\hypertarget{chapter-9-more-lies}{%
\chapter{More Lies}\label{chapter-9-more-lies}}



\epigraph{``Gentlemen, there is no need to worry: our plan is flawless. The
Emperor will never see it coming.''}{Grandmaster Ouroboros of the Order of Unholy Obsidian, later revealed
to have been Dread Emperor Traitorous all along}



A few years ago I would have been able to enjoy the beautiful madness
that was Skade as we rode through it, but being apprenticed to Black had
ruined me. Now I was wondering how a city with a population of a several
thousand could manage to feed itself when all the fields around it were
covered in snow. Or who cleaned the streets for them to remain this
pristine. Were there fae street sweepers? If so, were they available for
hire? Marchford didn't look nearly as nice. And that was without even
getting into the logistics of running a monetary system when everyone
and their sister could make illusionary coin. Unless all coin was
illusionary? This entire race was giving me a headache just to think
about. The rest of my companions seemed more concerned with getting
their bearings, which I already knew would be pointless. I'd looked back
after we turned a corner twice now and found an entirely different
street behind us, the second time even on a different floor. The seat of
the Winter Court was nearing Tower-levels of mindfuckery, though at
least it wasn't also full of death-traps and demons. I hoped.

Archer's casual assessment of the Winter King as ``pretty much a god''
wasn't a significantly better alternative, but I'd take what I could
get.

If I was getting out of this with most my organs on the inside, it would
be by picking a story and sticking to it. The fact that'd I somehow
wiggled my way into being the heroine when facing the Rider of the Host
likely meant Arcadia didn't care for my being Evil so long as I
\emph{acted} heroic. That broadened my options a great deal. There were
at least half a dozen tales about some clear-sighted commoner with a
Good heart walking into the court of Callow and unmasking the schemes of
wicked courtiers trying to trap them, though my introducing myself as
the Lady of Marchford might have killed that in the crib. Trickster
stories, then? Trying to outwit fae at the game they'd allegedly
invented struck me as asking for an invitation to a feast that lasted a
century, but with the story on my side I might pull through. Sadly, I
hadn't been abducted by a fairy queen with designs on my virtue so
professing my pure-hearted affections for Kilian would be of no use. To
be honest I wasn't great with temptation anyway. Wouldn't be sleeping
with one of my senior officers if I was.

``Catherine,'' Hakram said in a rasping whisper. ``Watch.''

I glanced at the tall orc, then around us. We were riding through a
marketplace of sorts, filled to the brim with hundreds of fae. Stalls
that were riots of silk and pale wood offered an array of wonders for
perusal. Some one-eyed old man with skin dark as a Soninke's was
offering a bottled wish, moonlight made silver and the heart of a
once-good woman, all set on an elegant quilt of woven winds. Fares just
as absurd stretched as far as the eye could see, the entire plaza much
too large for the width the surrounding walls suggested. I saw Masego
eyeing what a peddler promised to a drop of the blood of the Forever
King with sharp interest, so I kicked his foot. He jumped in surprise
and then coughed in embarrassment.

``You start buying things here and you'll leave with a dozen different
fae owning a slice of your soul,'' I hissed.

He looked mulish.

``It's not like I'm using \emph{all} of it,'' he whispered back.

That was the single most Praesi thing I'd ever heard him say and rubbed
the bridge of my nose in despair. You'd never find a Callowan selling
their soul like that, I thought irritably. Well, except that one time
I'd become a villain. So maybe sometimes you found Callowans selling
their souls like that, but in most cases I felt like my opinion held up.
I glared at Masego anyway, until he gave up with a huff.

``Don't you pout at me, you're a grown man,'' I muttered.

When had I become the voice of reason? People were supposed to talk me
out of things, not the other way around. Still, this felt dealt with so
I turned my attention back to the marketplace. Hakram wouldn't have been
interested in the wares here, I was sure. The orc take on having an
economy was raising cattle, looting other clans and the occasional bit
of barter. Aside from books and booze there wasn't much in Adjutant's
tent and I would know: I riffled through his stuff at least once a month
when I got bored. So what \emph{had} he been trying to point out to me?
I began paying closer to attention to the fae themselves instead of what
they haggled over, but how they were dressed wasn't what caught my
attention. It was how they behaved.

Two fae bargained over a silver chain almost perfunctorily, going
smoothly back and forth until it became clear the man -- who looked like
a noble fallen on hard times, his robes threadbare and his hands without
rings -- could not afford the chain. At which point he publicly bemoaned
his lack of wealth, going on twice as long as he had while bargaining.
There was something wrong here, like they were acting instead of truly
talking. Further away I saw a gorgeous but common woman hacking off her
beautiful golden locks and offering them in exchange for a precious
stone, and that was when it finally \emph{clicked}. On the other side of
the market place I found an earnest-looking man pawning off an heirloom
ring missing its jewel in exchange for a pretty ivory comb. It was an
old tale, one children in Callow grew up hearing about as a warning
about blind good intentions. \emph{They're going through stories}, I
realized. \emph{All of them}. There wasn't a single outcome here in the
hundreds of conversations taking place that wasn't already set in stone.

It was enough to make me shiver. They might almost look like us, but the
fae were \emph{other}. Something apart, obeying completely different
rules. An entire people of actors going through the motions since before
Creation even existed. How many times had they gone through their
stories, I wondered? If Roles were grooves worn into Creation by
repetition, accumulating power by repetition, then these were an entire
race of Named. Everyone from the chimney sweeps to the king himself,
following along the paths set for them. And now I'd just walked into the
midst of that with a lie on my lips, throwing myself headfirst into a
maze of interwoven tales that went back unbroken since the dawn of
existence. Gods Below, this was more dangerous than I could have ever
dreamed of. I forced a smile on my face and sat ramrod straight on my
horse as we passed through the market. I met Hakram's eyes and saw fear
there to mirror mine. \emph{We're in over our head. More so than usual.}

``This must me where we part, Lady of Marchford,'' the Duke of Sudden
Rime announced.

I could see interest and fascination in his too-blue eyes as he watched
us, having long chased away his initial distaste at our presence. For
all that he was more than willing to pawn off responsibility for us to
the Baron. Was this a story as well, I wondered? There might not have
been an exact precedent for my actions today, but if another tale was
close enough they might have moved towards it. Or perhaps not. Their
arguing over who'd be responsible for us had felt too organic, not at
all like the haggling fae behind us. It had felt like they'd been
genuinely unsure of the outcome, no matter how smoothly the conversation
had gone. Still, how much could I rely on that impression? Fae were some
of the greatest liars to ever exist. There were too many unknowns at
play here for me to get a good read on the situation.

``I am \emph{most} certain we will meet again,'' the Marchioness of the
Northern Wind said, flashing hungry teeth. ``I look forward to it
eagerly.''

``I'm sure our dearest Baron will take great care of you,'' the Lady of
Cracking Ice added, smiling at the fae in question.

``Your reception has been most graceful,'' I replied, careful to avoid
even the implication of debt.

The nobles tittered and rode past a house of stone too white to be
anything of Creation, disappearing the moment they turned the corner.
The Baron turned to us, face expressionless.

``As I've not been given instruction by His Majesty to bring you under
his roof, it seems you will be settling in the guest palace,'' he said.

``That will not be necessary, my lord baron,'' a voice intervened.

The fae nobles we'd encountered so far had been sharp-faced with even
sharper tongues, but none of them had struck me as made for strife.
Intrigue yes, and cruelty absolutely but fighting? None of them had the
silent assurance of someone used to taking lives. This one, though,
looked liked he'd been made for war. His mount was ebony, and I did not
mean that in a poetic sense: the horse was sculpted out of dark wood,
polished so perfectly it could have been black marble. The man himself
was wearing a sober long-sleeved tunic with buttons of shade, the sword
at his hip slender and without a sheath. I could feel the power in it,
and not mere sorcery: it felt like sharpness made object, a principle
made into thing. His skin was pale and his cheeks freshly shaved, thin
red lips forming a permanent scowl. A black silken blindfold covered one
of his eyes, silvery writing sprawled across it. I'd never seen someone
who fit the turn of phrase of being \emph{raven-haired} better before:
just looking at the dark locks I could almost hear the flap of wings.

``My Prince of Nightfall,'' the Baron of Blue Lights replied, bowing
low.

``That ought to end well,'' I muttered.

The prince's eye flicked in my direction at the words, meeting my stare.
I matched his gaze and found myself peering into darkness, a night so
dark no stars would ever grace it. I began to drift from my body until I
reached for an older memory, one branded into my soul. I felt my back
snapping again, my bones grinding to dust as the weight above spoke a
single word: Repent\emph{.} \emph{I've stared down Hashmallim},
\emph{fairy, a little dark isn't going to cow me. Night is when villains
rule.} I found myself on the horse again, the Prince of Nightfall
smiling amusedly.

``His Majesty sends his regards, and grants these awaited guests the use
of the Still Courtyard until they can be properly received,'' the
one-eyed creature spoke.

``A great honour,'' I said, which for all I knew could be true.

Well. Fuck. I'd never seriously hoped the Winter King wouldn't know we
were in the city, but him sending what looked like his Court's
equivalent of one of the Calamities had not been the plan. Not that I
\emph{had} a plan, per se, but this definitely wasn't it. Having Aisha
along right about now would have been great, since my companions might
all be Named but between the lot of us all we knew about plotting would
barely fill a page. Written large. There might even be illustrations.

``I look forward to your attendance of Court on the morrow, Baron,'' the
prince said, the implied dismissal clear.

The Baron of Blue Lights bowed gracefully a second time, eyes lingering
on us before he left. Confusion and fear were plain in his gaze. \emph{I
feel for you, my friend}, I thought. \emph{There's probably someone out
there who knows what's going on, but it's sure as Hells not either of
us.} I nodded politely at him and Hakram elbowed Masego so he'd do the
same with the rest of us. There was a long moment of silence with only
the five of us in the street. The Prince of Nightfall smiled at Archer,
somehow conveying a few centuries of hatred in a mere quirk of the lips.

``Did you know, girl, that I once swore if your mistress had a child I
would feed it to her?'' he idly said.

``The Lady of the Lake isn't one for children,'' Archer replied with a
friendly smile of her own. ``She much prefers jewellery.''

While I admired the guts behind mouthing off to the immortal creature
that had night for eyes, I kind of wanted to throttle her right now.
\emph{We don't taunt the monster, Archer. Not when it's already out to
get us.} Oh Gods, was this what it felt like being in charge of me? The
balance of appalled and impressed was miraculously even. How had Black
not had me killed off by now?

``While I'm sure you and the Lady of the Lake have a colourful
history,'' Adjutant said, ``we are all here under the banner of the Lady
of Marchford.''

It was a sad day when the orc in a group was the closest thing you had
to a diplomat. I yawned in an almost offensively fake manner to change
where this was headed.

``Alas, I am but a feeble delicate young girl and travel has tired me,''
I said. ``Is the Courtyard far, Your Royal Highness?''

``Ah, I forget myself Lady Foundling,'' the Prince said. ``You are well
known for your\ldots{} frailty, after all. It was untoward of me to
delay.''

There was enough sarcasm injected in that single word to poison a well.
I was reluctantly impressed.

``All is forgiven,'' I drily replied.

``If you and your retainers would follow me, I will lead you to the
Courtyard,'' the one-eyed fae said, his horse moving into a trot without
prompting.

We trailed after him and I gestured for Archer to come closer. She
leaned in.

``I thought the whole changing-seasons motif meant fae are reborn when
their Court comes around again,'' I said quietly. ``Like a cheap cousin
to reincarnation.''

``It does,'' she agreed.

``Then he's missing an eye even now because\ldots{}''

She nodded.

``\emph{Every time}?'' I whispered.

``She likes the ring,'' Archer shrugged.

Whoever had first said that Named became crazier the older they lived
clearly had something of a point. It wasn't long before we arrived at
the Still Courtyard, though my guess was that it wasn't because it was
all that close. More that \emph{everything} in Skade was close, if you
were high up enough the fairy food chain. The Prince of Nightfall was
royalty, if the title was any indication, but what exactly that meant I
was unsure. Was he related to the king? I wasn't sure whether fae could
even have children if they didn't have them with mortals. The Still
Courtyard was a low-hanging square building with a front of ornate
greenwood pillars and bare stone steps. Through the arched entrance I
could see the courtyard it was named after, a pristine garden of
untouched freshly-fallen snow. A dozen blue-attired servants were
already kneeling outside when we arrived, none of them daring to look
up. They didn't even register in the prince's eyes, as far as I could
see.

``I hope your rest will be peaceful,'' the raven-haired fae said.

Ah, implied threats thrown our way by someone who could kill me with
relative ease. He was making this feel like home. The Prince cast a look
at Archer, then moved on.

``I will see you all in Court on the morrow,'' he added. ``Until then,
Lady of Marchford.''

``Looking forward to it, Your Royal Highness,'' I replied with insincere
enthusiasm.

The Prince of Nightfall rode away without glancing back, leaving us and
the servants alone. They were still kneeling, so I cleared my throat.

``So,'' I said. ``About those rooms.''

They rose, and as I peered at them I saw they were\ldots{} hesitant. Not
afraid, I decided, but unsure of what they were supposed to do.
\emph{They're not used to having guests}, I thought, \emph{or maybe just
not mortal ones.}

``I am the steward for this courtyard, Hallowed Ones,'' a female fae
said, bowing before us. ``We are honoured by your presence and have
arranged chambers for your leisure.''

I thought about asking for her name but held myself back. No, it
wouldn't do to get too involved: I might be stepping into a story by
accident. I looked down at my armour, which was sadly full of holes
where people had taken it upon themselves to stab me, then at Hakram's
similarly scarred set of plate.

``I could use a nap and a bath,'' I said. ``How about you lot?''

Apprentice leaned forward on his horse.

``Does this courtyard have a library?'' he asked.

Well, good to see he still had his priorities on order. I swore on all
the Hells, if Masego landed at the bottom of the sea the first thing
he'd ask the mermans was if there were any books around.

``It does, Hallowed One,'' the steward said. ``Maeve can take you to it,
if you so desire.''

Maeve was, from the look of it, a very pretty servant with a low
neckline who was now smiling invitingly at Apprentice. Another servant
looked at her, then Masego and his face turned thunderous. Well, I
mused. If there was anyone among my companions I could feel pretty safe
wouldn't get involved in some deadly fae love triangle, it was
Apprentice. Masego gingerly got down from his horse and immediately
headed inside, gesturing for the servant to follow him.

``See you later,'' I called out, then sighed. ``Someone stable that
horse. We're only borrowing it.''

``I could do with a nap,'' Hakram admitted. ``Feels like I've been awake
for days.''

Odds were decent we had been.

``You should also take a bath,'' I encouraged.

The orc wrinkled his nose.

``I washed myself in the river when we were returning to Marchford,'' he
said.

``He smells like blood and sweat,'' Archer commented. ``It's quite nice,
actually.''

``See, \emph{Archer} likes how you smell,'' I told him.

He grunted in displeasure but silently conceded the point, dismounting
as the Named in question turned to look at me.

``What was that supposed to mean?'' she said.

``You live in the woods and I've only ever seen you wear one outfit,'' I
replied frankly.

``You could see me \emph{out} of it, if you asked nicely,'' she winked.

``We've been over this before,'' I said, dismounting and handing off the
reins to a servant.

``Sadly,'' Archer sighed, doing the same.

We made our way inside, pausing as we passed the threshold. There was no
sound. In a city there was always noise in the background, people
talking or working or the hundreds of different that kept it all going.
Even out on the field, you heard animals or wind or the gurgle of water.
Here there was only silence so absolute the sound of my breath felt like
someone screaming. The Still Courtyard, huh. That would take some
getting used to. Ahead of us the footsteps of the servant leading us to
our chambers were soundless, and the entire thing made me uncomfortable
enough I felt the need to keep talking.

``So what's with your `hitting on everything that moves' habit,'' I
said. ``You realize that even if you showed up naked in Masego's bed
he'd be more likely to ask how you got your scars than anything else,
right?''

``Nah, I just like fucking with him,'' she admitted with a grin. ``He
gets so confused and offended.''

``I don't,'' I said, ``and you keep offering.''

``Twice isn't exactly a lot,'' she said, rolling her eyes. ``Still, let
me put it this way. How long do you think you'll live, Squire?''

``I'm a villain,'' I said. ``So theoretically forever.''

``I didn't ask for the Evil manifesto,'' she said. ``We've had villains
in Refuge, I know the speeches. What do \emph{you} think.''

I shrugged.

``If I make it through the next few years, maybe another twenty after
that?'' I guessed. ``Depends on the opposition I end up getting.''

``We never have a guarantee we'll make it through the first story,''
Archer said quietly looking ahead. ``Named have more of everything --
power most of all, but also danger. I could die tomorrow or in ten
years, but sooner or later I get an ending. And when I do, I want to
have lived as much as I could.''

I could see where she was coming from, honestly. There were a lot of
perks that came from being Named, even if I hadn't partaken in most of
them. Got that as much from my own sober inclinations than Black's
outright austere example, I figured. You only needed to crack open a
history book to see a lot of Black Knights and Warlocks had sown their
wild oats with enthusiasm. Hells, Masego's father was married to an
\emph{incubus}. Dread Emperors and Empresses outright had a seraglio,
even if Aisha kept assuring me sex wasn't a large part of that. As for
heroes, well, good-looking and righteous was a pretty common type for a
lot of people on Calernia. If anything heroes were more likely to end up
in bed with another hero than villains were with other villains. I was
hardly chaste myself, but sleeping around had never appealed to me past
my initial fumbling attempts to learn what I liked. What I had with
Kilian mattered to me as more because I could trust her than because she
was delightful in bed. Trust was a lot more precious to me than sex
these days.

``You're actually quite prudish for a Callowan,'' Archer said. ``Your
people are a lot more salt-of-the-earth as a rule.''

``I wouldn't use Hunter as a measure for Callowan mores,'' I snorted.
``That outfit was a little bare by anyone's standards.''

``Those leather pants, though,'' Archer sighed fondly. ``He had an ass
like you wouldn't believe.''

I wasn't exactly eager to discuss the merits of the buttocks of a man
whose hand I had hacked off after beating him savagely, so I wisely
decided to go into my rooms when the servant showed them to me. The
ochre-skinned girl took the hint, following another servant to her own.
My guide was the steward from earlier, and before I could even take a
look around she knelt at my feet.

``Hallowed One,'' she said, looking down. ``An invitation awaited you
when you arrived at the Courtyard. May I give it to you?''

I was genuinely tempted to say no and see what came of that, but kicking
the hornets' nest could wait until I'd had a bath.

``Sure,'' I said. ``It was sent specifically for me?''

``An invitation is always sent to the Courtyard, Hallowed One,'' the
steward said hesitantly. ``It's simply that usually we\ldots{} do not
receive guests, in this part of the season.''

And just like that today's game of \emph{this does not feel like a
coincidence} \emph{in the slightest} had found a winner. Eyes still on
the ground, the fae offered me a scroll with a seal of frost on it. It
would have looked natural if not for the emblem that could be glimpsed
in the ice. What the emblem actually depicted I had a hard time
understanding, the image blurring under my eyes and the words \emph{Duke
of Violent Squalls} coming to the front of my mind whatever I did.
Fancy.

``There's a bath adjoining the room?'' I asked.

``Whatever you require will be found,'' the steward said.

Close enough to a yes, I figured.

``That'll be all, then,'' I said.

Time for a bit of light reading, I supposed.
