S

I must commend your quick thinking on the day Firemaster Fionn joined the council. Your abrupt flight to Dromán provided the best excuse to keep him nearer. Without Conleth keeping him in Penance, he could have fled, too. Now, he will be right where we need him when the time comes.

A.

***

A cold midnight breeze rolled through a window of the Triad’s North Wing, caressing the hairs on the back of Fionn’s neck. They immediately stood on end, responding to the whisper of the wind.

Fionn shrugged off a shiver that ran through his body, not paying much mind to the Healer who closed the window shut.

“You shouldn’t be here, you know,” she said, nodding towards the patient on the bed. “In his state, he’d barely know the difference between being awake and asleep; and he’s very far from acknowledging the visitors who come here.”

“Then what difference does it make if we stay?” asked Fionn. He had been vague about his intentions to see Cathal Carríga, but the mage’s position amongst the Triad obliged the staff to accommodate his needs. Or the needs of Sir Bearach.

“Well,” said the Healer, holding her hands over her hips. “You’ve got five minutes while I give him his dose. Say whatever prayers you need to say.”

Fionn nodded, clutching the cheap Trinity emblem to his chest. He had purchased it at a reasonable price from the Penance markets earlier that day. Claiming to be a devout representative from the Church seemed to be the best course of action to lie his way into Cathal Carríga’s private chambers.

He took a step towards the dying man. Well, it was said that he was dying, but it was certainly taking him a long time. He seemed as if he could have been a strong youth not so long ago, for a pair of broad shoulders with frail arms suggested the latter were once round with muscle.

Fionn flexed the fingers of his right arm. Even though he hadn’t done an ounce of the training that Sir Bearach did, the muscle mass in his new limb hadn’t deteriorated an inch.

Necromancy, mused Fionn. Gods, we don’t know the first thing about how it works.

Sir Bearach didn’t say a word. In fact, the dead knight hadn’t said anything since Fionn started hatching the plan to re-unite the Carríga brothers. He spent three weeks sitting in on Triad meetings, giving the occasional counsel regarding the ways of the arcane—things trivial by any well-read mage’s standards. All he had to do was claim he wished to give Cathal Carríga some ‘holy blessing’ from the cathedral of Dromán, and he was granted access. The patient was only able to receive visitors twice a day—at noon and midnight—due to the timing of his medication.

Fionn moved his hands in a circular motion, something resembling what the druids of the Church would do during sermons, though he wasn’t quite sure what it was supposed to mean. The healer didn’t notice, as she busied herself tending to the patient.

He stood there in silence for the next five minutes, pretending to pray while the healer worked. He dared not let his mind stray from his task, lest he insult the dead knight who was surely watching.

Once the healer was done, she shooed Fionn away, telling him that he’d have to finish his prayers through the door. Instead, he walked away with defeat, cursing himself for having even tried such a foolish endeavour.

I should have thought of something else. I could have given us more time, or picked a time when he was feeling more lucid, or—

No, came Sir Bearach’s voice, more jarring than usual after its previous absence. There was nothing more you could have done. And what you did was far more than I ever expected anyone to ever do for me.

A strange sound echoed from the back of Fionn’s mind. If he hadn’t known any better, he would have thought Sir Bearach was crying.

I once believed my brother was the most honourable man in Alabach, continued the knight. A man who would put the needs of the many before his own, and never expect anything in return. This was what I believed, until this very moment. If I still had knees, they would bend for you, Firemaster Fionn.

The knight’s words made Fionn stop in his tracks. A lump formed in his throat, and his mouth went dry. It was fortunate that he didn’t need to use his tongue to say you’re welcome to the knight. Although it was just a thought, he still stuttered over the words.

Before he could make his way back to his bedchambers on the first floor of the House of the Triad, a sharp cry rang out from somewhere down the hallway. It seemed to belong to a Simian, a female Simian perhaps, but the difference between the two was often hard to discern.

His feet began taking him towards the voice’s source. The portraits of stern-looking men and gruff Simians rushed past either side. At the end of the hallway there were two doors, facing one another.

“Is everything alright?” called out Fionn, not sure where to direct his voice.

“Please, fetch the guards!” cried the hysterical voice. “Skies above, what have they done?”

For a moment Fionn considered leaving immediately to get help, but curiosity guided his hand to the door. When he pushed it open, Fionn cursed himself under his breath. But the dead knight in his head swore louder than the screaming Simian woman inside. A bloodied Simian corpse lay at her feet.

***

It took Farris more than a moment to gather his thoughts and figure out where he was. The summer sun had risen earlier that morning than it had all year, shining light into his weary eyes.

Nicole’s cabin was tiny and sparse, furnished with as much as a hovel of the Dustworks would hold. The door was immediately adjacent to the bed, close enough to prevent it from opening all the way. Beside this was a dusty window, looking out into the hangar floor, and a squat iron-bound chest, large enough to contain everything one needed to live in such a squalid abode, but still quite smaller than what Farris would have considered sufficient. The air was thick and musty, and carried a strange humming sound that seemed somewhat familiar to him.

The engineer herself stirred beside Farris. Although there had been little intimacy the previous night, the two Simians lay next to each other, partially naked, with arms and legs wrapped around one another so tightly that Farris had trouble discerning her limbs from his own.

Nicole grunted as she woke, turning to face Farris. Her eyes stared back into his and shone to through the dim light. In silence, the two looked at one another, as if neither wanted to ruin the moment with speech.

Don’t let it end. By the Shadow of Sin, don’t let it end.

Without any warning, Nicole leaned towards Farris and placed a gentle kiss upon his lips. She did it so deliberately, so naturally, that Farris had no idea how to respond. It was a kiss unlike anything he had felt before. It didn’t seem rooted in passion or formality. He certainly didn’t instigate it, nor did he expect it. Nicole just did it, completely unprovoked, without meaning to imply anything further. It just… was.

“Good morning,” she said, shuffling as she lay. She rested her head between Farris’s shoulder and bicep; the rest of his arm stretched outwards and disappeared somewhere beneath Nicole’s torso.

“Are you alright?” Farris asked, choosing his words carefully, daring not to ruin the moment by mentioning the mechanical abomination from the previous night.

“Yes,” she muttered. “I was just in shock, that’s all.”

“Sure,” replied Farris. He didn’t quite believe it was as simple as that.

“But I’m pretty shocked at you, too,” she said, looking up at him with a smile. “You’re not nearly as bad as they made you out to be.”

“Is that so?” laughed Farris. “What was it they said about me?”

“That you were the king’s boot-kisser,” she said, turning to snuggle her back into his chest. “That you were a follower of the Church now and grown far too comfortable living amongst the Humans of Cruachan.”

“And you no longer believe this?”

Nicole hesitated. The strange sound of humming somewhere in the room seemed to grow louder than before. “Most of it,” she said. “Your heart is in the right place, even if your brain isn’t.”

“Ha! And what’s that supposed to mean?”

She considered him for a moment. When she spoke, she did so slowly, as if to a child. “What you said when we met, about Divine Penetrance and all that. Do you actually believe it?”

“It’s not a matter of belief,” he said, perhaps a little more harshly than he intended. “Humans believe King Diarmuid to be invincible just because they are told to. It’s faith alone that brings them to this conclusion. But I’ve reached the same using rationality and evidence. There is no room for faith there.”

“Tell me of this ‘evidence,’” she said, turning to grin up at him.

Farris paused. “They call him King Diarmuid, Third of His Name, Nineteenth Incarnate. The ‘third’ is because there have been two King Diarmuids before him. And the ‘nineteenth’ represents the number of kings that have ruled Alabach since the Final Conquest.”

“This is common knowledge,” said Nicole.

“Yes,” said Farris. “It is. Also common knowledge is the fact that not a single king of Alabach has died before first birthing a son.”