A raven spiralled over the tangled streets of Chrysopolis, a mouse caught in its cws. It flew with purpose, knowing a specific point and seeking it out in a slow downward and inward spiral; unusually, it sought not its nest, but a specific alleyway, a hidden corner in the city’s wealthier district where the powerful went to do violence upon the weak. It was a nondescript pce, an intersection of cement walls, notable only for how out of the way it was and how drenched in the scent of old blood.

  There the raven swept low, dropping the mouse just above the cobbles. The mouse nded awkwardly, though unharmed, allowing the raven to rise up and, in a single swift motion, transform into a woman. The mouse soon followed, reverting to human form with a shrill noise.

  “That was mad, that was incredible, Shirrin what in the world were you…” Athan put her fingers over her lips. Something was off.

  “What better way to escape without being seen than to not escape at all? Nobody would suspect a raven with a mouse in its cws to be the alter ego of the Empress and her favorite witch.”

  Athan’s hand traced down from her lips, across her jaw, down her throat and onto her chest. It was a dreadfully shameless gesture, one which Shirrin struggled not to ogle at, and one which the Empress of the Macarians would have never performed except for her state of extreme shock. For the lips, and the jaw, and the throat, and the breast over which she traced were subtly different from the ones that she knew.

  “What have you done to me?”

  Shirrin sighed. “Our faces are known, and there is something of a distance yet to be walked before we reach the pace. I thought it best if it were not possible that we could be recognized.”

  Neither Shirrin nor Athan wore their usual forms. Shirrin had spent the entirety of the flight deciding exactly how she would change them both, what she would preserve and what she would alter. In a strange way, the two transformations were exactly inverse. Athan had maintained her air; the person into whom she transformed was obviously of noble bearing, still possessed of the regal softness which made her so impossibly beautiful. Everything else had changed; she was significantly taller, her body stretched out and slender, her hair had gone from bck to brown and her eyes had taken on a simir hue. Shirrin, meanwhile, had maintained much of the facts of her appearance: her bck hair, her northern paleness, her bony build and androgynous face. But that androgyny had been driven to an extreme: no longer was she an eerie witch, but instead an almost rakish figure, hair short and dressed all in Macarian finery.

  Shirrin extended a hand. “May I take this fine dy on a walk through the city?”

  Athan continued for several more seconds to marvel at herself, including a quick gnce down the front of her dress. Eventually she calmed, and noticed that Shirrin was giving her an invitation.

  “Of course. And I apologize for my uncouthness. But I suppose amongst women such things can be forgiven.”

  Shirrin smiled. “Indeed.”

  Shirrin let Athan fall to silence for the first minutes of the walk. She was not used to moving and existing in different forms, as Shirrin was, and to put on the pressure too quickly would only make the game too obvious. But Shirrin was pying a game.

  “I’m sorry you’re having to walk,” Shirrin said eventually. “Safer than changing back in the pace. Too great a risk of being seen.”

  Athan frowned, spending a moment to formute the question. Shirrin had expected her to ask why, if being seen was a concern, she had had them change in the middle of the Imperial booth. Instead she said something much more insightful.

  “Why do you care so much about keeping this ability a secret? You asked me to keep it a secret when first you used it in front of me, and now you do the same. I don’t understand.”

  Shirrin could not unleash the actual truth, that it was a secret weapon for use against Peleus. But the proper lie was not an easy thing to create. “You see, my power of transformation is not one which I can…”

  Shirrin interrupted herself. That wasn’t the right lie. Try again.

  “Transformation is the basis of a real witch’s art. It’s a fundamental act, as ever-present and as sacred as breathing. If Peleus knew I could do it, he would be fully in his right as my master to compel me to use that power for his ends; and that is something which I cannot abide. Imagine if Peleus could compel you to breathe for his own ends, how horrible it would feel, how the very act of drawing breath would be no longer yours; that is why I cannot let him know that I can change shape.”

  “Sometimes I feel that I do breathe for his benefit,” Athan murmured. She looked down at Shirrin—impossible in their usual forms—and grinned sheepishly. “Apologies, I shouldn’t make it about myself. That was… I had never thought of it that way before.”

  “No, please, do make it about yourself,” Shirrin said, the veil of dishonesty lifting for a moment. “What do you mean by that?”

  Athan shrugged. “What purpose do I serve? I bear children, I appear at his side. My flesh is for him. He dominates me, rules me, trammels me into the course of his choosing. But such is womanhood.”

  Shirrin forced herself to chuckle instead of seething. “Indeed. Once again, we are one and the same, except that you’re lovely and I’m a witch.” Shirrin looked away, as though gazing across a vast horizon, then said something very calcuted. “If only we could do away with men.”

  Athan pyfully swatted at Shirrin’s shoulder. “Don’t say such a thing. It’s uncouth.”

  “Uncouth?” Shirrin raised an eyebrow. “And who, pray tell, will care if we are uncouth? Nobody knows who we are. You can say as you wish.”

  Athan looked hither and thither, then down at herself, as Shirrin’s words sank in. She grinned like a child. “I suppose you’re right. Nobody knows who we are, so say that you would damn every man to hell if it was in your power. Though I don’t think you’re right to do that.”

  “Right? You don’t think I’m right? Do you wish to argue?”

  Athan had to seriously ponder the question, though from the sparkle of levity in her eyes Shirrin guessed that her hesitation was more about propriety than serious trepidation.

  “If we didn’t have men, where would we get children?”

  “I could probably make a child via magic,” Shirrin said with a shrug. “Assuming I put my mind to it for long enough. Or we could do as the Amazons are said to do, gathering seed in pouches.”

  Athan flushed dark red. “Shirrin!”

  “If you wanted me to avoid crass topics, you should not have brought them up.”

  “What about fighting, then? Who would do the fighting, if not men?”

  “Did I not just mention the Amazons?” Shirrin said, slightly irritated. She’d started the argument for one reason, and Athan was avoiding it.

  Athan shook her head. “Women can fight, I suppose. But we aren’t built for it.”

  “Perhaps not. But I would say the difference in construction is not infinite. Have you ever seen a woman fight? I’ll tell you, I can do quite well with a bde. Perhaps I shall have to show you.”

  “That would be interesting,” said Athan. “I may take you up on that offer.”

  Shirrin smirked. That would be one way to draw Athan closer to her. Strip down to just her underclothes and let the Empress watch while she swung a sword about for half an hour. If that didn’t work to draw her interest, nothing would.

  Athan, meanwhile, was still interested in the debate. Her brow furrowed, and after several moments, she finally came up with her st rebuke. “What about love, then? If there’s no men around, who will we love?”

  And Shirrin grinned, because that was the question she had been waiting for. “I find that I can love a woman just as well as I can love a man.”

  Athan looked confused. “But there’s no…”

  Shirrin raised an eyebrow. “Really, Athan, I thought you didn’t want this debate to turn to such crude matters.”

  The Empress… pouted. It was not an expression that Shirrin had ever expected her to make, even while wearing a different face, but she relished the opportunity regardless, memorizing every petunt contour. Shirrin tried not to look smug about it, but doubtless some of the emotion crept through.

  “You’re the one who brought the conversation there,” Athan said. “But no, go ahead, I’m sure you have some erudite counterargument to make. Go ahead.”

  “I simply mean to say that… have you never had a girl that you were terribly close with, as a younger woman?” Shirrin asked innocently. “Nobody who made you wish that you could remain unmarried forever, a maiden, content to dwell in that liminal embrace that exists only between women?”

  “Of course I did,” Athan said. “Every woman does. I’m sure you did too, Shirrin, with the way you talk about it. But it’s an immature thought, a mere manifestation of the yearning for childhood. The love between a man and his wife is more complex, more three-dimensional than the mere shadow.”

  Shirrin nodded. “I didn’t realize you loved your husband so much. Weren’t you just saying how he trammels you?”

  “Yes. But that is what I mean when I say that love between a man and a woman is more sophisticated. A child grubs at anything that looks sweet; an adult takes only what is needed, and gives the rest to those whose needs are unmet.”

  “And an adult also flies into a rage when insulted, becomes paranoid without sufficient evidence, and murders without remorse when his feelings are not satisfied?”

  Athan fell silent. Shirrin knew that she was pushing hard on the limits of the conversation, perhaps too hard, and joined her in that silence. They continued their pleasant walk through the most beautiful part of Chrysopolis, though Shirrin made sure that the course was steered through a longer, less direct route to the pace. Naturally, her mind began to wander; perhaps the Empress would appreciate a quick treat? Something warm, to banish the winter.

  Wordlessly, Shirrin ducked aside, spotting a patch of dandelions growing out of a gap between the stone ground and a pster wall. While Athan watched on in confusion, she ripped them out of the ground and, shrouding all of it under a cloak, worked some magic.

  “Here, my Empress. Warm wine, to insute you against the chill winds.”

  And, indeed, when Shirrin outstretched her hand, there was a pewter cup in it, and the cup was full of warm, spiced wine. Athan took it, thanking Shirrin softly, but after the first sip seemed to lose interest.

  “You can keep a secret, can’t you?”

  “Have I not been keeping your secrets all this time, ever since the first of our midnight meetings?”

  Athan nodded. “I wish it had been Hector.”

  Shirrin stopped in her tracks, as did her heart. Athan continued a few steps further before realizing that Shirrin had stopped, then stopped herself, turning around with an expression of curiosity.

  “What did you just say?” Shirrin said, forcing herself to speak louder than a whisper.

  “Don’t stop walking,” Athan said by way of reply. “The longer we take to arrive at the pace, the greater the chance someone will start to think I’ve gone missing. We don’t want that to start a panic.”

  Shirrin took a moment longer to remember how to use her legs, then hurried to follow. “What did you mean by…”

  Athan seemed to shrink and dim, the bright royalty of her bearing shedding from her like wool from a sheep. She wrapped her arms around herself, searching for something buried deep within that needed to be torn out and brought into the light of day.

  “When you were… saving my life, did you… Can witches see the spirits of the dead?”

  “You presume that sight is the only way by which the spirits may be known,” Shirrin said carefully. “And that the spirits of the dead are so simple in their existence. Their presence can be sensed, that I will say.”

  “Damn you and your sorcerous vagueness! For once, can you answer my questions?” Athan went quiet, suddenly conscious about the possibility of her outburst being overheard. She took another sip of warm wine. “When I was… dying. I heard Hector’s voice speaking to me. Whispering in my ear. Begging me to remain alive. Was that in truth his spirit? Or merely a figment of a dying mind?”

  What response could Shirrin possibly give to that? To say that his spirit was present, indeed to say that Hector had ever really existed, would be a terrible lie. But so, too, to cim that it was merely a hallucination. So instead Shirrin did what she did best: she deflected.

  “That’s the first time you’ve mentioned it, you know. Your… poisoning. Are you feeling well? Nightshade can have long-sting effects.”

  “I have not felt any. Whatever witchcraft you worked upon me was quite effective in that regard.” Athan sighed. “I have been trying to find a way to thank you properly, that is why I have not mentioned it.”

  Shirrin wasn’t so sure that that was the truth. The nightshade had, after all, been self-inflicted. “Take all the time you need. The protection of Peleus’s household is, after all, my duty as his sve, the price he extracts in exchange for peace upon my people.”

  “Thank you,” said Athan. Then, a moment ter, she startled, rapidly turning to gre at Shirrin, heedless of the fact that this caused her drink to spill onto her sleeve. “You avoided the question! Why do you avoid the question? Did you sense Hector’s spirit or did you not?”

  “Why do you assume Hector is dead? You said he simply vanished one day.”

  Athan let out a rueful chuckle, but her eyes were full of tears. “Idiot. Everybody knows Hector is dead, and any man or woman who believes otherwise… It’s a polite fiction, the myth of the exile. He’s dead. Whether by his own hand or that of his brother, he is dead.”

  Shirrin could say nothing. She had known that what had happened had brought Athan grief, but it was now apparent that the full depth of that grief was something the Empress kept hidden.

  “I’m sorry I lied to you, Shirrin.”

  “It was no lie,” Shirrin said. “You merely showed me your hopeful side. Tis a beautiful thing.”

  Athan frowned. “Do you then believe he could still be alive? You must have travelled far, have you… met him? Is he really in exile?”

  “And what does it matter if I did? You are married to Peleus.” Shirrin paused, lightheaded with anticipation. “If I did tell you that Hector lived, that he was in exile in some far-off nd, what would you do?”

  “I would go to him. I am the second greatest power in the Empire, nothing could stop me from it.”

  “And then, when you found him? What would you do then?” Shirrin’s lips were pulled back in a rictus grin that mixed glee and spite.

  “I would… I would be quite upset with him,” Athan said, chin up. “I would ask why he vanished, why he left his betrothed the way that he did.”

  “And then what? Once he had given his excuses, what would you do then? Athan, would you change your life if Hector yet lived, or would you feel a great many emotions and then go right back to doing what you were doing before?”

  Athan stopped, then hurried forward as though to catch up to herself. “You keep avoiding my damned question. Why?”

  “Well, now you’re a hypocrite, so there. And you have drink all over your sleeve.”

  Shirrin bought enough time to steady herself, clutching the bone-charm neckce and forcing her heart to slow down while Athan looked at the ruined robe. It took her several seconds of annoyance before the Empress realized that those clothes had been conjured by magic.

  “The question you ask is one whose answer is impossible,” Athan finally said. “If what you said were true… then I would be a bigamist. And as I am not a bigamist, I do not know how I would react.”

  “Yes. And there are… there are states which are not death, but neither are they life. That is where Hector has gone, and to expin further would…”

  Shirrin stopped. On the tip of her tongue was something that could bring this all to a climax, could bring Athan fully into her fold. Three simple words. Three simple words and all would be revealed, Athan would be tossed out of Peleus’s orbit and made to love Shirrin once again.

  Three simple words that would unmake everything. Shirrin would not go back, would not experience the slow fying that had been her prior existence. The one who Athan loved was a shadow cast upon a cave wall, a painting of a beautiful subject made by a crude hand.

  Shirrin looked up, past the rows of houses on either side of the broad avenue down which the disguised pair walked. “We are almost at the pace,” she said. “We should find a pce to change back.”

  Athan quickly agreed, and the search for a private corner began. All the while, though, Athan was giving Shirrin the strangest look. Her eyes were squinty and intense, as though she were trying to stare right through the magical disguise and into her heart. Shirrin was gd to be done with it.

  SaffronDragon