\hypertarget{chapter-44-catherines-plan}{%
\chapter{Catherine's Plan}\label{chapter-44-catherines-plan}}



\epigraph{``From the example of the claimant Desolate we can learn this: no
scheme is so perfect that it is invulnerable to the utter idiocy of an
opponent.''}{Extract from an untitled historical commentary on the War of Thirteen
Tyrants and One, by the Imperial Concubine Alaya of the Green Stretch}



There was only the void to keep track of now, at least. Wings burst out
of my back and with a swift beat had me spinning sideways: I caught
Masego by the collar, though he kept wriggling uncomfortably. If this
had been freefall back in Creation, the howl of the wind would have
forced me to raise my voice. No such troubles plagued our descent into
nothingness, a silver lining on a situation I knew to be bad but vaguely
suspected was much, much worse.

``Can you get us out of here?'' I asked, wings beating behind me to keep
us aloft.

Diabolist was nothing more than a shade on my back, kept there by the
fact I willed it so. Whatever weight she'd had earlier, it was gone now.

``There is no here,'' Hierophant replied. ``We are in between places
that exist, within the contained entity that was the central chamber.''

``And can you get us out of \emph{that}?'' I hissed.

``It is an egg, Catherine,'' he said. ``We are within. If you want to
leave\ldots{}''

\emph{Crack the shell}, I thought. Easier said than done: if that'd been
on the table since the beginning, there would have been much less
planning needed. Could've burst straight into the Skein's lair, seized
the wheels and assassinated Malicia. Of course, we \emph{had} eventually
burst into that lair. It hadn't gone what one might call `well', or to
be honest anywhere near that neighbourhood. After the elven Revenant I'd
thought that Neshamah's guardians were dangerous yet not beyond our
ability to handle. I'd just been roughly disabused of that notion. Even
Masego picking up his second aspect had barely managed to get the
situation under control long enough for the rat to screw us over again.

``Where do I hit?'' I asked Hierophant.

The heart of our working relationship, laid bare.

``Anywhere,'' he laughed.

I blew out a cold breath and allowed Winter to slither through my veins.
Our exertions fighting the Skein had not tired it. It felt, if anything,
even more eager than before. I was beginning to grasp the secret at the
heart of the fae, slowly but surely: their power delighted in use,
rewarded it. I'd inherited that without the tight constraints of a role
in the colourful but uncompromising tapestry that had once governed the
entire realm of faerie. Before the King of Winter hoodwinked me into
killing and freeing him with the same sentence, anyway. Who knew what
the face of Arcadia was, now that its ever-feuding courts had become
one? I felt Akua's not-eyed follow the shape of the power I was shaping,
but she did not take part. She had not spoken a word since my last
summons, I only now noticed.

``Diabolist?'' I said.

``I am reaching the limit,'' the shade murmured through tight lips.

I glanced back, the light of my translucent wings casting her scarlet
eyes almost purple to my sight.

``Of what?'' I asked.

``How much principle alienation I can take for you,'' Diabolist said.
``My thoughts already grow\ldots{} stilted. Forced down unproductive
paths.''

I blinked in surprise. Shit. It was true I'd been tossing around Winter
like rarely before and my mind remained mostly my own, but I'd
not\ldots{} There'd been a lot of sweet talk about apotheosis, of late.
Foolishly enough, I'd assumed that I'd somehow outgrown my old troubles.
Not so, evidently. How had Akua even -- ah, the chain. Had to be. This
entire time, she'd been taking the plunge so I would remain mostly
clear-headed. I could only admire her capacity to master her own
thoughts in the face of Winter influence, if her limit was only now
reached. My tongue burned with a half a dozen questions but they would
have to wait for later. There were no physical markers for me to hit
around here, so I didn't bother with anything too precise. Ice and
shadow, woven into a spike that spun and elongated into something closer
to a massive javelin. I shaped it carefully, and only when I was
satisfied with the flawlessness of the working did I let it loose. For a
heartbeat, I hit nothing. The javelin kept moving through nothingness
unimpeded, is momentum undaunted by the distance.

Then I hit a wall, or something close to it.

Like an arrow hitting stone my working did little more than leave a mark
on the surface, but there was an unmistakable notch of damage on the
surface of the nothingness in front of us. Winter's span was a difficult
thing to measure, for my mantle obeyed no rules but its own and
sometimes not even that, but I had put much of myself into the javelin.
Enough that, with Akua no longer serving as my filter, I could feel the
creep of influence at the edge of my mind. Still indistinct whispers,
for now. They would grow louder, I knew, until there was no difference
between them and my own thoughts. Hammering through wasn't going to
work. I'd come out of here spouting monologues, if not worse, and I
wouldn't catch Malicia acting like the very same people she'd arranged
the deaths of for decades over a nice cup of wine. I wasn't ready to
call this a wash yet, and embracing the fullness of Winter was more or
less that.

``Hierophant, I need you to pry that open,'' I said.

Masego frowned.

``Platform,'' he said.

Reluctantly, I snatched another wisp of Winter and crafted one beneath
him before dropping his collar. He landed on his feet, if not
particularly gracefully, but that wasn't what drew my attention. I could
smell the sorcery on him. I always could, really, and given the amount
of protective enchantments he layered on himself whenever we went into
battle this should not be a surprise. But there was something different,
this time. The magic was curving beneath his skin, deep into his body.
My eyes narrowed and traced the shape of them with my mind, like a blind
girl trying to see the face of another with my fingers. Some of that
sorcery was going straight into his heart, keeping the blood pumping
steadily. More was stiffening muscles, like those of his lower back.
Keeping him standing up straight. And there were two little pinpricks,
going into smaller glands above his kidneys. Forcing them to keep
functioning, for whatever eldritch purpose. My studies of anatomy had
largely been aimed towards killing or more recreational affairs, but I
could recognize the sight of a man tinkering with his own body to keep
it going when it was falling apart. He'd used powerful sorceries, today.
Birthed an aspect, and used another. Back when I'd been the Squire and
just that, even calling on a single such power would have wiped me out.
A long overdue reminder that Masego, like the rest of the Woe, was still
very much human. With all the messy, unpleasant parts that involved.

I kept my mouth shut anyway as he began to trace runes.

If I'd been a better friend, a better person, I might have taken the
burden off his shoulders. Valiantly declared that we would find another
way, that I'd take care of it somehow. But I was just me, and it was too
late for last-hour gambits. I needed Malicia dead, and I needed it done
\emph{soon}. I'd have to trust that Masego would not irreparably hurt
himself, and let him bleed for my objectives. \emph{Isn't it funny?} I
thought. \emph{How the higher you rise, the more power comes into the
shape of others suffering for you.} I was not smiling. But what was the
worth of that, if I still kept silent?

``I can turn a scuffmark into a hole,'' Hierophant finally said. ``That
is, I'm afraid, the limit of what I can do. You will have to address the
rest of the matter.''

I nodded.

``Do it,'' I ordered.

He attacked the mark I'd left with what looked like twin thin needles of
light, but to my senses felt more like a chisel and a hammer. One was
heavier than the other, using the weaker one to pry open the wall.
Masego's breath quickened, and I felt some of the spells on his body
weaken. Like Diabolist, he was nearing his limit. The Woe were powerful,
for our age. More than we had any right to. But if we could not hurt our
enemy badly in the initial stretch of the fight, as a group we had a
tendency to begin slowly losing. Too many shortcuts. Too many advances
with weak foundations. We had rushed to power, and it'd made us fragile.
I dismissed the thought, and sharpened my will like a blade as
Hierophant finished making that final breach. A small one, less than an
inch wide. But I could feel Creation behind it, and an opening was all
I'd needed. I called on my domain, the night-realm within, and before it
could fall over us like a curtain I wove the smallest sliver through the
breach. Gave us a path into Creation.

Night followed.

My wings died behind me as I tread soft snow, the starless sky above
spreading out forever. Masego stumbled and shivered as he joined me, but
I guided away the worst of the cold with a thought and offered him an
arm to lean on. I'd already asked too much of him today. Akua did not
appear: she'd always been there. I simply had not acknowledged her
presence, or so it felt like. And it was not her fae guise she wore,
either. In here, I looked upon the same Diabolist I had fought in
Liesse. Tall and splendid, all aristocratic arrogance and careless
disdain. In here, all we had done to hide her true face fell away.
Unlike Hierophant, she was not burdened by the touch of my kingdom of
moonless night. She looked up at the pitch-black firmament and smiled,
as if I'd taken her to a tea shop with a charming decor instead of the
last remaining hold of the Winter Court. She hummed quietly, lips
quirking. I knew that song.

Parts of it, anyway.

``The second is the longest, they said

You will walk under the restless dead

The hanged all crooning from the gallows --

To join them and rest in the shadows.''

Her voice was soft, and the pitch of the tune perfect.

``Diabolist,'' I sharply said.

She turned to me, still smiling.

``Come, dearest heart,'' Akua said, eyes alight with savage glee. ``Let
us speak to the Empress of \emph{succession}.''

My fingers clenched. I still remembered the conversation she'd had with
Thief, not so long ago. She'd thrown the argument, as Vivienne had
suspected, but the girl who'd once been Heiress never spoke with a
single purpose to her words. Had she known I was a wake and listening,
even then? Maybe. Or perhaps she was addressing that inscrutable
audience that always listened, the unseen hand of fate that always
sought to curb us to its purpose. She wanted me to be Empress. She
wanted, perhaps, to be my Chancellor. And she thought Malicia's death
would be the birth of that story. Damnably, she might be right. I hoped,
against my better judgement, that is was the flesh simulacrum of the
Empress that awaited us. I was already in too many knife-fights with
fate to pick yet another.

``Follow,'' I said, and tugged Masego along.

I left no trace on the snow, and neither did Akua. She had become a
creature of this place, by hook and crook. It was Hierophant, sagging
and increasingly drenched in cold sweat, that needed the help. I propped
him up until the itch in the back of my head had grown too much to
ignore. I could feel it, the\ldots{} depression in this place. As if the
supports beneath my domain were uneven and it had sagged. I closed my
eyes and withdrew it all. A sea unleashed, slowly siphoned back into my
too-small frame, until the touch of the sun was on my face and my eyes
fluttered open. We were back in the Threefold Reflection, at last. Green
light fell down over us like a shower from a sun pit towering high
above, kept functional through all hours of the day by a cunning set of
mirrors. This was a salon, by the looks of it, with long resting couches
and low tables filling most the place. There were half a dozen doors out
of the room, likely meant for servants more than the guests.

``The palace still seems\ldots{} whole,'' I said.

``I would assume the three layers to be completely separate now,'' Akua
replied. ``This felt like Creation to you, yes? Likely this the the
original Threefold Reflection that was built before the dimensional
overlay was set.''

``So no more shunting,'' I said. ``Good news. Much as I hate to ask,
what plan are we on now?''

Diabolist laughed.

``I'm afraid there is none left,'' she said. ``None that I can remember,
at least. This particular sequence of events was entirely unforeseen.''

Shoddy planning, that. Given how frequently we fucked it all up, not
counting that as an option was just bad form on our part.

``You two are done fighting for the day,'' I finally said.

``I am still conscious,'' Masego muttered.

``Takes a little more than that to be qualified for a throw down with
the Empress' finest,'' I replied

Assuming we even found them.

``Diabolist, I'm going to find us a way out,'' I said. ``Try to find the
others and prepare for the worst.''

``I would be of use to you, when facing Malicia,'' the shade replied.

``You should be more careful about what songs you sing,'' I replied
flatly.

Masego's glass eyes moved from one of us to the other, his face bemused.

``What songs?'' he asked.

I met Akua's now-scarlet eyes and found a thread of amusement in there.
That song\ldots{} The Girl Who Climbed The Tower, Black had called it.
There were still many things about it I didn't understand. I'd first
heard Robber humming it, but when I'd eventually asked him about it
years later he'd admitted he recalled singing an entirely different
song. It was not for everyone's ears, it seemed.

``Don't worry about it,'' I told him, then glanced up.

I could roll the dice with trying to find a way out of the pyramid on
foot, but that carried risks. There might still be traps, even without
the wheels being a factor. This would do. Window was probably warded,
but then I still had the traditional Foundling skeleton key of punching
things really hard. Wisps of Winter coalesced behind me, translucent
wings coming into being, and I shot up quick as an arrow. My fist
smashed into the green glass with my full weight behind it, but I let
out a yelp when it bounced off harmlessly and I hit the damned thing
like a bird hitting a window. Godsdamnit. Down below, I heard Masego
cough out a pained laugh. The glass was set in that pale stone I
recognized from outside, with discreet carved runes connecting them.
Fine, I could work with that. Wings batting behind me unconsciously, I
formed my fingers into a wedge and struck at the stone. I'd aimed well
beneath the runes, so I ripped my way through without too much trouble.
After that it was just a matter of digging around the boundaries, until
I tossed down a stone-encircled glass pane and flew up through the
opening. I landed under the noon sun of Keter, while in the distance the
plume of smoke from the fires we'd set began to disperse. They'd put out
the fires, then.

Look down into the pit, I saw the other two awaiting me. Akua could make
her own way up, but Masego would need a little help. Another sliver of
Winter had a thick rope of shadow slithering down the pit. Hierophant
eyed it sceptically, until an exertion of my will had it tying around
his waist. I dragged him up, hoist by hoist, careful not to go too
quickly and smash him into the walls. My fingers closed around the back
of his neck, and with all the gentleness I could manage I took him out
and put him down. Gods, it was like trying not to hurt a baby bird.
People were so fragile. The three of us stood under true Creation
sunlight for the first time in too long, Akua and I pristine but Masego
the picture of exhaustion. He'd lost weight, but there was quite a bit
of difference between shedding the pounds -- unhealthy as his manner of
doing it had been -- and being in good shape. We were maybe halfway up
the southern slope of the pyramid, facing the Garden of Crowns and the
edge of the Silent Palace. The gardens and colonnades below showed no
sign of Malicia, but then I'd not expected that to be so easy.

``We have an escape route in case this all blows up in our face,'' I
half-stated, half-asked.

My eyes were on Akua, making it clear who was meant to answer.

``That is correct,'' she replied. ``Though it was expected that true
disaster would force is to flee through Arcadia.''

``Then fall back there,'' I said. ``The others will know the way?''

``By now, all their memory blocks should have ended,'' she replied.

Good enough, given that I couldn't afford going around fetching
everyone. Adjutant I might be able to find, but who the Hells knew where
Archer was? Thief was the last out in the wilds, and to be honest there
was no chance of me finding her in the city if she didn't want to be
found.

``Be safe, you two,'' I said, and grimaced immediately.

I was painfully aware that the words being spoken in \emph{Keter} made
them even more a platitude than usual. There was no safety here, only
the Dead King's whimsical sufferance.

``That seems unlikely,'' Masego noted. ``But I shall attempt it
nonetheless.''

I squeezed his shoulder before sending him off. It would be slow work
for him to descend the pyramid's slope, but hardly impossible. Diabolist
could handle herself, and the steady look I gave her before she left
made it clear she was supposed to ease his exhaustion as much as
possible. All that was left now was to somehow find Malicia, crush her
defences and taker her life. All without breaching the unspoken rules
the Dead King had set about what would constitute breaking his
hospitality. I doubted Neshamah would truly mind a spot of murder even
in his personal backyard, but that wasn't how this worked: I had to
maintain a certain level of deniability. Which wasn't looking great,
considering the closest thing I had to a plan at the moment was `murder
in broad daylight'. The Skein and the Spellblade should no longer be a
part of this, at least. The Revenants would remain stuck in their little
kingdoms. That left the Empress' own personal guard.

The Sentinels hardly scared me, at the end of the day. Well-trained or
not, they were only soldiers. But there was a more than decent chance
she'd have Wasteland mages with her, and that was a different story
entirely. I'd killed more than a few of those, over the last few years,
but that'd been before I'd become\ldots{} this. Wards mattered to me a
lot more than they used to, and I wasn't meeting a cluster of casters in
the middle of a chaotic battlefield: these sorcerers would likely have
been told everything the Empress knew about what I could and couldn't
do, including vulnerabilities. Black had made a career out of killing
enemies much stronger than him with careful planning and preparation. I
did not intend to end up on the wrong side of his teachings. Power
clapped in the distance, a quick spike followed by smaller workings. I
cocked my head. Northern slope of the pyramid, maybe a little further. A
trap? Maybe. Or a distraction. But I couldn't afford not to look, could
I?

With gritted teeth, I set out for my little talk with the Dread Empress
of Praes.
