throwing her hood back and letting it catch the breeze, the red tails whipping like a pennant in the winds, making it entirely clear who was upon that horse. There was a call of brassy horns, and a clack of a windlass as the gates began to open.

“Steady, let it play out.” She breathed, more to herself than her steely-eyed beloved. He drew them up short in the same place they had before, two guards staring at them over a pair of bardiches at the far-end of the concourse. There was a harder look about them, doubtlessly by now they’d discovered their dead fellows. The portcullis swung into place, and the doors swung outwards. Karnov was at the lead, as expected, bulling forward with an armed vanguard of red-colored soldiers. His face was a hard mask, but Lidia caught his gaze as he came down, and there was a flash of raw, uncontrolled fury in them as she did — he was surprised. They’d beaten Koval back.

“Well, well, back from our little lover’s retreat, are we?” He rumbled in a dark tone as Gram reigned back from his horse, helping Lidia down — Karnov and everyone’s eyes tracking to her bare, no longer human legs as she swung down. “Wearing our natures openly to boot,” he added bitterly. Behind them, Richart caught up, only steps behind Karnov, his hair and face wild, his collar undone and rumpled, and heavy circles hung under his eyes. It was as Louis had said — the man’s life lashed wholly to his charges, ruined with worry.

“Gram? My boy?” He called, his eyes alighting on Gram and Lidia as she smoothed her skirts. A sob left him as he tried to rush forward to them, only to be blocked by Karnov’s brawny arm. The slender scholar rounded on the larger man, rage flashing in his tear-reddened eyes. “Unhand me, Matevi, that’s my son!”

“Your ‘son’ is himself, changed, look!” He hissed, and Richart’s coffee-colored gaze was forced onto Gram, who raised his chin in defiance, and then his arm in kind — pointedly removing his riding gloves finger by finger as he advanced towards them.

“Changed, yes. By sacrifice.” He said quietly, his tone low and dangerous as he tore his hand free of the glove and wrenched his sleeve high, revealing his sidhe-wrought arm clear to the elbow — thrusting it out defiantly. “I gave flesh and bone in sacrifice for my love, and for my family. Let nobody here question my devotion out of something so petty as fear.”

“You admit to your corruption openly, you wear it as a badge!” Karnov countered, pushing Richart’s protesting form behind him as Gram closed the distance, only warded away by the raised blades of Karnov’s retinue.

“The Dame Morgana rendered unto me a boon for injuries suffered in service to both our kingdoms!” Gram answered, eyes flashing. “I have come to reclaim that which is mine, and with it the stability of my house.”

“You come late, your brother knows his duty better than you, look he already attends it!” He said, spreading his hand to the door. In it huddled many other faces, Colette and Alphonse peering out, but foremost was Louis — and a young woman she didn’t recognize.

She was small, of a size with herself. With dark hair and eyes so blue they were nearly white, her skin had the color of tanned leather, strong nose and powerful cheekbones. She knew who she was immediately without her high-necked, traditional dress or anything else. She looked like Karnov in the same way Gram did, and she had her hand dutifully on Louis’ arm.

“He’s chosen to marry and take control of the Barony, to put his duty to his people first.” Karnov bellowed, his hand sweeping at them in a knife-like motion, the girl puffing herself up proudly — Louis’ face refusing to meet Gram’s.

“Oh yer th’ one who’s late,” Lidia wheedled dryly as she came up and took her beloved’s hand — the dark-skinned one, pointedly lacing her fingers with his at the edge of that ring of blades. She felt him stiffen, but there was a swelling in his chest as he squeezed her back, and meeting Karnov’s eyes. Gram reached into his sash.

“I went exactly where you expected, shame you did not think sooner.” Gram muttered just for Karnov, producing the sheaf of parchment, holding it high for all to see. Even at a distance, any member of the court and its attendants knew the overwrought seal, the gilt-edges. A hush fell over the crowd. Karnov’s eyes narrowed, Richart however pushed forwards.

“That’s a Royal Writ, what have you done my son?” The slender man demanded, and Gram quite gamely handed the paper across the line of blades — not to Karnov, but to his father. The sitting Baron took it with concern in his tired eyes, unfolding it after a step of distance from Karnov. He read in silence quickly, eyes flitting to and fro as he absorbed the weight of the royal words, his lips moving as he slowly began to read it aloud.

“I hereby decree that Gram Guillaume Vauquelin Baudelaire, Captain of the 3rd Regiment of the Ivory Spears of the Radiant Order of Our Lady in White…” He paused and raised his voice, eyes meeting Gram’s with renewed intensity, “... is restored to the House of Baudelaire in full with good standing before the Healing Church and Imperial Throne!” Karnov about bit through his own teeth his jaw was so tight as Richart, his voice full and belting proud finished the Queen’s words:

“May his rule be just, and his hand firm but fair. Let any who would challenge this writ also challenge the word of God and Crown!”

“FOR GOD AND CROWN!” Echoed back all men of Baudelaire colors, and though outnumbered they were not to be ignored. Gram met Karnov’s eyes with a ferocious smile spreading across his lips.

“I am afraid that my brother’s marriage is a glad tiding indeed, but it will be simply for love, for I have come home to put our house in proper order.”

He snatched the paper from Richart, looking at it irritably as his ire grew. Even he could tell at a glance it was no forgery, his eyes snapped back to Lidia.

“You.” Was all he snarled, his words dripping with venom. Lidia met his eyes gamely.

“Aye, me. An’ I gave much in good order tae make it so.” She hissed, lifting the hem of her skirts over her dainty hooves pointedly. “An’ much more ye’ll ne’er understand.”

“I offered you kindness,” Karnov began but Lidia snapped back.

“Ye offered me a pretty collar and a gilded cage tae watch th’ world burn from. Nae, fook that, an’ ye I say.” She spat at him, and his eyes flashed dangerously as he moved to crumple the paper.

“Says you. I destroy this, and it is your word against mine. A true son of the Steppe…” his eyes tracked to her hooves and Gram’s arm, “… against the fae-taken, a tragic story. A national hero laid low by fae corruption.” Karnov’s voice was slow, deliberate. Richart looked at him in horror.

“Matevi that is my son, besides whatever treason it has, I will not allow it! This has gone too far!” The baron intervened, his voice strident, firm, almost a little unhinged. Karnov rounded on him and with a roar struck him, hard across the face. Richart was tall man, but Karnov massively out-bulked him, and he tumbled hard to one knee with a sharp oath.

“You will do as your betters dictate, cur! Hiding behind letters and pages no longer! I hold the power here, the true power — the strength of arms and purpose!” He said, and the blades of his retinue gleamed dangerously as he made to rip the paper in two.

“Are you quite sure about that?”

The voice carried, and with it all became still. Karnov turned slowly. Gram and Richart as well, eyes wide with shock

At the end of the drawbridge, sat a pair of horses. A simple, gray palfrey, and a great, massive beast of a horse in full barding for war. Atop the palfrey ahead of the greater of the pair, sat a familiar figure. Tall, statuesque, humbly dressed in a wimple and robes. “You always charged too aggressively, Matevi.” Lady Simone said, her bearing stately and firm. Beside her, reigned up Lucian in full armor, his visor raised and a lance already at hand, but even at rest the Knight-Brother was a rigid edifice of power. Karnov sneered.

“Oh very dramatic, Simone. You and one knight in shining armor, here to put me to task?” He scoffed, raising the page again. “You have all spent too long reading Richart’s storybooks.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Lucian added mildly, and raised a small, curled war horn from his side. Lidia recognized that horn with wide eyes and a sudden, wider grin. A brassy call split the air, and the woods around them to the north suddenly erupted in motion, a distant thunder ringing as seemingly from thin air — the entire 3rd Regiment of the Ivory Spears, all two-hundred lances, seemed to simply come wheeling out of nowhere over hill and dale, thundering up the concourse at speed. Behind them cries went up, and Karnov’s men bustled but Gram pushed forwards, lashing his new arm forward and grabbing the furious man’s wrist, staying him firmly as they stared across the middle distance in fury.

“Do not give me reason,” Gram said simply. Karnov met his gaze across those new, gleaming talons as the thunder of hooves terminated around them. “My sister should not see a man die so young.”

The words struck the Baron like a blow, his eyes flashing with fury for a moment before he relaxed, bidding his men to stand down as he looked up. Above them on the walls, there was no red at all — the blue and yellow surcoats of the Baudelaire men flanked the walls cover to cover, explaining the lack of outcry from the sentries. Karnov smiled bitterly as the vanguard of the Spears came cantering up the concourse, Martin’s scarred face visible at its head.

“Well played, my son. Executed as well as I could dream of my own blood.” Karnov said, and there was a bitter pride in his voice, but Gram shook his head.

“I would love to take credit, but I had intended to simply challenge you to single combat. I was equally unaware of our fellows,” he said, turning to Lidia who grinned at both of them with every inch of her pointed, inhuman fangs on smug display.

“A fair fight is fer soldiers an’ saints, an’ I happen tae be neither, jus’ a wee little redcap.”

Karnov and Gram both exchanged a glance, The soldier’s face quietly proud, the Baron’s bitter and resigned. Karnov reached for his saber, Gram’s hand moved like a whipcrack, snapping down to his wrist again — Karnov froze and shook his head gently, then jerked his chin at Gram’s empty swordbelt.

“I assume your blade went with your arm,” Karnov said coldly, and with a deliberate motion, he twisted his saber free of the studs that hung it from his belt, scabbard and all, handing it over to Gram with a crisp click of the fittings, the elegant weapon the one he’d wielded in the duel out on the green. Lidia shuddered, she’d gotten far too close a look at it. Gram took it, but Karnov’s hand did not budge initially. He leaned over slowly, meeting the cavalier’s gaze even and close.

“This is not a gift. This is a trophy. You have won today, and have earned the spoils owed a victor.” He said in a low, dangerous voice. “I will be back for it.”

Gram broke the standoff with a simple twist of his hand, taking the blade and pointedly pushing it through his sash in traditional carry, his face was impassive. It said it all without words.

Richart pushed past the two, his eyes staring forwards as he did. Lucian had swung down from his horse to help the Lady Simone down from her palfrey. She turned to the tall man with wide eyes, her face the picture of trepidation.

“Richart… I…” she began. She had no chance to finish.

Richart took her in his arms as soon as he saw her, striding through blades and the ranks of men heedless to danger or worry. He took her in his arms, those coffee-colored eyes wide with disbelief as he cupped her face. She stared back, face and voice both mute with shock. The very air grew still as the two stared across the distance of a decade measured in but inches and moments now. Her voice quavered, failed to make sounds as she tried to find something, anything to say.

He simply kissed her.

It was a terrible trifle to call what he did a simple kiss, but there were only so many words Lidia knew for what to call the tableaux before her. It caught everyone’s attention, stilled all talk around. He crushed her to him, and he kissed her like he thought she might vanish. His mouth devoured hers with the familiarity of one finding a lost limb, and she folded into him with the ease of someone who had finally after long last come home. They slowly spun there on that expanse of bridge, the sun cresting over and bathing them in gold as they seemed dead-set to fold one another together, joined heart to heart, lips to lips. Slowly, carefully they came apart.

“I have dreamed of that for ten long, cold winters.” He breathed, cupping her face and staring intensely, as if she were still but an illusion made flesh. “God’s Blood, more beautiful than the day I lost you.”

“You never lost me, Richart.” She breathed to him. “I lost myself, and it took so, so long to find my way back.”

Lidia turned away, wiping her eyes and caught Karnov’s gaze. His face was a mask, the man might as well have been made of stone — but she saw moment of something in his eyes. A yearning perhaps? He noticed her looking and his face turned dark, there was a threat in those icy blue eyes. She wasn’t afraid this time. The rattle of harness got her attention and Karnov’s alike.

Martin swung down from his horse, the rest of the Spears spreading out to secure the grounds as he raised his visor, met at the fore by Lucian. The Knight-Brother handed back the curled horn.

“Thank you for the loan, friend.” Lucian said cordially, the scarred Cavalier taking the battered, twisted old horn with a grin, putting it back where she’d seen it most often for the last few months — hanging from his saddle.

“Of course. Can’t by means start a proper ambush without a horn.” Martin returned laconically, stepping up to meet the pair, “Fancy meeting you here, Captain.”

“Martin,” Gram said with warmth, grasping the man’s hand warmly — pointedly using his left for the steel-clad soldier. “What brings you this far south?”

“Heard tell of a wedding in dire need of some chaperons,” the-scarred soldier answered plainly, shifting his gaze over to Lidia, who smiled impishly.

“I wanted knights in shinin’ armor at me weddin’,” She answered airily and Simone laughed from Richart’s arms as the party all turned to the man in question, his eyes leveled on Karnov with a cool stoicism as he held his long-lost wife. He kissed her fingers absently and walked straight up to the larger, more dangerous man as the soldiers filtered in around them, the black-enameled armor of the Ivory Spears gleaming in the midday sun.

“Matevi,” Richart called in a voice that brooked no argument, demanding Karnov’s attention. The whole of the crowd falling silent save for the clatter of harness and the breathing of horses.

“Get out of my house.” Richart said, nay commanded of Karnov. Even the Red Wolf was taken aback at the stentorian might of that edict. It may as well have been inscribed onto the stones of the wall, punctuated by the stinging welt on his bare cheek. He looked to everyone else, two-dozen hard-eyed men stared from enameled visors at him, nearly all of those eyes were Darrowmite Blue, the Ivory Spears a unit itself borne of the land he claimed to defend. He motioned crisply to his retinue, and they proceeded straight down the concourse, the watchful eyes of the Ivory Spears on them the entire way.

Simone stared him down the entire way. Her gaze unflinching. They saw him off the grounds, only sparing them one smoldering glare in return before he and his men vanished into the Steppe.

“Well,” Richart said firmly, clapping his hands together. “I believe there is still to be a wedding worth planning isn’t there?” He said, looking across the field. “I daresay I’ll have to get into the stores for all the guests.”

A cheer went up from all men assembled. Richart smiled. His house once again, whole.

~ ~ ~

The dismantling of Karnov’s grip on the estate was surprisingly organized. He’d left in a hurry, but the man he’d left behind was cool-headed and amicable.

“I am sad to see things go this way, I had hoped to be invited.” Marshal Shkuro said, signing a few papers here and there. Nothing so formal as papers of surrender or ownership, she understood it from Gram’s reasoning to essentially be a formal ‘my sincerest apologies’ for damages done, in his Baron’s name, of course.

“It is unfortunate, your company was not untoward during this tense time,” Richart agreed as he penned his own hand next to the others, this was to save face for all. It was not truly force of arms that had won the day as much as the emblem on their breastplates — a Barony in good standing like the Karnov Estate could not be seen openly making war against the church, it would ruin him regardless of the battle’s outcome and he’d known it. Lidia had gambled on it.

“Why nae flip on Karnov then?” she asked, she was sitting sprawled nearby with the rest of them in the study — what had rapidly gone from Richart’s reclusive domicile to the beating heart of the estate. Few of them sat alone, numerous couples and companions sprawled against one another. Even Alphonse sat with Colette hugged gently into his lap, the quiet girl quite overwhelmed by the sudden changes all in one afternoon. Lidia herself was sprawled back in Gram’s arms as the Marshal responded with a coolly raised eyebrow.

“Because I do not disagree with him.” He delivered the line crisply and without malice, and Lidia had not much in response. She and Shkuro had made that peace before she left.

“Good to have you here then, rather than elsewhere. Many firebrands in his retinue that would rather die a martyr than live with sense.” Richart said, and Shkuro nodded gravely, turning to Lidia he raised an eyebrow.

“How did you manage to hide two-hundred head of horse right under my nose like that?”

“She had help,” Simone interjected from where she sat, similarly ensconced in Richart’s arms, her brow arching incredulously at the little changeling. “Really, you’re lucky I bothered to ask the Ser where he was going.”

“She was quite invaluable in executing your desires, your plan was a good one but you forgot a few key details.” Lucian agreed, he and Martin sitting together in harness at the far table, both with a mug of frosty cider in hand.

“You forgot the entire purpose of the Navel my dear,” Simone explained to Lidia’s questioning expression, “A commanding view.”

Lidia stared at them dumbly, and Martin raised his eyebrows. “The Navel is a defensive redoubt, only way through that ridge for leagues in either direction, with clear views of the road on both sides save for a few places where the wood and ridge itself covers it.”

“The sentries, my dear. You forgot about the sentries — and that they can see very, very far on the Steppe.” Simone clarified and Lidia felt her face coloring bright. How had she forgotten something so basic? They’d even had lookouts back at the Counthouse! She supposed she just never thought about lines of sight that clear.

“Something you would have been aware of, if you had informed me of your plan, little redcap.” Gram added softly, causing her to let out a huff.

“I wanted tae handle it, what good is it tae be constantly askin’ er’ryone else tae do it fer me?” She admitted irritably, Gram kissing the top of her hair with a smile.

“It was a good plan, but you still have not explained how you made two-hundred head of horse invisible.” Marshal Shkuro persisted, and a voice from the door clearing his throat drew his attention.

“I think I can clear that up.” Marshal Avalov said from the door, pointedly walking straight up to his equal — wearing the exact same uniform. Shkuro’s brow went into his hairline but his face was otherwise neutral. “Sorry, friend. I assure you we handled it with minimal bloodshed.” He explained, hooking his fingers in his belt. “A few of my men and the Karnov boys who didn’t feel right with the way things had gone took a day or two ingratiating ourselves with the sentries until the Spears were due.” He said, shrugging. “Then we conveniently ‘volunteered’ to take over their shifts whenever they were moving. Had to knock a few over the head, but they’re in the sickward with Father Denis right now with little more than bad headaches.”

“Wouldn’t have worked if it were any other unit.” Martin cut in, “We Spears carry our kit on our saddles, so we were able to cut quickly into the wood from the road and cover our numbers by morning.” He said, looking up to the Baroness, “Without Lady Simone’s knowledge of the vantage points of the towers or the bloodhound’s smarts to request us specifically, any forces would have been spotted regardless.”

“It was a group effort.” She said modestly, stroking her fingers across Richart’s arm as he finished with the final signature, Shkuro shaking his head with a sigh.

“Not an ignoble defeat, but a frustrating one. I will take solace in the quality of my opposition.” He said, extending a hand to Richart, who seemed surprised. “I share my master’s beliefs but not his opinions, it was truly good to meet you, Baron.”

“… And you, Marshal.” Richart said, grasping his hand firmly. “Perhaps in time, we will see eye to eye again.”

“I doubt that sincerely my lord,” Shkuro said in a gentle tone, folding his hands again he turned back to Avalov, and the two clasped arms as well. “I have men to attend to, and you have much to discuss besides. If you will then, Ser, Lieutenant?” Shkuro said, Martin popping to his feet along with Lucian, the pair flanking the two Marshals — the military leaders of the forces assembled, Gram afterall, was very much still on leave. He saluted Gram on his way past, and Lucian tipped his fingers as he went, the four discussing the business of the men-at-arms.

“Hey,” Lidia piped up after they’d gone. Everyone turned to look at her. “How’d ye get the message in tae Avalov? Karnov had this place tighter than a Rezarian lockbox.”

“Ah,” Alphonse said with a bit of a blush. “They gave it to a shepherd girl who tends the outside flocks, she apparently has a bit of a crush on me. Has for… some time.” He coughed delicately.

“Surely they searched her love notes.” Gram surmised, and turning progressively pinker, the young man nodded.

“Y-yes. They did. She ah. Sang them to me. The love notes. They left us alone behind the chapel after that and a show of ah… enthusiasm.”

Lidia’s eyes went wide as her grin and Alphonse cleared his throat a final time, Colette a giggling mess in his lap as her brother playfully poked her into silence, “Yer a regular spymaster, Alphy.”

“Well,” he colored just a shade darker, “You can thank your mother for me next time you see her, her ah… example, was useful in selling Karnov’s men on the ruse.”

“Oh, I think that would come natural enough, you are your father’s son.” Simone added lightly, threading her hands up into Richart’s hair with a saucy little smile full of promises for later.

“I guess that jus’ makes you a fookin’ natural,” Lidia purred to Gram who gave her a slight, knowing little smile. Colette looked at all of the adults with a puzzled expression.

“This is a grown-up thing, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Every single adult in the room answered, simultaneously.

~ ~ ~

The evening wore on and the business of the day concluded with little fanfare. Martin and half the Spears would remain as an honor guard, and the rest would form up and see Karnov’s remaining forces to the edge of the territories. The work of disentangling the occupying forces and the Navel was mostly self-managing, leaving the house each uniquely fatigued, but peaceful.

Night had fallen, and with it had come the quieting of the grounds. Colette had gone to bed, and with her Simone. Watching the pair go had been hard, Colette’s memories of her mother vague, the woman practically a stranger after a decade’s absence. They had agreed to a bedtime story and left holding hands. It was a start. Khanenko had shown up with refreshments several times during the day as they’d come and gone seeing to the affairs of returning to order and housing all of their guests — of which, the smallest had taken Richart’s absolute, rapt attention.

“Magnificent,” he breathed, holding out his hand as the little fomori stood proudly upon it, letting him lift and turn her little limbs with chitters and tiny fae giggles. He reached out a finger to her and she took it gamely in her tiny talons, spinning about on his upturned palm like a tiny dancer before skittering like a shot up his arm, alighting on his shoulder and giving him a gentle kiss upon the cheek. A burst of tiny titters given at his enchanted little reaction to it. “She’s a wonder, a tiny fable in my palm.”

“She is as valiant as any Knight of the Church,” Gram echoed, he and Lidia together near the fire now, a pair of pipes and now-empty glasses resting nearby where they had taken to reclining as Richart and Tirrah had gotten to know each other. His sketchbook lay open in his lap, and she turned and trilled as he scribbled furiously, capturing a dozen-dozen frozen moments of the Least Knight of Seelie.

“I hope ye dinnae mind another wee fairy hauntin’ the place,” Lidia added, Gram’s head laying in her lap as she gently caressed his hair, the warmth of the fire pleasant contrast to the cool stone beneath them, even through the heavy rugs, she caught the Baron’s gaze, “Couldn’t leave her, nae after all she did.”

“A tiny hero, we have a surfeit of them now.” Richart said, and Tirrah beamed at him. He mimed a figure with his hand, and she tittered at him as they turned ‘round in a silly little dance, indulging his wonder with only slightly mocking chatter of her mandibles. Richart was entranced.

“I think she will be fine.” said Gram. Richart turned his attention to the lovers, Tirrah hanging from his fingers in a cat’s cradle of her own thread. She was showing off, the little minx. The Baron’s gaze wandered down their forms, both had a few new scars, Gram’s ravaged frame somehow miraculously not bearing a single mark of the mauling he’d endured riding the Dew in her name. It wasn’t their hurts he looked at though.

“Are you both well? If not in body, then mind?” asked the scholar, Tirrah swinging between his fingers to scale his arm again, finding a place in one of the overlarge pockets of his housecoat. Gram and Lidia exchanged a look, and both blew out a breath.

“Tae be straight about it, I dinnae know iffin’ we’ve had much time tae really think on it.” Lidia said, gently scuffing her new, tiny white hooves against each other. Gram flexed his fingers, his wrist all that was visible beneath the kidskin glove he still wore. “I have considerations but… it is not my hand yet.” he said with a touch of bitterness.

Lidia paused, and then promptly reached down and plucked the glove from his hand in a series of neat, sharp motions. He recoiled from her touch at first, but she forcibly tangled her fingers in his. The hard edges and strange softness of his new fingers were unmapped territory beneath her own, they clung to her flesh with ease, like a thin layer of cooled wax coated each fingertip. Alien, unusual angles and textures — but the fingers within them relaxed all the same as he did, and Gram touched her back through them. His breath stilled, only then they realized he had been breathing heavier all the while.

“Yes, there does seem to be some newness to navigate,” Richart said, freeing his hands from Tirrah with a light gesture, reaching out and touching his son’s new hand gingerly, laying his fingertips over the backs of his knuckles. Tirrah skittered down his arm to lay her own tiny taloned fingers on his, stepping up to him with an encouraging trill, her hand covering the tip of one finger easily. They were alike, in texture and color, and her bright eyes stared up. “But you won’t have to navigate it alone, not this time.” Richart’s eyes were gentle again, that emptiness that haunted him was nowhere to be seen. Only wonder, wonder at these fae marvels, and foremost — wonder at his son.

“We got a year,” Lidia said, pulling herself to her feet, well. Hooves. “A year tae figure out er’ry bit o’ these new bits, maybe fix ‘em.” She turned her ankle at the two men, and both stared for very, very different reasons. “… Maybe don’t,” she tittered and pulled Gram to his feet, Tirrah leaping the distance back to Richart’s arm. The little fae swung like a tiny sailor down into the heavy pockets of Richart’s housecoat, where a familiar clacking and caw emerged. Lidia turned her head and the Baron smiled sheepishly.

“He seemed cold, and rather fond of venison,” said the scholarly man, reaching a finger down where the little raven peered out, preening its formori caretaker and giving Richart’s finger an affectionate nuzzle. “If you don’t mind…?” he left it hanging and Lidia smiled.

“Ye seem tae ‘ave it all well in hand,” she answered warmly, looking at the Baron and the two little creatures cuddled down into his coat pocket. Her fingers laced with Gram’s once more and she pulled him away, Richart opening his sketchbook once more as he looked down in delight, charcoal scratching away as he captured the tiny miracles in his pocket.

He likely didn’t even hear the door click shut as they left together, Lidia smiling as she pulled it closed. Let him have his moment of true magic, he earned it.

~ ~ ~

The pair spent the night in blissful, total, exhausted sleep. Lidia didn’t even really remember getting undressed, and simply awoke in a tangle of limbs and sheets with Gram, both of them piled close together in a possessive heap of bedding. She let herself linger like that, and both of them were eventually fully awoken by the clamor of midday as life continued on.

“Hey there,” She said softly as her love’s eyes fluttered open. She stroked his hair back from his face and he smiled at her softly. She tucked that smile away in her heart. “We made it. We’re here.” His smile only turned more genuine and she leaned down to kiss him. She lingered there on his lips for a moment, an innocent, sweet release in that motion. The first of many such kisses shared here, in their bedroom, in their home.

Their morning routine started then, however late. Gram rose and began to stretch and move his body, the regimen of a soldier. She watched as usual, as ever — beholden to the events of the day and forced to simply indulge in her beloved and his peerless form. She watched him reach up, and catch a crossbeam as always, pulling himself up to the chin and back down. It was one of her favorite things in his routine, she loved watching the lines of his back ripple and flex. She watched a moment or two longer and it occurred to her — why did she have to wait for the events of the day? Gram was on leave, she was his betrothed. Richart was the man in charge, and he doubtlessly had things well in hand with all the new help. Why should she not indulge?

She slipped up behind him as he descended once more, embracing him from behind, pressing her body, bare save for her thin chemise, to that wonderful, rippling track of muscles. She felt his breath as he inhaled sharply, and cupped his bare chest with her hands, fingers splayed wide as she breathed out across the back of his neck, her lips trembled on the exhale. He trembled in kind, and her fingers turned to raking nails, dragging down to the hollows of his hips, his hands unable to stop her, so busy they were holding him up.

“We are yet unwed, little redcap…” Gram protested, and she laughed a sultry little laugh, her voice warm and inviting in his ear as his shoulders went slack.

“Ye an’ I both know we’ve found all sorts o’ things that an unwed couple can do…”

She felt him tremble anew, and she gave a little tug. He let go of the crossbeam, and she pulled him back into the bed with her, eyes wide and dilated like a cat on the hunt as she drew her hands down his hips anew.

The day could get started just fine without them.

Some time later, the pair found their way down for a late lunch. Both pleasantly relaxed, and perhaps Gram’s collar tied a bit higher than needed to cover a few new marks. They had a chance to briefly wave at Shkuro and his men as they disembarked from the grounds flanked by the Ivory Spears. They didn’t have any words to exchange, they had said what there was to say. She wished him well.

They made their way to the study, as before it had simply become where everyone seemed to gravitate, and on their way in, they crossed paths with no one less than Louis — Louis, and Dula. Both couples drew up short, meeting at the door together, and what’s more — both had arrived holding hands — A feature that Lidia had not let slip by unnoticed. Lidia took a moment, and really looked at the girl.

She was the youngest of the three by a few years, and she was admittedly, very, very pretty. Karnov didn’t make ugly babies, and as before — she reflected him as Gram did, there was a flinty structure to her features, a sharpness that was tied to the bloodline. She was practically a dark mirror of Lidia, dark where she was light, light where she was dark, round where she was angular, curvy where she was lithe. Of a height, but not of a build together, she likely was the very soul of a proper Steppefolk lass, and she looked just a wee bit frightened.

“We were hoping to speak to father…” Louis began, Gram raising his eyebrows at that inquisitively. He looked back at Dula, who squeezed his hand encouragingly and he paused, eyes flicking rapidly as he thought rather quickly on his feet — that part she realize, they got from their mother. “… I had hoped to do it alone, but no. No it’s better you stay.” He said with growing confidence, nodding to them all. He was a mess himself, his face still clearly showing the evidence of their brawl in the rain and possibly further… adjustment, by Karnov. Gram nodded thoughtfully, his eyes turning to the young, dark-haired woman.

“I had expected to see you with the rest of Shkuro’s retinue.” said the tall man, his gaze considering. Dula raised her chin and despite the clear trepidation, met Gram’s eyes.

“I take my promises very seriously, Captain.” She said in a crisp tone with that rolling fullness to it she’d come to learn was signature of the Steppefolk dialect, looking up to Louis she added, a touch of anxiety to her voice, “What promise is more serious than that of Wife to Husband?”

Gram’s eyebrows raised speculatively at that once more, a faint nod following it. Lidia felt a bit on the spot but she caught Louis’ gaze this time, and there was askance in it, a begging of sorts. She got it then, perhaps there was more there than just duty… “Sure, Louis. We were jus’ goin’ tae ‘ave a bit tae eat wit’ yer Father, that’s all.” she said, gesturing to the door. They made to enter, but Louis stopped her with a raised hand.

“May I… have a moment?” He asked quietly, and Gram met her gaze. She nodded to him, and he proceeded in without her. Louis guided Dula in much the same way, the nigh-white eyes of the woman worriedly on Lidia as she went. Lidia turned her gaze to Louis as the door closed.

“I wanted to… apologize isn’t the word, I’m not sorry but I am…” he made a face, screwing up his features in frustration, Lidia folded her arms and waited, one eyebrow arched. “I’m not… sorry for my beliefs-” He trailed off again as she pointedly leaned back against the wall and crossed one hoof over the other. He laid a palm over his face. “… I’m doing a poor job of this.”

“Nae, nae, go on,” Lidia said in a wry voice, “Watchin’ ye dig straight through th’ flagstones up tae yer neck is fascinatin’.”

“My brother is enchanted by your wit but it tires me,” Louis said tiredly and she chuckled at him.

“I nae expected ye tae suddenly be me best friend, jus’ tae be kind. What’s this about Louie?” She asked, her voice softening as she used the pet name. She could tell it irritated him a bit by the bulge of his jaw-muscles. All of the Baudelaire men contained their annoyance the same way. Yet she could also see the weight slip off him a bit.

“I don’t want there to be… tension, between us. Bad blood.” He said in that same tone, eyes distant.

“Ye think I’ll hold a grudge an’ punish ye wit my new station?”

“I would.” He answered with brutal, self-destructive honesty.

That hung in the air between them for a long few moments. That kind of admission was… unexpected. She knew it of course, knew men who behaved like that — but none would admit it. Not like that, challenged directly. She took him at face-value then, on faith. She’d gotten a lot better about faith.

“I dinnae want that either, Louie, I dinnae want tae punish ye, I dinnae want tae lash out for wrongs done tae me by people long-gone, for hurts long-forgotten,” She shook her head, meeting his gaze again. “Me mum made me tae be loved, an’ that’s all I want. I want tae be loved.”

Louis looked away from that gaze, jaw once again working in frustration — but she saw the edge of that anger was directed inward, not at her.

“I… want that too.”

“I can love ye, I think, Louie.” She said softly, smiling at him. “I love Alphy, an’ I love Colette, I love Richart, an’ God an’ Lady both know I love Gram,” she listed them in a voice barely above a whisper, just for Louis. “I think I can find room in me heart for ye too, Louie, iffin’ ye want it.”

Louis looked up at her then, and there was a haunted place behind his eyes. She knew that place, it was a wind-scarred land of ghosts and broken promises. She’d been there a long time.

“I wish you hadn’t said that,” he said in a quiet voice, raising a hand to his cheek, to the rather wicked black eye he still bore — she got the impression that wasn’t from the brawl with Gram. “I wish you had been petty, and bitter, and full of spite,” he continued, his face slowly losing its guarded look. He was still just a boy really, she realized then she was older than him. All the hate, all the stress put such weight on him it aged him. He looked at her then, and he was a boy. A lost, hurt boy. “Anger is easier.”

“I know,” she said softly. “I know that so, so well Louie.”

He stared at her with those hurt, boyish eyes for a moment, “I… I think I want that,” he said and paused, “… to be loved, like that. I want to be wrong about you, but it scares me.”

“Aye… it’s scary,” she said, thinking about a certain one-eyed hayseed. She’d been scared to face things like that once too. “But worth it, I cannae ask ye tae trust me… but I can ask ye tae ‘ave faith, aye?”

He blinked, but nodded. “Yes… yes I think I can have faith.”

“What brought this on, Louie?” She asked suddenly, hugging herself. “I’m nae much o’ revelation, I’m a right pain in the arse most days.” He smiled at that a bit, shaking his head.

“That you are… Karnov did.” He said quietly, his hand on his eye. His walls went up at once as he turned to her. “I did not fold to him easily.” He said but there was a tension there that relaxed as the armor fell away again. “… but I folded all the same. Fists, words, all the same he beat me down.” He bitterly frowned and she could see him willing away tears, “I… was made aware of where I stood.”

“Oh, Louie…”

“N-no.” He stammered firmly, “Not for sympathy. Don’t pity me, don’t you dare pity me, I am a man. A man owns his choices.” He stated, finding his own voice with his chin raised high. The bravado seemed to screw up what courage he had, and he let out a sigh. “I… think I would like that too, but it will take time. I.. have a lot to deal with, a lot… has happened. My brother is home, my mother is home.” He shook his head, eyes wide and uncertain. “It will take time.”

“Aye… but ye’ve got it wit’ me,” she said softly, and then… extended her arms. “… Perhaps we can start wit’ a hug?”

He laughed at her then, and she smiled wide — but he hugged her nevertheless, his frame so like Gram’s that she neatly was able to tuck her cheek against his chest in a tight, if awkward embrace. “See?” she said softly, “Nae curses nor poison fangs.”

He sighed and broke free from the embrace, and she looked to the door with a smile. “We should get back.”

“We should.”

“Louie?”

He paused reaching for the door, and she gave him a smile. “We’re square. Cross me heart.” She did the motion over her breast, and the young man did not smile exactly, but there was an expression she saw there. Contentment. Aye, that was it. So alien to his face she’d not really recognized it at first.

“We’re square, then.”

He pulled open the door for her, and the two found their way in, coming in to an animated conversation from Richart to Gram, Tirrah and the little raven perched on the table nearby, the former feeding the latter bits of meat from the luncheon that had undoubtedly been waiting. It even had those cheeses she’d liked. Richart was a treasure.

“You see, her feet have tiny little hooks in th-Oh!” Richart turned, smiling. “Don’t mind me, I was simply talking about your fine little companion here.” he explained, holding up a hand — which Tirrah gamely vaulted upon, spreading her arms dramatically. The little minx was showing off again. Richart looked between the two of them, noting the sober expressions. “Good talk, then?”

Lidia looked to Louis, who nodded. “Yes, it was… productive. As is what I’d like to speak to you about next.”

“What we, would like to speak to you about.” Dula cut in from where she sat, standing and moving to Louis’ side, taking one of the lounges to themselves. Gram met Lidia with a plate piled with smoked meat and soft cheeses and she gave him a look she had earlier in much more intimate places as she took it, sinking her fangs into the morsel.

“Important?” Gram asked in a whisper as Dula and Louis briefly murmured to each other while Richart settle Tirrah and the little raven.

“He apologized, in a fashion,” she said around a mouthful of cheese, rind and all. “He’s a troubled lad… but I want tae love ‘em, th’ way I do th’ others.” she said and looked up to him with a smile. “He’s a part o’ ye, an’ I want tae love all o’ it.”

“Important indeed.” Gram said with a raised eyebrow as Louis cleared his throat.

“I want Dula to stay.” Louis stated plainly, and that got every eyebrow in the room up.

“I had wondered why you had not left with your father and his retinue,” Richart mused to the stern-eyed young woman, who nodded.

“I also wish to stay, with Louis.” She added lightly, taking his hand. Richart raised an eyebrow at that, but Lidia hid the smile she wore behind another morsel of cheese.

“That is… interesting, however forgive my gaucheness but you must understand I question your motives.” He raised his hand to the rather pronounced black eye he had from the previous day’s encounter. One Lidia realized was mirrored on Louis. Seems composure was something relative to Karnov. Dula gave a crisp nod.

“I understand better than you think.” She said and looked to Louis who nodded, and she took a deep breath. “I want it said, I love my father. I love him dearly, and to see you all with hate in your eyes for his name is… a special sort of misery.” She said but then set her jaw. “… however, my father is a bully. He is a hard man, a cruel man. He loves my mother, but as a Sire does a Dam, not a husband a wife. I am much the same to him, I know he loves me but it is… a utilitarian thing.”

“That sounds like Matevi.” Richart sighed in disappointment. Louis piped up.

“I… like Dula, I’m not going to be so brash as to say it is love but… I’m fond of her, she was good to me despite our circumstances.” Dula looked up at him with warmth in her eyes, and Lidia knew he was lying. Lying to save face, not to seem brash and foolhardy next to his stoic, well-mannered brother. Ever the rival.

“I think I love Louis, Baron Baudelaire.” Dula said simply, her smile serene and essential. “I don’t hate my father, I don’t even disagree with his goals, I chose to be here but…” she looked to the rest of them. “… Louis’ love for this place is infectious, I like it here. I like him, may love him.” She turned to him and took his hand. “It… is a utilitarian thing right now, but I would like a chance to see what it could be.” She said simply. Louis’ eyes bugged out of his head, she clearly was not supposed to say that.

“That is quite a declaration.” Richart observed, adjusting his glasses as he leaned forwards onto the table, Tirrah skittering nearby, folding her arms and chittering critically. Richart nodded to her solemnly. Lidia could swear he understood her from how natural it was. “However, I am very hard to lie to.” He said, and she smiled.

“If by this means I advance my father’s goals, minus his penchant for bloodshed and domination?” She shrugged and gave the Baron a genuine smile. “Two hares in a single stone.”

“I am not a hare.” Louis protested, and she turned to him with daring eyes.

“Are you not? Wild-eyed and free last I saw you.” She offered, and he colored and closed his mouth with enough abruptness his mustaches twitched. Richart laughed softly. Both of them paused their banter and turned to look at the older man.

“Ah, that looks familiar.” He said, his smile soft, reminiscent. His eyes were elsewhere. “You remind me of Matevi… of the old Matevi,” the man sighed, laying his cheek on his hands and looking at her. “Seeing you two together…” he trailed off into a smile, and she blushed, taking Louis’ hand. A reflexive gesture, Lidia noted.

“What do you think, Gram?” Richart asked, but the tone of voice seemed to suggest it was but playful formality.

“I for one, say let her stay. Louis can do with the company.” He answered thoughtfully, Lidia chuckled and Richart turned to her.

“Opinions, Little Redcap?” He asked, and she balked a bit at Gram’s pet name from her with that… fatherly authority behind it. She wondered idly if Gram could use that tone elsewhere… “Oh, nae. I jus’ love the stuffin’ out o’ the lot o’ ye.”

“Well, that settled. Would you two care to join us? Khanenko and Simone should be back shortly with chilled cider and a few extras, apparently she left a few special bottles there some time back.”

Louis and Dula both smiled, and she squeezed his hand warmly.

“I’d like that.”

~ ~ ~

The business of things soon turned from the trauma of invasion, to the joy of matrimony. The business of the Lady and Bart’s wedding had come together rather abruptly, and had been a fairly provincial affair — but the Lady Simone was adamant. They would be wed before the summer was out, before the fortnight if she had her way.

“Milady, there are considerations of propriety,” Khanenko cautioned her over a series of documents some days later. The Baroness peered at him with weary eyes.

“Hang propriety, by its balls.” She spat in a short breath, Lidia looked up from where she sat, similarly buried in choices, who’d have thought getting married was so much paperwork? The Baroness took an irritable swing of her brandy and pointed firmly at the mild-mannered steward, “My son, my firstborn fought for God and Crown to win the right to marry this girl, they will not be waiting around for a full half-turn or more of the seasons for the reward they duly earned because some pillock of a noblewoman from the capital might decide to liven up her stuffy salon visit by taking offense at a lack of an invite!”

“I see.” Khanenko stated stoically, “I will cross Baroness Pillock off the invitation list, are there any other edicts I shall pass along, Milady? A summary execution or two?”

“Yes you can have whoever keeps putting those hideous ruffle-collared dresses in my wardrobe flogged,” she said with playful spite, and Lidia looked down at similar patterns for such things. Elaborate ruffles at sleeves and throat made of lace, stiffened with starch.

“They are the latest fashion from the capital, milady.”

“They are hideous, I may have spent a decade in a convent but fashion appears to have spent the same time with its head in a privy.” She said, scoffing at the designs, “Lidia has a lovely throat and shoulders, it would be a crime to cover them all up in starch and frippery.” The little changeling colored a bit at that unexpected compliment from the — by her reckoning — far, far more beautiful woman. She was a little intimidated by Baroness Simone’s beauty, the woman was already nearly as tall as a man — as seemed to be the way of everyone outside of the Marches, but furthermore she was just… beautiful. Like what she imagined when she heard the word ‘Baroness’. Gone was her wimple and habit, she had changed to a simple open-necked gown of somber colors and comfortably clingy fit. She looked… elegant, stately. Statuesque. Definitely made Lidia feel a touch woodsy without adding the hooves.

“I cannae make heads nor tails o’ most o’ this, I dinnae even know how to put this on!” She said, holding up one of the more elaborate illustrations of gowns with a train, kirtle, sewn-in faux sleeves and all.

“A shame, seems you would be the ideal candidate for such a dress.” Dula said, Khanenko the only masculine presence in the room at all, the three ladies seeing to the business of matrimony together — which made perfect sense to Lidia, what did men know about gowns and frippery? Lidia poured across the pages again and resolved it was probably about as much as she did.

“Ye dinnae say,” the little changeling answered tiredly, and Dula nodded.

“The latest fashion is all about wide skirts and a narrow waist and sleek bosom, practically made to order.” The Steppes woman explained, and Lidia stared at her with a dull-eyed expression. Surely she meant well, but at this point Lidia was starting to feel a bit overwhelmed.

“Yes and it makes all of us look like painted Mistport Jesters, I will not stand for it.” Simone countered, and Lidia sucked in a breath. There had been the real issue. Dula had been present, and even helpful — but Simone was clearly taking this as an opportunity to feel this other girl out, perhaps less gently than she’d been given in the baths. Dula had risen to the task and kept pace with the Baroness cool and collected, which she supposed was easy after growing up with Karnov. Dula smiled and gave a soft little laugh. Lidia dove for the opening.

“Why don’t th’ two o’ ye talk about it fer a wee bit?” She said, eyes a bit wild. “I… need a bit o’ air, I’m startin’ tae see stitchin’ an’ brocade behind me eyelids when I close ‘em.” she said plainly, getting a wry smile from Simone.

“Perhaps we are overthinking this a touch, why not go see what the menfolk are up to in the yard, this is admittedly mother’s work,” she said, and then her eyes lit up and she raised a finger, “Have you considered what you are giving Gram for the ceremony?”

Lidia blinked dully. “Give?”

“In the Darrowmite tradition, bride and groom give each-other an article of clothing or accessory to wear, during the ceremony and as a token forever after.” Khanenko explained crisply. Simone smiled warmly, and reached into her dress.

“Richart gave me this. I put it in storage when I joined the monastery,” She pulled out a small pendant — a fairly simple locket with no adornment, simply a gold oval with a tiny hinge. She carefully opened it and turned it out on her palm to Lidia, who peered closer. Inside of it rested a single, carefully pressed flower, a rose of some sort, perfectly preserved — but also bearing the scars of fire, crisped and burned around the edges.

“What’s it mean?” Lidia asked, clearly there was more to tell here.

“When we were still young, still courting, my family estate had a lovely rose garden. A fire broke out one summer before our wedding, wildfire from a thunderstorm, and it took with it part of the grounds — and the whole rose garden. I was heartbroken, he’d proposed to me in that garden.” She smiled and turned the locket back around, looking at it. “When we were to be wed, he presented me with this. He’d saved it. Pressed it himself and then paid some visiting alchemist to preserve it. Bought the locket from a local goldsmith.” She pressed it to her breast. “He wanted me to carry it next to my heart, always.”

“Oh.” Dula said in a soft voice, laying her hand over her breast. Lidia as well felt her throat tighten a bit, she’d spent her recent days in the glare of loves great and mighty — something about that, common, careful romance struck her to her core. Simone closed it and tucked it back away.

“It is the meaning that counts, not the value. It is for you, the rings are for the world.”

“What did ye give tae Richart?” She asked with wide eyes, and the taller woman smiled gamely.

“Why don’t you go ask him?”

Lidia gave a little start, and then smiled herself, leaning in and giving the woman a sudden hug, which made it the Baroness’ turn to give a jolt of surprise.

“Thank ye, Simone.” The Baroness sighed and gave herself to the hug for a moment, Lidia popped up and smiled at the others, “Thank all o’ ye,” she said and smiled a bit. “S’good tae be home.”

With a click of her hooves, she hopped up and skittered from the room, surprised by her eagerness to be free from the shackles of propriety, the remaining ladies laughing softly at her, Simone opening a large volume idly as Khanenko saw Lidia out.

“Is that The Prince of Furthest Seas?” She asked, Simone looking up from the careworn book with a smile.

“Why… yes, its my favorite, have you read it?”

“It is my favorite as well.”

Lidia looked back over her shoulder a moment as the two women descended into conversation on the story, a gleam in the two’s eyes of genuine enjoyment finally shining through, she grinned and bounced from the room.

~ ~ ~

Her hooves clicked joyously across the tiles as she all but sprinted from the study, skirting and twirling around many busy folks as she did. Life had returned to the Navel in the absence of Karnov’s forces, the occupation had such a total chilling effect on the population that much like Brigadoon — her first impression had been a wan shadow of what it truly was. There were always people somewhere within the walls, the keep itself a community.

She pushed out past the doors into the yard, and looks trailed after her. She supposed she’d earned a few passing stares, how many girls with hooves did you really see? She’d taken to wearing dresses and skirts for her own pleasure, and it served now in a practical fashion as well. God knows it was more comfortable around her new tail. But trailing skirts and ruffles did only so much, and as she slowed to a walk, even that had changed, the new cant of her dainty, muscular legs caused her to walk with more sway, more hips — drawing the eye lower no matter how demure she tried to be.

The clatter of steel and laughter of men came to her ears as the summer heat warmed the air and grasses beneath the shining sun, the Navel’s overhang bathing everything in a cool dappled shade that contrasted the slashes of sunlight delightfully. She bounced forwards, Gram and Louis were both together at the pell, her loverboy working through forms alongside his estranged brother, both looking significantly more hale and whole. Richart sat nearby with Colette and Tirrah, the tiny fomori and little girl playing some kind of game like knucklebones — the wee little fae having to struggle to catch the little game pieces, each nearly as big as her head. Richart looked up to her from his book, charcoal pencil going still.

“Oh dinnae mind me, jus’ comin’ fer some fresh air,” she said, peering down at his page. The sheet was alive with the faces of his children: Colette, Louis, and yes, her Loverboy all captured in frozen moments of joy, laughter or determination.

“Join me then, it’s a fine day for it.”

She did, sitting down in the grass alongside him, her hooves crossed near his soft shoes. He smiled at that, and closed the sketchbook carefully, tucking a sheet of vellum between the pages to keep them from smudging. “Go on then, ask.”

“Ask what?” Lidia came back, eyes wide. Richart grinned at her.

“I’ve raised more than a few children, Lidia. I can tell when someone wants to ask me something, but hasn’t quite figured out how to say it yet.” He answered plainly, his eyes going back to his children. Colette cheering as she won a toss, Tirrah chattering irritably and clearly demanding a rematch. Lidia tucked her lower lip behind her teeth thoughtfully.

“There’s this tradition Simone told me about,” She began, “An’ exchange o’ gifts, she told me about th’ locket o’ hers.” Richart’s eyebrows went up and he smiled.

“Of course, she tell you the origins?” He asked, and Lidia shook her head, leaning forward eagerly as the scholarly man chuckled a little, adjusting his glasses. “It’s nothing grand, but it emerged out of the original formation of the Kingdom of Darrowmere. When the first Steppefolk clans joined with the High Darrowmites of the mountains, the seasons were brutal. You’ve experienced our rains here, and in the mountains the winters are not to be taken at all lightly — so the first Darrowmite wife to a Steppefolk husband gifted him a warm wolfskin cloak to warm him on their wedding day, and in return he gifted her a pair of lovely heeled boots — all the better to sit a horse.” He smiled and tilted his head thoughtfully, “We’re a romantic people, but a pragmatic one as well. From then on, it is a tradition. Something personal, something for you and your love alone to make your lives together better.”

“Can I ask ye what Simone gave tae ye?” Lidia requested softly, and Richart looked down to her with a broad smile and raised his hand to his gold-rimmed spectacles.

“Why, my glasses.” He said simply, taking them off and looking at them fondly, “I am a touch nearsighted, and before I had this awful, ugly pair of wooden-hinge spectacles. She had these made for me, snuck in and measured me with yarn and string as I slept.” he smiled wider, fixing them upon his nose again. “She as always, has helped me to see things clearly.”

Lidia chewed her lip at that, though she was grinning all the while. She helped him to see, and he helped her to remember. She pondered on that for a moment before leaning in and absently pressing a kiss to the Baron’s cheek, causing the man to flush a bit and look up to her, absently touching it.

“I suppose I should grow accustomed to being kissed by faeries,” He mused as she hopped up and quite gamely loped down the hill, skirts trailing behind her as Tirrah crowed in victory, the rematch apparently won. Cheers for the wiles of the fae.

Down the slope she sprang, her legs felt longer, her new stride letting her practically glide in great springs like the Hart she now claimed the namesake of, perhaps this was her mother’s intent. To ply her with both switch and carrot, truly — she felt magical as she sprang with a neat twist, vaulting a bench onto the practice ring with a neat little cartwheel, bouncing gamely up towards Gram with her arms spread. The nimble soldier spared her only a moment’s glance in between routines — an arm snapped out and he caught her in a swinging motion, hugging her tightly to his middle as she laughed gaily and wound her legs around his waist — the swordsman twirling back he continued the motions, right hand dutifully ringing steel on steel with betrothed in arm.

“’Ello there loverboy, thought I’d come callin’.” Lidia purred, kissing his cheek gamely as he spared her a slight smile, whipping his blade back across the riveted post in a final combination before he hopped back, setting his practice blade point-down on the sandy circle — and turning to take for himself a far more serious kiss. Lidia only managed a little sound of glee before his tongue found its way to hers, and her legs wound a bit tighter.

“Please, spare me a bit,” Louis’ voice rang out, Lidia opening her eyes over Gram’s shoulder to see the hard-eyed young man raise his eyebrows at her impatiently, she broke the kiss with a little sheepish smile.

“What, ye feelin’ left out? Dula nae good at kissin’?” She teased and the strawberry blonde lad rolled his eyes skyward and turned away, bouncing his own practice saber on his shoulder.

“Be nice, little redcap.” Gram said, raising his own eyebrow at the other man. The two were far easier around one another, even here in the tension. She didn’t blame Louis, it wasn’t easy to shake off ten years of fear and suspicion in a tenday — and she was still rather shamelessly putting on a public display. That part, she would not apologize for.

“I am bein’ nice,” she countered, swinging down from his arms with a wicked little grin. “Iffin’ she’s nae good at kissin’ she ought tae learn, Louie deserves it aye?” She said, shooting the young man an arch little look and he colored a bit and coughed into his mustaches.

“Not everyone is as comfortable with their feelings as you two are, if you don’t mind,” He grated with a smile that was highly strained, “Please.”

“Oh she’s good.” Lidia pursued, and let out a little cry of displeasure as Gram quite pointedly drubbed her on the nose with two stern fingers, giving him a sour look in return.

“Leave my brother be, he and Dula are well enough on their own.” Gram chided her, and she frowned dramatically but gave the young man a smile. She gathered both his hands in hers and drew him back, turning her gaze to Louis with wide, innocent eyes.

“I’m gonna borrow ye brother for a spell, iffin’ ye dinnae mind?” She asked thoughtfully, and the younger man met his brother’s eyes who simply shrugged. Louis nodded and Gram artfully tossed his practice saber to the lad, the youth catching it deftly and turning on his heel to the nearby table where flasks and cups waited to cool the summer heat. Lidia tugged her loverboy back a bit from the sandy circle. “Tae much?” she asked Gram after. He nodded.

“Louis is not like Bart nor Alphonse, he’s more private about his heart.” He said, casting a brief look at his brother, mopping his brow and taking a draught from the waterskin nearby. Lidia frowned, squeezing Gram’s hands nervously.

“T’was jus’ a bit o’ jest,” she sighed and the tall man simply kissed her brow.

“A minor misstep, the first of many unavoidable ones. So is the joining of two houses.” He said, and she smiled at that, looking over at him again.

“How is he, really?” She asked, looking up at him with questioning eyes. Gram pursed his lips as he considered his words, Lidia drawing him a bit closer, more intimate.

“Not well. Karnov had his teeth in him firm. He spent some time trying to convince me of his point of view before it became clear I was not the one he was trying to talk into believing.” Lidia trembled at that, leaning her head into Gram’s chest. Must have taken a lot to say what he had to her, in private. She bit her lip, and her heart went out to the lad. She knew so many lost, angry men like him. Kull loved them best, they were always ready to please. To prove themselves.

“Poor lad,” she said… and she did not pity him. She worried. She supposed that made him family then, didn’t it? She turned her gaze back to her loverboy then, giving his hands a little squeeze. “How ‘bout you, loverboy? How goes it?” She asked, pointedly squeezing his right hand, the riding glove ill-fitting for the everyday purpose it had been thrust into, but serving. Gram shrugged, taking the hand back and peering at it. At a glance, one could mistake it for naught but a glove itself, or perhaps an inkstain or birthmark, but anything more than passing attention made the sleek, waxy texture of his chitinous digits clear.

“It serves and it does not as it pleases. The saber reminds it most clearly of its purpose.” He said cryptically, tugging at his glove irritably. He avoided looking at the limb, and it seemed moreso as he grew accustomed to it, he also grew resentful. She frowned.

“Does it feel different?” She asked, and then reached out and finger by finger once more, plucked that glove free. Artfully tossing it away to the nearby table before he could protest. She drew those black fingers into hers, against her cheek. The alien smoothness, the waxy cling of his softer fingertips, it was all still new and shocking to her — but she leaned into it with a soft exhale, capturing him with those slitted eyes. “Do I feel different?”

Gram’s eyes were lost for a moment as his fingers stiffened, trembled, and finally allowed themselves to trace along her face, she caught his thumb with her lips gently, kissing it as she pressed her mouth to his palm and the softer, tacky flesh there. “God… yes…” he breathed, and there was misery and wonder in that tone. “Yet not as you think, it is as if… I have never truly touched you before, as if my human senses put lie to the… wonders of your flesh.” His voice shuddered as he tried to draw away again, and she allowed it after a long moment, fingers dragging along his own. “It is too much. Brohn!” He said softly, turning away from her a little, favoring the hand.

Out from the mess of effects and tools near Louis popped the black, beady eyes of the little raven. Who gave a clipped little caw and hopped down from the table over to Gram’s side. He’d grown large again in the days since, easily close to a size of an adult bird now, and still white as snow from head down. Dutifully he hopped over to where Gram stood. “My glove, please.” The little bird turned its head until it located the garment on the table.

“Brohn?” She asked with a little smile as the bird hopped over to the table’s edge, peering up at it. Gram rubbed his wrist idly.

“Alphonse and Father Denis helped me come up with it,” He said with one of those subtle little smiles. “Seemed unseemly to keep calling him just ‘little raven’.” Brohn made a disgruntled little caw, hopping around the table a few times. No chairs were nearby, all pulled elsewhere. He fluffed his plumage irritably.

“What’s it mean?” She asked, the name familiar to her. Gram raised an eyebrow.

“An old eastern marches name, looking to your own heritage for inspiration,” he said, shrugging as Brohn tilted his head again. “It means raven.” The little changeling giggled at that, putting her hands on her hips as they watched the white raven ponder its task.

“Ye thought it unseemly callin’ him raven in th’ common tongue so ye did it in th’ old one?” She teased him and the tall cavalier chuckled a little. Brohn himself turned and gave her an indignant little caw, straightening his posture a moment as Gram smiled.

“He rather seems to like it.”

“So he does.” Lidia agreed with a little smile of her own. The bird considered his options again, Gram cleared his throat, getting the raven’s attention.

“It is rather far up.” He suggested mildly, the bird clacking its beak at him before turning around and hopping in an irritated little circle around the table again. Gram sidled closer to Lidia, “He is afraid to fly.”

“Truly?” Lidia exclaimed, looking back to the bird as it looked around, then spied a broom leaning nearby. Gram nodded.

“I have been attempting to get him to do so, but at each test there is fear in his eyes and he finds his way back to somewhere safe, pockets, a satchel — my father, frequently.” He explained as the little raven hopped over, and with a series of grasping clamps of beak and talons, climbed the broom handle until it could tip it over. With a clatter, it landed against the table, and up Brohn went. Plucking Gram’s glove from the tabletop he hopped back almost smugly to present it to the cavalier, who sighed.

“Not th’ first time he’s done that I’m guessin’?” Lidia asked, and Gram’s smile was strained as he knelt, taking his glove back from the little bird, pulling it on.

“Not by half. He grows more clever to simply avoid the task.” Shaking his head, the tall man offered his arm to the raven, who hopped up and onto his shoulder as he stood. “Willful and smart, at the very least he does not bite like Bayard.”

Brohn clacked his beak pointedly, as if to say ‘yet.’

“Figures, wore him around my neck most of a season and yet somehow he still obtained your cheek.” Gram lamented, drawing Lidia closer, giving her a gentle and warm kiss. She was quick to forgive him when he kissed her, and he knew it — and that he’d been distracting her from the worry.

“I am well, little redcap. How are you?”

Lady’s Teats there he went doing it again.

“Ah’m… fine really, I miss me cute boots a mite.” She said, looking down, scuffing her dainty hooves up against his own soft riding boots. He cupped her face in both hands, the leather oddly less welcome than the alien touch of his new fingers. She’d already grown attached to the newness if nothing else. “There’s… a lot I dinnae think about yet. I can bathe, I can walk, an’ I can go tae the privy clean, nae much else tae worry ‘bout yet aye?” she asked, and there was a begging in her for him to agree, to reassure her.

“Very pragmatic, very much what I would like to hear.” Gram said astutely, stroking her cheek. “Now, tell me the things you are afraid to.”

Horror welled up in her as she immediately had a thousand, thousand answers eager to gush forth, a legion of anxieties washing over her, and she shook her head as if to deny he’d said them, deny the flood of responses eager to break free and take her sanity with them.

“Will th’ Lady still want me iffin’ I’m a monster?”

It babbled out of her unchecked, the tiniest, most inane of insecurities slipping the net and running wild before she could cover her mouth in shame, turning away. It was silly, Cithara loved everyone. She’d loved her, it was silly, childish even to think something like a pair of hooves and a tail would change that — if anything it would give them something to talk about over pipes!

Yet it had spilled out, a wee devil of a thought that had nagged and tore at her since she and Karnov had squared off in his room. The understanding that others, plain, normal humans might not like The Lady, might defy her divinity had been but one of many blows to her already shaky worldview. Faith was a new concept for her, and one she struggled with yet. Gram looked into her eyes calmly — yet it was not from he that the answer came. Brohn hopped from his shoulder to hers, light as a feather and with a warbling coo, he pressed his beak under her chin. Lidia felt something flutter in her belly as the raven’s soft little caws of happiness made it even harder to keep a straight face, a bizarrely silly creature. She couldn’t help herself, she folded him up in her arms and he happily tucked in close.

“There is your answer.” Gram said softly, drawing his betrothed close once more. “That, is love and she is its Queen, and I its merry soldier. We know our own.”

“I… jus’ needed tae hear it, out loud I think.” She admitted. This would be one of those moments she’d look back on in many years hence and feel foolish, she knew. But better to live to feel foolish about doubts than die with them, fearful and lost. She laced her fingers with his, and a spark of an idea threaded through her mind. She knew what to give him now.

“Hey!” Came an impatient bark from their rear, Lidia turned just in time to catch another training saber as it came spinning lazily through the air at her. Eyes dilating with irritation, she curled her lip at the offender — Louis as he stood there, tapping his own steel against his thigh. There was a hard look in his eye, but he wore a wry smile. “If you’re going to occupy space on the green, you’re going work. Skirt or not.”

She grinned back at him and twirled the saber to the ready, “Oh aye?”

“You took my partner, least you can do is make up the difference.” Louis said, raising his saber up, bouncing the spine on his shoulder. “I believe you owe me a round still.”

“Ye think yer good enough?” She answered gamely, all that nervous energy having a place to go as Gram rolled his eyes skyward, offering his arm to Brohn, who eagerly hopped to.

“Do you think you are?” Louis countered and Lidia grinned, all fangs and eagerness.

“No hitting, I would rather no black eyes or broken noses on at my wedding.” Gram asked as the pair eagerly hopped to the forms, the protest lost in the merry clash of steel.