Chapter Iv

Crown Princess Lena

Florentine had agreed, and their escape to Sapphos had begun.

The night before the wedding a reception was held in the ballroom of the palace. Anyone who was anyone was in attendance, emptying out the surrounding district. Lena and Alexander were the stars of the show and were entirely without a single moment to themselves. Their plan would’ve sank in drydock had Alexander not been willing to lend a hand, and the genuine happiness in their expressions and movements that had been sorely missing from their prior appearances banished any inkling of any outcome apart from a blisteringly successful wedding. It relaxed the attendees into a state of decadent content. It was the place to be, the biggest party of the century proceeding the biggest wedding of the century. It would be stupid to not indulge to the fullest possible extent.

The pair played their part through introductions and dinner, speeches and dances, right through to around midnight when propriety and correct conduct had been observed, and the reception became a party. Drunken mingling, impromptu dancing, merriment and joy of a less structured nature. Alcohol—and drugs no-one admitted to smuggling in—flowed freely and the guests were all too happy to partake. Alexander chose that moment to approach King Ludwig and his father, and proposed a game of reckless decadence that appealed too much to their fragile masculine egos to ignore. He hadn’t shared with her exactly what that entailed, but she trusted that the boisterous collision of the three men would be enough to drag the spotlight off her. And it did, for a precious few seconds during which she slipped out.

She trend lightly until she’d broken free of the nucleus and flew up the flights upon flights of stairs to her room, winding herself in the thrill of the clandestine and had to stop for a short breather.

Any abnormalities would’ve almost certainly been noted by the cavalcade of handmaids, so everything they needed for their journey would be taken care of by Elfi and Florentine. All would be waiting for her at Woodland. She grabbed a letter opener with an ornate jewelled handle from her top drawer and used it to shred the laces keeping her dress together. Every cut and tear and perforation brought about guilt at the destruction of hundreds of Elfi’s work hours. This was one dress she wouldn’t be able to sell in the aftermath. Lingering on the shreds of fabric scattered all over the floor lit her face with a smile. Lena changed into her subtlest outfit, her horse riding attire, and stepped up to the double doors leading outside, passed through to the balcony, and looked down to the buildings below.

One final glance to the museum of her past struck a sentimental match in her chest and flared blinding nostalgic light for but a second before being snuffled, leaving only the lingering whisps of smoky darkness. Lena’s eternal light lay on the shores of Sapphos, however far away it may be. Her mind turned to the journey ahead and a new fire lit in her chest that provided enough hot air to see her safely to the ground. She thought about the first time she’d snuck out via her bed chambers window—the night she’d met Elfi. That sense of daring, adventurous potential returned with the unashamed enthusiasm only a child could muster.

Lena took her crystal infused staff from where she’d propped it on the balcony, and jumped. The ground rushed up at her. Air slapped at her face and tugged on her hair. Only seconds remained for her to steady her breathing, focus her mind and arcane ability on slowing her descent. Unlike her first attempt, the channelling, helped immensely by the crystals in her staff, came after only a few seconds and she found herself able to control her rate of descent, gliding smoothly down to the close between two buildings across the street—fifteen stories below.

Burning lungs guided her hand to the nearest wall as she stopped to catch her breath. No matter how hard she practiced or what crystal infused crutch she employed, her arcane fitness had never been able to rise much beyond what it was when she was young. That deficiency was a shame guarded with unrivalled ferocity. That earlier night at the opera played itself back in her head. The anger drove her on.

Stealth wasn’t necessarily mandatory for the next phase of her plan. Anybody who was anyone would still be at the reception, guards would be reassigned to the palace, and everyone else would be tucked up in bed. That didn’t preclude the possibility of getting caught, but it provided some comfort to Lena, and the faint reverberations of the Royal Dawn Stone National Orchestra drifting through the air played a constant reminder of their inebriated ignorance.

She ducked out of the close and across to the next, zigzagging her way towards the inner wall. Buildings in the inner city were large, gaudy, pedantically elaborate manors with ample clearance around each for open gardens complete with grass cut to specification, flower beds arranged into elaborate patterns, and ponds hemmed in by sculpted hedges. Between them were wide streets. The issue of excessive opulence had only been exasperated in the previous centuries due to the city’s lack of conflict, massive wealth brought in from overseas trade, and a handful of successful colonial ventures. Industrialisation had caused their value to skyrocket in the last couple of decades owing to the massive increase in the density of the outer city. Having even a small garden slapped a couple of extra zeros onto the price tag.

Some of the manors had entire wings devoid of habitation, there only for the outward spectacle. Precious jewels and gemstones adorned expensive, masterfully crafted statues and murals, hundreds of servants and groundskeepers buzzing around throughout the day, garden parties and social gatherings every weekend, and carriages for every occasion that cost as much as a two-story apartment in the outer city. All of it paled in comparison to the royal family’s expenses, but the collective wealth in just the immediate area around her could’ve sustained a mid-sized village for several decades.

For the duration of wedding festivities, that collective wealth, status, and governance was focused into a single point in the palace’s ballroom. Ambassadors and dignitaries from several other nations made for the most diverse event Lena had attended in a while. They’d even gone to the trouble of constructing a tank on wheels for the ambassador from Cyater Katal and opened the roof hatch for the Draconis Realms ambassador.

Lena came to a corner, poked her head round the side of the hedgerow. Down the road to her left, between herself and the next street she needed, a pair of drunks were laughing at a third as they tried to do something with a stack of barrels. One of them gestured wildly with a wine bottle and smashed it against the trunk of a nearby tree, looking down at the remainder as if it had spontaneously shattered itself. The other giggled, adjusting his powdered wig to fit worse than before.

Lena took a second to contemplate a way past. Switching to an alternate route was an option, and she’d already chosen one in her head, but it involved going right along the front of Lord LeFevre’s manor and round, a detour of several minutes she couldn’t afford—not when someone could barge into her bed chamber to find her shredded dress at any minute. No, she was sticking to the original route. She watched the drunks for a minute more and determined that they were entirely absorbed by their antics. So, needless-to-say, she’d barely gotten a handful of steps when the one with the bottle happened to turn around and lock eyes with her for several agonising, long seconds. Lena’s breath caught in her throat when he swayed his way over to her, throwing an arm round her shoulders and guiding her back to his friends.

“I…I’ve got so shlep!” he announced.

“You’ve got wine,” the second corrected. “What about that help?”

“Right here.” He slapped her back.

“Good! Good!” The third turned away from the barrel. “We need you”—and he gestured to Lena—“to help us break into this barrel.”

She narrowed her eyes at the dented, scarred barrel. Several tools had been abandoned on the cobbled stone street. “And what’s in the barrel?”

“Booze!”

“No, thanks,” the first one replied, holding up the jagged neck of his smashed wine bottle. “I’ve got enough.”

Extricating herself from the group would only serve to draw attention to herself. If they hadn’t yet recognised her, she decided not to give them an excuse to look closer. She rounded the barrel until she came across a faded stamp on the far side that read Hops. “Hops.”

The second leaned onto one leg and started hopping around, somehow managing to sway perfectly into each new movement like an intoxicated ballerina. “Happy?” he slurred. “What does the barrel say?”

“Hops.”

“Can we drink hops?”

“Hops is used to make bear, idiot!” the first snapped.

The third knitted his brow in thought. “Bear? Then what do they use to make beer?”

“A brewery!” the second answered, looking pleased with himself. He looked to Lena and gave a smiling nod of appreciation, a look that linger until… “Hey,” he said, eyes widening with recognition. “You’re the princess!”

Lena stiffened. Drunk or not, these wayward nobles could sink her plan like the kraken upon the ship of hapless sailors. Her mind raced, gridlocked in inaction. Florentine would’ve known how to get out of this situation. How would she deal with this situation had it been in the ballroom instead of on the street?

The first squinted at Lena, and hiccupped, then looked back to his friend. “What the fuck are you on about? The princess is inside getting married and shit!”

“I’m serious! This is the”—hic—“princess! She’s got a staff a-and…hair, and stuff!”

“You’re being ridiculous!” He turned to the third. “What do you think?”

Lena’s heart surged, breathing shallowed. Imaginings of her being returned to her father and dragged out to the alter with a full guard, never to leave the inside of Alexander’s house again. Countless days spent going round and round and round the same routine until it was time to return to take up the throne. Energy surged out from her heart to the tips of her extremities. She pictured a fireball in her hand, and warmth spread across her palm.

“I think we need to get into this fuckin’ barrel,” he slurred. “You’re the one getting this young possibly princess dragged into our skulduggery.”

The first rounded the barrel and put his free hand around the soon-to-be former princesses shoulders. “Now, tell us, are you the princess?”

She could end the encounter now. All she had to do was press her palm into one of the nobles and the alcohol fumes alone would set them alight, but the thought of that scared her enough to extinguish the flame. Lena steadied her thrumming heart. Dealing with intoxicated noblemen was her specialty. It was a huge part of her education. Irrespective of setting, the principle was the same. “I am,” she admitted. “I’m eloping with my lover on the eve of my wedding.” She held their anticipation in her hand for several seconds, then burst into laughter. The trio followed. “In truth, I’m a strumpet play acting the part of the princess for Lord…LeFevre. Quite the convincing outfit, don’t you think?”

The second nodded vehemently. “Exquisite!” he beamed. “You had us completely fooled.”

Lena bowed her head, feigning flattery. “Thank you, but I really must hurry along. Milord is expecting me in his bed chambers before he retires for the night.”

“Don’t let us keep you.” The first withdrew. “LeFevre can be a real grumpy arsehole when he doesn’t get his way. Dick.”

“But what about the hops?” the third whined.

The second swung to slap him up the back of the head and missed, but both acted as if it had connected. “We don’t need some strumpets help to get our beer!” He dropped to his knees and launched at the barrel with his teeth, gnawing at it like a dog and growling appropriately.

The other two looked upon their friend with deadly seriousness. Lena used the distraction to slowly back away. Voices from behind caught her attention and she looked around—guards! An elderly man in a fancy nightgown shuffled along with the assistance of his walking stick, flanked by a couple of guards who looked resentful of being dragged away from the lavish festivities to take care of what Lena assumed to be the disturbance caused by the drunkards. She couldn’t run now. That would be like setting off a flare above her head. Instead, she stepped out of the direct light of the streetlamps and slapped a hand to her forehead. It wasn’t hard to put on a guise of annoyance at the act before her.

The trio rounded the corner, and one of the guards sighed audibly while the other rolled their eyes. This recognition rendered Lena almost invisible as they proceeded to deal with the drunkards yet again, evidently acquainted with all involved. Lena continued backing towards a nearby close.

“Unhand me!” The one with the bottle cried as one of the guards took his arm. “Ladies and gentlemen—this is democracy manifest!”

“Please, sir,” the exasperated guard almost pleaded. “Come back to the reception or let me take you home.”

The third pitched in. “Not until we get our bear hops!”

Then the second said something that flash-froze Lena’s core. “We were just having oh so much fun with the princess.” And he pointed in her direction.

Lena nearly threw herself into the safety between buildings, but the two guards didn’t even bother to humour the drunkards intoxicated claims. The steady, stealthy approach suddenly seemed like a terrible idea, the anxiety stirring in the pit of her stomach getting to her, and Lena took off at a sprint for her destination.

The inner wall grew and grew and grew until it filled the entire field of her vision; looking up at it from below was dizzying. For so many years, this had been the boundary of her existence with few exceptions. It had never looked so oppressive when she was a child.

Built against the bottom of the wall was an unassuming stone shack with only a single sign marking it as Ministry of Defence property and to keep out giving it any personality. Lena’s eyes went straight to the figure standing outside and the ordeal with the drunks slipped away from her mind. Florentine wore a simple black outfit of a shirt and trousers with practical hiking boots that wouldn’t look out of place in any typical hunting party. Her hair was styled into a handsome pixie cut that complimented her sharp jawline and feminine features. The whole ensemble highlighted the former Knight-Captains muscular, lean physique and pretty-boy androgyny. Lena grinned up at her waiting partner with love hearts in her eyes. A gentle breeze tousled Florentine’s hair.

“Dashing as ever, milady,” she said.

Lena reached up to run a finger along Florentines jaw, licking her lips as her gaze landed on her partners steely eyes. Florentine’s habitual use of milady flew over her. “You are so incredibly beautiful,” she said. “Let’s find Sapphos together.”

Florentine nodded, smiled, and guided Lena inside to where an old friend sat on a three-legged stool in the centre of the shack, surrounded by racks of weaponry, calling back to the first time Lena had snuck out this way. Syn Bombardier’s broad, jovial smile illuminated the room, his heavy-set frame rising from the stool, arms spread wide. Lena hugged him. He was older, movements stiffer, hair silver save for a handful of struggling black hairs. His moustache, somehow, had retained its full bushy colour.

“Thank you ever so much for this,” she said with a courtesy after the hug parted. “I’m eternally grateful to you for taking this risk for us.”

Syn sniffed, having begun to well up during the hug. “I couldn’t resist. You’ve been good to me all these years, and it’s been a privilege to be counted amongst your friends.”

“Coming out of retirement to help out is too much.”

“Ach, nonsense! They’ve been pullin’ veterans and cadets in from all over to help with the extraordinary demands of the weddin’. I would’ve been here no matter what.”

“If they question you, be sure to tell them you had no choice.”

“Absolutely, milady.”

Florentine crossed to a bare section of wall.

Lena took his hand, squeezing. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to break our agreement.”

Syn flashed the same mischievous smile he had when they’d first met. “It’s goin’ t’ be hard,” he said, “ but I think I can forgive you.”

“Thank you.”

The pair embraced once more as the laboured grinding of stone-on-stone rumbled around them. Lena seized the initiative, leading Florentine into one of the many escape tunnels under the inner wall. Many dalliances to the outer city over her teenage years had engrained the optimal route into her memory, avoiding the plethora of dead ends, blind drops, looping passageways, and that one cavern with the rickety bridge over an infinite chasm. Florentine hadn’t believed her on that one until a not-so-romantic date to show her.

They came to a rickety old ladder that led to a short tunnel ending in a wooden panel. Lena slid it aside. A row of uniforms hanging from labelled hangers filled the space. She slid them out of the way, and leaned in to crack the door. They’d emerged into a constabulary. Back when she was a teenager and the building served only as a garrison, finding freedom to sneak over to the stairway to the roof was easy owing to the rigid patrol schedule of the soldiers. Since it had been converted to serve as a constabulary, the volume of staff had increased as specialists in various fields were drafted in, support staff were hired, and a the scope of upholding the law expanded from simply keeping the peace and making arrests. Had they attempted to sneak out during the day, or at night during any other period of time, the building would’ve been packed. But in the early hours of the day, the building sported only a minimal staff who were stretched thin and fatigued from the massive increase in workload over the last few weeks.

Lena pushed the doors open. The rows of fragile bunks had been replaced by rows upon rows of shelving and cupboards and chests. Some were marked with specific equipment while others were blank. Against one wall racking sported a multitude of different weaponry from the latest in gunpowder arms to older, archaic melee weapons. Wardrobes identical to the one they’d crawled out of were labelled with the style and size of the uniforms contained within. Down at the far end of the room, the quartermaster leant atop her desk beneath the slot in the wall, thumbing through the newspaper, occasionally attempting to whistle, sighing frequently. To her left, the way out was a heavy iron-reinforced door, bolted and locked.

Florentine tapped her shoulder and shot of a series of self-explanatory hand gestures telling her to stay where she was and be quiet. Lena nodded and sunk back into the shadows, clutching her staff.

Florentine’s body language flipped to that of a seasoned solder, her aura freezing over to cool detachment, and she crouch-walked up behind the quartermaster without a single sound. Her hands struck out, arms wrapping round the quartermasters neck. She dropped onto her back to clamp her thighs around the quartermasters waist. Lena watched the quartermasters arms and legs flail, hands weakly pawed at Florentine in a desperate bid to escape. The only sounds were the faint rustling of cloth and gargled gasps of the quartermaster. Discomfort wormed its way up Lena’s spine. Over the years, she’d heard many of Florentine’s stories from the war and other skirmishes, but couldn’t think of a time she’d ever experienced real violence outside of drunken punch-ups and the firing of guns during parades. Seeing Florentine change like that unsettled her.

Florentine gave her the thumbs up, then dragged the limp, but still breathing, body to the back of the store and tucked her away out of sight. Lena went straight for the door and saw that, for all its intimidating bulk, it was secured only by a single lock and several deadbolts. A glance towards the slot in the wall confirmed it too small to crawl through, so she opened the bolts and placed her finger against the cold metal of the lock—reminding her of her poor attempt to break into Elfi’s. She focused her arcane energy into the tip of her finger, imagining the burning heat of a blacksmiths forge focused onto that single point. The lock warmed, then glowed a soothing orange. Lena’s finger burned and yet didn’t burn her, and she pressed it against the once solid metal, feeling it give way. Molten metal dripped down the door. Her lungs burned, limbs grew heavier.

All at once her finger breached the other side and she slumped to the floor, using the last of her strength to manoeuvre away from the puddle of cooling metal.

Florentine rushed over to her, the gentle twinkling of keys accompanying her. “What are you playing at?” She dropped to her knees, cupping Lena’s dank cheek with her free hand. “I’ve got the keys right here.”

“This…was more…fun,” she panted, mustering a smirk.

“Can you walk?”

“I’m a little out of puff, but nothing that won’t recover.”

“Stay here, recover your strength. I’ll scout out the rest of the route.”

Lena nodded. Florentine helped her stand so she could get out the door. For a while, all she could hear was the ambiance of faraway banter from the tired staff counting down the time to the end of their shift and some burgeoning activity from outside. She felt disconnected from them, locked away in the corner of a stout, sturdy building. She popped her head out, checked both directions of the corridor—the nostalgic recall of the layout coming back to her—and set off for the spiral stairway to the roof. Voices changed her direction, new doors or altered hallways tested her improvisation. The route had been agreed upon ahead of time when they’d planned the escape the previous night, those new plans melding with the old image in her head. Florentine would be somewhere—

Lena walked straight into a soldier. They rebounded, mumbled apologies, their eyes met. Shock set in. She couldn’t overpower him. Recognition flickered in his eyes like a machine sputtering to life.

“Y-Your Majes—?”

BONK!

He crumpled to the ground.

Florentine wasted no time hooking her arms under the soldiers and dragging him off to some side room nearby. Lena puffed out a breath. Around her the hallway warped. Too close. Far, far too close.

Florentine returned long enough to wave her over. They made haste along the remainder of the planned route towards the spiral staircase. Lena’s heart slowed again as the scope of her narrow miss solidified and the adrenaline drained back to the steady amount required to keep her heightened not panicky, and soon excitement at the thrill of it all returned to the forefront. They ascended the stairs.

Back when it had first been constructed, the constabulary stood with a wide clearance in every direction and was built to resemble a small castle in itself to serve as a fortified position should the outer wall ever be breached. The outer wall was never breached and relative peace led to a booming population, denser city planning, and the space around the building evaporated. Standing atop the three story building was thrilling. Lena smiled at the moonlit city as she leapt to the neighbouring roof, landing with a slight fumble. She looked back at Florentine who’d watched the stunt with pale-faced horror.

“You’re the last person I expected to be scared of a little hop,” she teased.

Florentine regained herself and followed with the grace of a seasoned acrobat. “Sorry,” she replied. “This is going to take a bit of getting used to.”

Lena popped up onto her tiptoes to land a peck on her lips. “And if I told you I jumped from my bed chamber earlier?”

“You what?! You told me you were going to sneak out one of the emergency escape tunnels!”

“I wasn’t lying; I did sneak out an emergency escape route.”

Florentine rubbed her temple. “Please, just be safe.”

Lena winked. “Always.”

She turned and hopped to the next roof, then the next and the next, and kept going in the direction of the Waterfront until they came across a safe way down to the ground: a ladder beside the staff entrance to Madam Champagne’s Brothel. The buildings of the inner city were crammed together into a tightly woven fabric; narrower streets and cramped closes snaked between them, balconies and window ledges stretching out to block the narrow sliver of sky above. Some buildings had walkways, bridges, archways connecting them. Clothing lines stitched both sides of the street together. At ground level, the distinction between older and newer buildings was stark: older buildings followed a utilitarian, featureless brutalist design born out of a need for fortification, whereas the newer buildings were expressive and unique, the fingerprints of the architect who birthed each block evident.

Lena and Florentine came to the mouth of the close. The street ahead of them ran parallel to the river and had the sleepy morning buzz of artisans rising early to prepare their goods for the upcoming wedding—perhaps the busiest day of the decade. Publicly run institutions had a holiday for the occasion and several other major industries had followed suit. Smaller businesses, mainly in the service industry, were going all in for the occasion, advertising themed goods and services and special offers to draw in the tourists. Business had been ramping up for weeks prior to the celebration, but the insanity of the last six days was unrivalled.

Between the gas lamps and lightening sky, the cover of darkness was slipping away, but Lena and Florentine could still make their way unnoticed in the stretching, angular shadows of morning. Shop fronts ran the entire length of the street, their vibrant and colourful exteriors dulled by dim air, but they’d all soon be shouting for the attention of the glut of tourists and natives who’d swarm the district in a few short hours. A series of long, narrow planters ran up the centre of the street presenting newly planted flours, and between them were the dormant skeletons of street stalls. Every single premises had invested in wedding livery, bunting hung above, lamps had special banners flying from them.

Lena stared up at the royal coat of arms undulating in the tugging breeze. The icon was so prevalent in her everyday life that she’d long since stopped giving it any thought, but out in the outer city its elaborate, colourful design and high quality fabric struggled to merge with the aesthetic around it—purposefully, she knew. A constant reminder that the royal family were held above the ordinary citizens as near divine beings, below only the Crystalline Goddess herself. One of the many sermons Lena had sat through as a calling of her position replayed in her head. Then High Priestess Marianne Dubois droned on and on about the history of their kingdom, her family, the Crystalline Goddess, and how they were all inseparably intertwined, raised divinely to rule. A thousand years of tradition hammered into her skull like a wooden stake. The sight of those banners tightened her throat. They had to escape. She couldn’t go back to that life.

The Waterfront remained as peaceful as the city at large, but the warehouse district across the river bustled with activity as if the middle of the day. Unloading goods and materials to be shipped to shops, last minute travellers disembarking just in time for the big day, labourers working overtime to keep the behemoth undertaking of the wedding grinding ahead.

A cart came off the bridge up the road and turned towards them, clip-clopping down the stone road towards them, flatbed stacked high with crates and a handful of barrels. A driver, passenger, and someone on the back chatted away. Lena and Florentine turned away to walk in the opposite direction. Woodland was but a short distance away.

Lena cupped her hands against the glass and looked inside. The shop was dark, empty, but the door conveniently unlocked. She grasped Florentine’s hand, dragging her inside and through to the backroom. No sign of Elfi there, either. Lena placed her staff against the wall, dropping into one of the chairs. Her breathing came in clipped, rapid bursts that she struggled to calm. They were so close. Danger would always exist until they got out of the country, but the farther away from the capital they got, the more it waned. And she’d be out of the city, on her own, for the first time in her life, free to go in whichever direction she pleased for however long she wanted. No more itinerary, or the constant buzzing of staff.

The sound of the door opening screamed at her. Elfi came in, relief marking her face when she saw they’d both made it unharmed.

“Did anyone see you come in?” she asked.

Florentine shook her head. “No.”

“I had a run-in with some drunken nobles at the palace,” Lena said, “but I managed to evade them.”

Elfi’s shoulder’s sank. “Okay, so my regular delivery driver, Guillaume, has no idea either of you are going to be in the barrels. As far as he’s concerned, he’s just going out on a regular job to drop off the two barrels and a ream of fabric—which we’ll hide the staff in—to the address”—she looked to Florentine—“you gave me. I’ve got the biggest barrels I could find, but it’s going to be cramped and the journey’s long.

“I’ve sent the items you both had deliver ahead of time along already in a pair of waterproof backpacks I, uhm, requisitioned via a contact in the army. And on the subject of requisitioned items.” She disappeared into the shop and returned with two duffel bags, handing the first to Florentine. “It’s modified leather armour. And by modified, I mean I’ve added concealed sheaths for five throwing knives into each cuff, so you can be discreetly armed at all times. No-one’s finding those in a hurry. Now, needless-to-say, I planned a lot more, but I became hyper-focused on getting that perfect and my already short time got away from me.” She blushed. “Sorry.”

Florentine flashed her a charming smile. “It’s perfect.”

She departed to change, and Elfi handed the second to Lena. “I’ve no such fancy outfit for you, I’m afraid,” she told her. “Sturdy boots, comfy trousers, an airy shirt, and thick jacket. There’s a pair of pyjamas in your backpack, too. I figured you’d appreciate the small luxury.”

Lena listened to Elfi with the focus of an artist committing every detail of a situation to memory. She rose, and took Elfi’s hands. “Thank you,” she said. “I’ll write when we arrive at Sapphos, and thank your mother for the tea.”

Elfi’s eye’s swelled, tears cascading down her cheek, expression twisted and ugly. Her arms wrapped tight around Lena, yanking her into a crushing hug. “You’d better be safe,” she sobbed. Then to Florentine, “you’d better keep her safe!”

Florentine smiled, tipping her head. “Will do, ma’am.”

The hug lasted several minutes, but Lena didn’t mind. This would probably be the last time she ever saw Elfi, like Syn, and Alexander, and her family. She wanted to savour the moment for as long as it lasted, chiselling it all into stone. Elfi had been her most trusted friend and brought uplifting warmth to her life since the second they’d met. Lena squeezed tighter, Elfi’s shirt balled up in fists that didn’t want to let go. Of all the things and people she had to leave behind, Elfi felt most like leaving a part of herself. All of those memories and experiences would travel within them both to the future, and maybe one day they’d reunite.

They parted.

Elfi stepped back, taking her handkerchief from a pocket and dabbing at her drenched cheeks. “The latrine’s out the back if you want last minute peace-of-mind,” she told Lena with a sniffle. “Otherwise, I’ll let you change. I sent Guillaume on a couple of errands that aren’t particularly important; he’ll be back soon.”

Elfi went back through to the shop, leaving Lena to change and use the toilet one last time. When she was ready, she joined the tailor. Two barrels were set aside next to a ream of fabric. She handed Florentine a crowbar and put her to work popping the tops, while directing Lena to the fabric. Together they rolled her crystal infused staff into the centre, binding it securely with several lengths of heavy-duty twine, and ran it through a couple of impromptu tests to ensure it didn’t unravel and that the staff stayed secure.

Florentine helped Lena into a barrel before climbing into her own. They spent a short time finding a comfortable sitting position, an impossible task in such close quarters, so Lena settled for the least painful. She took a series of deep, deliberate breaths, and, after saying one final goodbye to Elfi, nodded to her.

Darkness was hammered in around her.