‘Viscount Rangogh,’ said Arún with a short bow. Eryn noticed that it was even shallower than the one he afforded her. ‘My name is Arún of-’

‘I know who you are,’ interrupted Rangogh. ‘Though I admit I am accustomed to imagining you as a signature and nothing further. I believe the fire has been graced by a great many of your letters.’

The hall in which the three – or five, as it were – were now housed, was similar to the one in which Eryn and Rangogh had first met, though rather than ivory chairs and a crackling fire, this one was bare, save for the long crimson carpet which led from the door, to the foot of a great oak table, upon which rested a fantastic map of Sjudil – that was being largely ignored. Lines in splendid green defined the viscount’s impressive estates, while a much less interesting (and downright ugly) brown surrounded Berchmuld’s. It was a petty difference, but the significance was not lost on either outsider.

Arún’s mouth twitched as his eye skimmed across it. ‘I have come to take my niece, Princess Dalia, back to Berchmuld – where she belongs,’ he said, stoically.

‘I have told you enough times, you levereter. Fuck off,’ spat Rangogh. ‘Or are you perhaps as slow-witted as your blasted father?’

‘My father is indeed slow-witted, Viscount. He failed to act in time to prevent my brother’s execution – and slower still to prevent his wife, your daughter, from leaving our court to give birth. Had she stayed, she may well have lived.’

Rangogh’s nostrils flared. ‘Don’t you dare speak of her. I won’t stand for it, do you hear? Now take your fucking imp and get the fuck out of my town!’

The two descended into a disastrous explosion of curses and insults. Some were petty, others quite well thought-out, as though pre-concocted and rehearsed. As the two thundered nearer, prodding each other with accusatory fingers, before developing into full-blown shoves, there came a sudden screech from the side of the hall where the witch was standing. The screech lingered on painfully until the two men were shielding their ears and twisting her way.

Eryn released the sack containing the changeling which she had been holding rather cruelly upside-down. It hit the floor with a soft thump. The monster stopped squealing at once, and instead began to mutter a tirade of obscene insults of its own. Fortunately, most were muffled by the bag.

‘I don’t believe we’ll get much done at this rate, gentlemen,’ she said in a stiff tone. ‘This isn’t something I typically deal with – family disputes are a very dull affair, all told – but since you are entirely incapable of deciding what will become of the child yourselves, I think it falls to me to have the final word.’

‘The hell it does!’ yelled the viscount, stamping a foot. ‘She’s mine, and no one else’s, I tell you!’

‘I agree with Eryn,’ said Arún – to the surprise of everyone. Even the infant Dalia seemed somewhat quietened by the statement. ‘Eryn is quite renowned, Viscount, or didn’t you know? Yes, I thought as much… You haven’t the faintest clue who you have employed to deal with your petty foibles, eh, Rangogh?’

‘Foibles?’ repeated the viscount, frowning at Eryn.

‘Eryn of Koss is quite the legend. I feel quite secure deferring to her better judgement, as should you. If the stories can be believed, I’d wager that our Eryn has quite the sensible head on her shoulders. I don’t doubt she will make the right decision.’

‘I- Er-’ stuttered Rangogh. ‘Allow us to make our cases, at the very least?’

Eryn pondered the request. ‘Alright,’ she said with a half-shrug. ‘But no shit-slinging. Or I’ll be forced to choose solely by whomever I detest least.’

The men bowed low – though Viscount Rangogh did so with a perplexed expression, as though wholly unsure why he was offering such respect.

It was decided rather amicably – to Eryn’s pleasant surprise – that the viscount was to go first. Clearing his throat, he began to speak as though to an amphitheatre. As though he were delivering a masterful soliloquy. As though his very life depended on that very speech.

‘Lady Eryn,’ he began, swallowing hard. ‘I am not sure if you have children of your own, so I am unsure how I can adequately explain the magnitude of my love for Dalia. I desire nothing but to give her happiness. Happiness that I know a life here will provide. To be free of the villainy – the scheming – the envy of greater courts, that is a joy I cannot understate. This man… Pardon me, Prince Arún’s honour is not in question here – for Dalia, in the hands of Berchmuld, will be nothing more than a pawn. Expendable. Sent to Graeland of Visimark as a hostage. Alliances must be made, I admit, but let us not pretend that such a duty is not a curse upon her. Upon any of us. I would sooner live as a beggar, than see the same quality of life be forced upon my granddaughter.’

Rangogh sighed wearily, and lowered himself into a crouch. He looked to Eryn for some kind of indication of her feelings – something to let him know his words had landed – but she did not react. Her face was still and hard as stone.

‘Eryn,’ said the prince, striding forward a few paces. He beamed, exposing two neat rows of dazzling white teeth. ‘You know well why Berchmuld has need of this child – I have explained as much already, so I will not bore you by repeating myself. My niece is of our house, whether her grandfather recognises it or not. As a member of our house, she is subject to my father’s will. She must obey. Any man who claims to know better, or simply prevents her from fulfilling her destiny, will face my father’s wrath sooner or later. Rangogh must see reason. If he does not give up Dalia, we will have no other choice but to march on Urnn.’ Arún stopped, and looked down. His face fell a little in the silence. There was something suddenly genuine about his new expression. It was as though until that moment, he had been nothing more than a representative – now, it seemed, the true man – the soul within – had returned. ‘Princess Dalia does not know of a better life, that much Rangogh has right. She does not know what she might be missing – but is that any reason to keep it from her? She was born for greater things. She was born to matter. In our court – where she will stay until she is old enough to marry – she will want of nothing. The walls there glimmer with gold and silver. The people in their colourful coats topped with many a crown shine as diamonds do. Dalia was born to be gilded and diamonds and gold. To shine as others do. When the time comes she will marry a man befitting of her name. Our name. A prince of high regard. As noble a man as my father can find. Together they will be beautiful.’

Arún fell quiet, but did not step back. ‘So?’ he asked. ‘What is it to be? Can you honestly say there is anything in what I have said that you disagree with, Eryn? Do you not think she deserves to be beautiful?’

‘She is already beautiful,’ said Eryn, scowling. ‘This is not a decision that I wanted to make. If I could, I would ask Dalia herself… She will not thank you. Either of you. For raising her far away from the horrors of a court filled with cutthroats and villains – for hiding her away from the world like a bastard, or for drowning her in prestige at the cost of her liberty – or her life. We cannot ask her what she wants. By the time she is old enough – wise enough – to formulate that dream, it will no longer matter.’ Eryn looked down at the girl in her arms. She found herself in the reflection of Dalia’s eyes once more. Her brow furrowed violently. Fighting a sudden desire to run – to cry, to scream and roar, to turn the roof over their heads to dust, she scrunched her eyes shut and said: ‘She will go with Arún.’

Rangogh surged toward her, his face flushed with blood. He bellowed at the top of his lungs a loud, unwholesome tune of refusals. He was stopped mid-step by Arún, who matched him in volume, recusing and hurling any insult he could think of.

As they battled in a shower of spit, Eryn looked down at the changeling. Its beady eyes squinted at her from the opening of the sack; cold and cruel. Its gnarled fingers gripped the hem and dug in. Its foul grey skin, rough to the touch… Its grey skin. Eryn’s eyes widened; an idea formulating behind them.

The two men were still arguing. They did not see as Eryn ducked low and took hold of the sack. They did not see as she coddled both the changeling and the child. The pretty princess Dalia, and her infernal twin.

‘She is deserving of a higher status,’ Arún roared. ‘She belongs in a castle! A palace! A home far grander than this modest abode, viscount – you must see that.’

‘She deserves it. That much is true. But from you – from your family – she will have nothing of the sort! I have seen the scoundrels your young kin are sold to! The holes they go to die in! Filthy pits! Sticks instead of walls! No wonder your alliances expire so frequently, sir. As for Dalia – she is a child! She knows not what she desires in a home. She has known no other. This house is grand enough for her unpoisoned mind. Unpoisoned by your family’s ceaseless greed.’

‘If I return to my father empty-handed, I can promise you, you drunken fool, that this house will be razed for your insolence! This is abduction!’

‘Abduction!’ bellowed Rangogh. ‘I am not the blackguard who stole her away and began all of this! I am not the son-of-a-whore who sought the aid of a vicious monster to assist in stealing my granddaughter!’

‘My father wanted to send an army. Had I done nothing, you would already be dead, you ungrateful prick!’

There was a rattle of steel and a flash of silver. A blade whirred between them in a pale hand. Both men went white as a sheet and stared at each other, quizzically. Neither man held the sword that had been drawn. Somehow, in their fury, they had entirely forgotten about the witch at their side – who now brandished the only naked blade in the hall.

‘Good. You do know how to shut those ugly little mouths,’ she said. ‘I have already given my answer, gentlemen. I do not think further debate is warranted as it will only lead to bloodshed – and if you must go so far, let me warn you, that I will relish the first strike.’ She strode to Arún, sword in hand, baby in the other, and dropped the latter in his arms. He flinched a little as she did so, not being entirely sure whether he was to receive the girl or the blade. ‘You shall take Dalia. Better to grow alongside misery than be thrust unguarded into it when you’re older and naive. That is my final word,’ she said.

‘But-’ Rangogh started.

Eryn whipped around. The threat implied by her glower was matched only by the razor’s edge hanging below her waist. Rangogh’s courage failed him. He stood with his head hung low in silence.

‘Thank you, Eryn,’ said Arún, pressing the infant in the dirty blanket tight to his chest. He took a hand away to shake the witch’s but was unable. The blanket had come undone somehow and he was forced to hold it in place with both hands. ‘I am afraid this is goodbye. I must not dally. My father will be expecting news by morning, so I will have to fly post-haste, lest you find the lands about you aglow with silver and blue banners! Good evening, Viscount, it has not been a pleasure. And Eryn… I do hope that we will meet again.’

‘Perhaps on the field,’ she replied with a smirk.

‘Indeed. I look forward to it.’

With a final contemptuous glance toward the sulking Rangogh, Prince Arún turned and stormed from the hall. Eryn watched him closely as he vanished behind the corridor’s edge, and then re-emerged in the courtyard a short while later. He climbed deftly onto his horse with one hand, and along with the hunchback boy, they set off along the slate – the infant Dalia still pressed tight to his breast.

‘I understand why you did it,’ said Rangogh in a hoarse whisper a moment later. ‘He was right. It was foolish of me to think I could keep her. Urnn could not stand up to Berchmuld in a battle.’

‘Yes,’ said Eryn. ‘That is quite true. But that isn’t why I gave my answer.’

‘No? Then what was it that convinced you?’

‘He didn’t,’ she said, lifting the brown sack from the floor. She went to the viscount and deposited the sack in his arms.

‘Why are you giving me this monster?’ said Rangogh, frowning. ‘Have I to throw it in the fire a second time?’

‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you, my lord,’ said Eryn, pulling the sack open with a gentle hand. A head popped up from the opening. A face with skin stained grey and enormous blue eyes.

‘Wh- How? Dalia?’ Rangogh tightened his grip on the sack. Pressing the girl tightly to him, he began to sob. The princess, finding herself suddenly squashed, flailed an arm and struck her grandfather on the nose. He blinked as the tip turned bright red and looked down. Dalia giggled at the sight. ‘I am afraid I do not understand. Is this some miracle, or a mere mistake?’

‘Miracles are just nature’s mistakes, my lord,’ said Eryn, a little too smugly. ‘She’ll have to lie low a while. Perhaps send her to a relative – one you actually like! Just until Arún is satisfied that the girl has gone with me, as the changeling should have. Perhaps I’ll make Visimark before the Berchmuldans catch up with me – and by then I’ll have set the poor “imp” free.’

‘But what was your reasoning? Do you think she’ll do better here – with her grandfather?’

‘Who knows?’ Eryn said. ‘I’ll wonder about that for the rest of my life… but I know a thing or two about what her future might’ve looked like if Arún had gotten hold of her…’

‘What future would that be?’

‘Arranged marriage. Inescapable. Except if you run, of course. Running is hardly much better in most cases. Before you know it you’re running for the sake of it. Fighting for the sake of fighting. Killing to stay alive. If you’re lucky, you’ll find something to enjoy in all that. Something to relish in crossing swords. In tasting blood. Before you know it, you’re not sure whose side you’re on anymore. You’re not sure what good and evil truly is… If either even exists. It’s a wild world, my lord – and innocence is a death sentence.’

Rangogh looked at the witch with a puzzled expression. He wanted to ask – to know… but something kept him quiet. Perhaps it wasn’t his place? Perhaps it was nobody’s.

‘Tell me, Lady Eryn?’ Rangogh asked, tears streaming from his eyes. ‘Why do all of this for me – for Dalia? However could I thank you?’

‘Don’t thank me,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid I had more to do with this muddled business than you realise.’

‘To do with it – how?’

‘I thought that your court wizard’s death might’ve lured wild creatures to this house. I thought that your granddaughter had been taken by those same creatures – and the fault would have lay with me. But I was wrong-’

‘What does Huns’ have to do with any of this?’ Rangogh asked, his face a picture of befuddlement.

‘I killed Huns Fen Uard. That is why I am in Urnn. That is the business I recently concluded. Do you remember me telling you?’

Rangogh stared with wild, widening eyes. ‘B-But- Huns was killed by a- a convergence of Wild Magic – you said so yourself!’

‘He should have been. Magic is temperamental. Some folk are too damn stubborn to die when they ought. I took that duty into my own hands. I won’t stand idly by while the laws are broken. I won’t let the Wild do nothing while people like Huns carry on… If She won’t punish men like Huns, I will.’

‘But you said… you were wrong,’ said Rangogh, still straining to grasp what he was being told. ‘What did you mean by that? How could you be wrong – and still have something more to do with the kidnapping?’

‘When Huns’ died it lured more than wild eyes to look upon this house. A court without a mage is a weak thing, my lord. I’m sure the news of his death would’ve reached Prince Arún’s ear before even your own.’

‘You are telling me…’ muttered the viscount. ‘That you were not at all bound to assist me, is that correct, Eryn? That you lied when you declined payment for your services?’

Eryn nodded. A wave of red invaded her face. Rangogh’s eyes bulged. A grin appeared, but he was quick to mask it. ‘Thank you, Eryn,’ he said. He stared at the witch in full. Her red hair was stained black in a number of places. Blood – though darker than any he’d seen – had dried on her pale and scarred face over scrapes, both new and old. Her clothes were still caked in rock-dust while her trousers and boots alone were stiff with all manner of grisly matter. ‘I hope that somewhere in all of this, you have found the redemption you withstood such pain to achieve.’

Eryn didn’t speak, but bowed low and long. When she straightened up, her face wore a slight smile.

End.