\hypertarget{chapter-67-middle-eight}{%
\chapter{Middle Eight}\label{chapter-67-middle-eight}}



\epigraph{``Change, my friend, is the admission that one falls short of
perfection. A plebeian sort of doubt, best reserved for rulers who don't
make their enemies eat their own hands.''}{Dread Emperor Revenant}



I'd picked my battlefield to stack the game as much in my favour as she
had in hers when I'd engaged in the throne room. Much as it irritated me
to admit it, there was no real chance my little fire snare would
actually kill Diabolist: it was a death trap I hadn't seen through to
the end. Even between villains, there was only one way that kind of play
could end. That was fine, since the point hadn't been to put her down.
Gods, I wish it could be that easy. What I'd accomplished was put the
hurt on her before putting the torch to whatever nasty surprises she'd
prepared just for me. It'd always been made abundantly clear to me that
taking a swing at a well prepared mage was a Bad Idea, and I'd venture
that warning counted twice as much if the mage in question was Named.
Here, though? We were on \emph{my} chosen grounds. And when the time
came to make that choice, I'd picked somewhere I had spilled blood
before: the Fields of Wend. I honestly couldn't think of a better place
to kill Akua than a mile-wide stretch of shifting and uneven glaciers in
the heart of what had once been Winter.

I'd come out on the edge of the glacier the fae called the Wending
Heart, the tallest of them all and topped by a perfectly round platform,
and moved away swiftly. Had I mouthed off at the Duke of Violent Squalls
here once? It felt like I had. Admittedly when it came to assumptions
about my diplomatic proceedings `gave insult' tended to be the right
bet. The only downside I could figure was that there might be fae
interested in out little scrap who came calling, but even when it came
to that I had the advantage. I was still a titled Duchess, and earlier
Akua had been throwing around Summer flame. Exactly how it had all come
together after the wedding between the King and Queen of Arcadia was
still a mystery to me, but I assumed using what could only be violently
stolen power wouldn't exactly please that crowd. And, unlike me, she had
no oath from the royals to guarantee her safety. This was as much as I'd
be able to tilt the balance my way before it came to a head, short of
having the Woe at my back.

I left the fairy gate wide open. Getting Diabolist here was half the
point of this in the first place, and besides I wasn't going to bet on
my being better at manipulating that power than her if I tried to close
it and she tried to keep it open. Call me sentimental, but if hubris had
to get me killed I'd at least require a kind not quite so blatant. Akua
strolled through indifferently, casting a look of mild curiosity around
her.

``Ah, Catherine,'' she laughed throatily. ``Your particular mixture of
cleverness and ignorance never ceases to injure, does it?''

I studied her carefully. She was moving too slowly. Taking in her
surroundings but not really assessing them the way she had earlier --
she wasn't finding good space to stand or noting places to avoid. That
meant her attention was elsewhere. I sharpened my senses, but all I
could hear was the loud rumble of glaciers smashing into each other. If
there were fae, I thought, I should be able to at least make out the
edges of their presence. What was she looking for, then? Whatever it
was, I suspected letting her have it would lead to no good. With a twist
of will, I closed the gate.

``\textbf{Claim},'' Diabolist said, tone casual, and ownership of it was
ripped from me.

All that remained was a hole in the air too small to even crawl through,
but she'd just thrown away an aspect on taking it. I swallowed a breath.
It looked like I had a problem on my hands: Akua never did anything
without at least three reasons. I let Winter flood my veins and found it
still answered unhindered to my will. Then what -- no, that was the
wrong way to go about this. I was getting sucked into her tempo, and the
moment that happened I was done for. It was nearly always better to
disrupt than to respond. I charged forward. The sooner I got the both of
us off this platform the better.

``The courtesy is late in the giving,'' Akua said, ``but must be
afforded nonetheless.''

I got within three feet of her before the entire Heart spun, and that
threw me off my stride long enough for a streak of darkness to strike at
my chest and send me sliding back. The tendril of black remained around
Diabolist, coiled like a loyal and eager snake. How the fuck had she
done that? The spinning, not the pale imitation of my teacher's trick.
This was a fae place of power, she should have no sway here.

``Thank you, Catherine Foundling, for the valuable lessons you taught me
in Liesse,'' Diabolist said.

I wasted no breath on a reply, but my blood ran cold. This was an echo
to words I'd spoke to her at the Blessed Isle, once, and to Barika
Unonti right before I put a crossbow bolt into her eye. Not something to
be lightly spoken. Akua was beginning a monologue, though, and that was
my chance. I was warier in my approach the second time. I tested her
defences with a flick of my blade and when the tendril of darkness
struck out I bent under it and stepped behind her guard. My blade
whistled as I carved through her throat but \emph{fuck}, I'd lost the
tempo and she was one step ahead of me -- all I cut was a shade, an
illusion, and Akua shivered back into sight at the opposite edge of the
Heart. I pivoted without hesitation and returned on the offensive.

``On that night where you broke my bones,'' the dark-skinned woman said.
``The two of us began a conversation about power that went unfinished.
Shall we resume it?''

I breathed out and sought calm. Splashing around like a fool trying to
catch a fish barehanded wasn't going to get my anywhere. Method was how
I turned this around. First, finding out if what I saw was real. I
touched Winter, the howling desolation made even thicker here in the
very place where I had earned my mantle, and ice formed around
Diabolist's feet. She did not even spare it a glance before it began
melting, but it was confirmation. I moved then, quick as wink.

``There are weaknesses to my ways,'' the villain acknowledged.
``Repeated conflict with you has made this clear. But you seem under the
impression that means they are without worth. A dangerous assumption.''

I expected the blow to come the moment I was within a foot of coming in
striking range, and she did not disappoint. I only caught sight of the
thin transparent wedges that cut silently through the air by sharpening
my eyes, and though that allowed me to avoid them it also cost me. A
ball of dazzling lights formed in front of my face and erupted
instantly, searing a dozen colours into my vision. I struck blindly at
where she'd been but my sword bounced off something solid and something
else caught my ankle and tossed me away. Even as I fell on back in the
ice and rolled, I grit my teeth. She was toying with me. She could have
done some real damage right then, if she'd been so inclined.

``I've told you this before: a Name is not a mere tool,'' Akua said.
``It has \emph{meaning}. It is the choosing of a side, of a Role. To
borrow its power while denying the Role is to willingly cripple
yourself.''

Even as I considered a different angle of attack, a part of me wondered
if this might be the wrong way to go about it. She'd never had such an
easy time handling me before, which smelled of a pattern or trick I
didn't know. Talking so much should have seen me put a sword in her
throat by now. \emph{Unless it's not the right moment}, I frowned. Was
Creation, even here, putting a finger on the scales until it had
received proper theatrics? It wouldn't need to do much, I thought. Not
even weaken me. Just make Diabolist a little luckier, nudge her
instincts a little. Keep her dice rolling sixes and her hand full of
trumps.

``Ah,'' Akua said. ``You begin to understand. You are only half a
villain. It is not your fault, my dear. You were taught incorrectly by a
man who believes power derives from methodology, from philosophy.''

Should I let her keep her talking? If I got stubborn about striking a
blow when it was all set against me, I might make a hard mistake and
take a wound that would prevent me from actually taking advantage of the
opening. If there was an opening at all, which was already an
assumption. If she got to finish her speech, though, I suspected I was
fucked.

``Power,'' Diabolist said. ``That \emph{is} our philosophy. The only
philosophy. The rest we craft in the wake of seizing, in a vain attempt
to justify what was never just -- for justice is as much an invention as
the rest, a trinket built by the hands of men.''

``It's an empty world you peddle,'' I told her. ``That's why you get
stabbed at the end, Akua. No one wants to live in it but you.''

``Shall I tell you a secret, Catherine?'' she smiled. ``The true altar
before which every man and woman in the Empire kneels is not dedicated
to the Gods Below. It is the Tower, that nameless god that wears
ever-changing faces anointed in the blood of the last. The Empress is
dead, so the Empress rules.''

``Backstabbing isn't a fucking \emph{virtue}, Diabolist,'' I bit out.
``It's why Praes fails all the time. Why even with all its power it lost
to Callow again and again for over a millennium.''

``Not a virtue, no,'' she said. ``A liturgy, worship sincerer than any
pact made in the dark through ancient prayers.''

``See, there's no point in having a conversation with you,'' I said.
``Because you're not being impartial about this, it's your religion. And
your religion is godsdamned poison. Even when given a real functioning
alternative, you'd rather throw a tangible victory away than consider
you might have been wrong.''

``Ah,'' Diabolist smiled. ``But am I?''

``It always comes back to the same thing with you, doesn't it?'' I
grimly said. ``Until the very moment someone put a knife in you, you'll
pretend just the fact you're breathing means you're right. And it's not
just you. Malicia was wrong. There should have been a fucking culling,
after the civil war. You can't negotiate with people who see negotiation
as a sin.''

``You mistake me,'' Akua said. ``I ask if \emph{you} truly believe I am
wrong? You stand before me bearing a mantle won through theft and
murder, the old sacraments of our kind. Having assembled a host that
would follow you against the Empress, having seduced into your service
talents slighted by the old order. Protest all you like, the path you
tread is old and well-worn.''

``I'm not you,'' I hissed.

``No,'' Diabolist agreed. ``You lack that purity of purpose, dulled by
those who should have sharpened you. I will cure you of this,
Catherine.''

``I used to think there was the remains of a person in you,'' I said.
``Something left of the child that was beaten into becoming this. But
there isn't, is there? You can't even understand what affection is
anymore.''

I could not let myself be drawn too deeply into this. Slowly, quietly, I
gathered power to myself. It would all ride on that single opening. If I
managed to overpower her then, I could turn this into the kind of brawl
she was utterly unfit to fight.

``Why so shy?'' Akua laughed. ``Use the word you truly meant. Love. And
that is where they robbed you, Catherine. It is the leash they use to
keep you in line. And so you stand before me a Squire instead of a
Knight, expecting to win when you have no \emph{weight}. What story
carries you in this place? What Squire could possibly stand where you
do?''

``I'm a little more than that,'' I said, and that was my one chance.

I struck. Every speck of power I'd managed to draw in, a deafening clap
sounding as I filled the world with ice. Half the Heart was made a
jagged thing of frost and I already I was moving. \emph{Merciless}
\emph{Gods}, I thought as the ice shivered, \emph{she can't possibly-}
The strength of Winter sagged, the ice broke and along the lines I had
struck thin ropes of sorcery came back to me. I struggled against them
but they were like draining ditches, the power flooding through them and
going nowhere. The bindings began to tighten and there was only one way
out of this.

``\textbf{Break},'' I said.

The ropes shattered, and in that very moment I felt Akua smile as she
strode through shards of ice.

``Finally,'' she said. ``\textbf{Bind}.''

I'd felt something like this before, mere feet away from where I now
stood, and the irony of it was cloying. Alone of all the things in the
world, I was trapped in amber. Sweat slowly trickled down my cheek,
leaving a salty trail behind, and even as the first drop fell with a
soft sound on my armour I felt Winter go still. Not all of it. Around me
the glaciers still creaked and broke in their ceaseless dance, but the
mantle I had claimed from the Duke of Violent Squall sat like an
obedient dog who did not even dare to breathe. No, more than that.
Warlock had warned me, that I was not entirely human anymore. The fae
title had been woven into my Name, its domain becoming an aspect, and so
when Diabolist bound Winter she bound my Name as well. I felt my mind
scrabbling against a wall of glass, reaching desperately for my last
aspect -- which even if unsuited would do something, anything -- but
there was no purchase. I no longer ruled my Name, my mantle or even my
own body. I was appalled, then, at the arrogance I'd had in trying to
kill this woman with the very instrument she could use to crush me. Akua
slowly circled around me, her long dark hair made shining by melted
frost.

``It would have been a fight,'' she said. ``If you were not merely
dwelling in the penumbra of villainy instead of embracing your better
nature. A Black Knight anointed the last of Winter would have
been\ldots{} difficult to call to heel. I would have preferred it,
nonetheless. They cheated the both of us our true iron.''

Instead all she'd had to to was talk, and bait out my only aspect that
might feasibly break her hold. For all that Diabolist had pretended to
be absorbed in her words, she'd had me dancing to her tune since the
moment she stepped into Arcadia. Akua's hand strayed to my face and she
wiped away the sweat almost tenderly. It felt like a violation, however
fleeting the touch, and one made even worse by the pretence of warmth.

``You will never like me,'' she told me. ``But you will learn to love
me, eventually. We will do great things, you and I. As we were always
meant to.''

She smiled, like a young girl sharing a secret with another in the dark.

``It is petty, but I am glad you have Deoraithe blood. Even if only in
part,'' she confided. ``They are a greater kind than the rest of
Callowans. Nearly Praesi in their settling of grudges.''

I was not a person in her eyes, I realized. Just cattle to be inspected
for good teeth and lustrous coat. I'd ceased being someone to her, if
I'd ever been, the moment she decided she had a use for me. Her hand
withdrew from my face, instead adjusting my cloak around my neck.

``The throne room would have seen you lose as well,'' she mused. ``But
here? Oh, the mistake that was. \emph{Diabolist}, dearest. Strange
vistas such as these are not foreign to me. You took us to a place of
usurpation and murder, and though you have learned of those ways you are
yet young to that learning and came late to it besides.''

Her lips quirked and she stepped away.

``You will already be thinking of ways to cross me,'' she said. ``So let
me disabuse you of that possibility.''

I should have been, I thought. But I was stuck in a quagmire of my own
horror, beginning to realize how badly I'd fucked up and how it might
destroy everything. Even if Black somehow got me out of this, I knew
what the price to that would be. There were no longer good outcomes to
this. This fight was a disaster there would be no recovering from.
Entire legions shattered on the eve of a great war, an entire city of
Callowans lost and made to serve beyond death, and beyond all that
someone was going to have to die over this. Me or Black, or -- and the
possibility was one that for all my previous confidence I could no
longer deny -- I might just lose. Completely, utterly, beyond denial.
\emph{It only takes once to change everything}, Diabolist had said
earlier. I'd crawled from victory to victory these last few years,
leaving burning wrecks behind me but still coming out ahead. There'd
been nights where I wondered if some of those could be called victories
at all, but now that I met the eyes of an actual defeat I knew the
answer. I had my skin crawling, the crystal-clear understanding of
exactly how fragile all I'd built was. How \emph{one bad day} would be
all it took to unmake it entirely.

``You will kill the Black Knight with your own hands, and in doing so
become my second,'' Akua said, bringing me back to there and then.
``Because there is no going back from that, you see. The Calamities will
hunt you regardless of whether or not your own will guided the blow. The
Empress, given the choice of keeping them or you, will choose them. And
so your only salvation will lie in my service.''

Would she? Would Malicia really? If it meant losing the Woe maybe not
but then she might nor really be losing them. Hakram would stay by my
side, but Masego had been raised with Black as an uncle and Archer's
teacher was his lover. Where their loyalties would lie I couldn't be
sure. Thief might bail before it ever came to that, she had a history of
doing it. And if one side had both Hierophant and Warlock on it, and
Scribe as well? The Empress couldn't afford not to choose it, not if she
was facing a rebellion from Diabolist. Spies and powerful mages would be
what she needed most of all in the days to come, if Black died.

``That was always your side's conceit,'' Diabolist fondly said.
``Thinking that being clever and quick enough, you could have the power
without paying the price.''

The dark-skinned woman inclined her head and without my prompting my
hand rose, tearing open a portal back into Liesse. Not, I grasped,
blindly aiming. Going through Arcadia was like threading a needle. And
in owning both the place where the needle had first passed and the place
where it would come out, Diabolist had been able to control
\emph{exactly} where that fairy gate would lead.

``There's always a price, Catherine,'' Akua chided me.

She went through the portal, and I followed. Behind it Black awaited.
