There was a spider in the rafters. Owen watched it in the corner, spinning fresh silk amongst the dust covered remnants of former occupants. When he’d first arrived, the spiders had surprised him. They didn’t seem suited to the cold, yet they flourished. Their furry brown and gray bodies grew as large as his palm, pink translucent legs curling under rocks or scrabbling along woodpiles. Wolf spiders, Barnard had told him. This was not one of those. This one gleamed black and green, winked yellow in small bands on impossibly long legs, the delicate ebony tips resting on a silver filament of web. It hung there, suspended, waiting.

  "I went to a great deal of trouble to arrange this trip.” Taneah’s voice yanked him back.

  She spoke with a soft affectation, her muddled accent untraceable, each word drawn out with deliberate care. The silence between sentences lingered and rasped against his bones, the itch under his skin growing with each beat.

  "I paid a great deal of money—some of it to you, Roland Scramvyrn—with one simple condition."

  “I told you—" "Roland didn’t struggle, but the tilt of his body suggested strain, as if an unseen hand held him in place. His fingers tightened on Owen’s thigh with the faintest pressure. The fire lit him up, highlighting the hard lines of his scowl, the fierce furrow of his brow. “—not to cause any shit in my place.”

  Taneah nodded, the concession wrapped in faux grace, and took another small sip.

  “A mistake, on Avenna’s part,” she said, settling the cup onto the saucer. Ceramic met ceramic without a whisper of sound.

  “Unfortunate, but not insurmountable after some thought,” She straightened, though her posture had been impeccable already, and folded her hands in her lap.

  Her voice was strange, Owen thought—an undercurrent he couldn’t place, smoothed over with a calculated gentility. As if every word passed through a series of sieves—one for vocabulary, another for tone and cadence, a final one for etiquette.

  “I’m confident we can come to an arrangement that suits all parties with minimal fuss, just as I’m confident you both recognize the… benefits of cooperation. ”

  “I also told you we don’t want anything to do with whatever the fuck this is,” Roland said.

  “I’m sure you’ll get over the disappointment in time.” She smiled.

  Fed up, Roland shoved himself upright with a grunt and a heave, as if shrugging off a boulder. He reached down, gripping Owen’s arm lightly, and helped him to his feet. Owen’s legs felt like he had clambered onto dry land after a long swim. Taneah did not move.

  “I believe I also told you—“ she was calm as a frozen lake bed, her eyes lit violet blue. The glow of them pitched the room in purpling shadows, the spider projected huge against the wall. Her voice remained polite, never rising, but it pressed against Owen’s skull, thick and distorted, as if he’d dipped his head in warm water.

  “To Sit. Down. And. Listen.”

  Roland’s hand fell away as his knees buckled again. He hit the chair hard, shoving it back with the impact. Owen settled back into his own with a sludging reluctant ease, like a fallen feather. The light faded. Taneah lifted the cup, took a sip, and, after a moment, spoke.

  “Avenna should not have been able to tell you my name. An oversight on my part with our agreement, a lesson I have now learned and corrected, thank you Avenna. I had hoped not to need her services at all, but—well, I suppose everyone has a part to play in Fate’s little theatrical.” She waved an elegant hand, let out a bitter laugh, then took another sip. When she set it down, the cup clinked against the saucer.

  “Organizing something this large in secret is surprisingly difficult, you know. Never mind the deadline.” She looked down at her stomach.

  “I’ll admit, running off into the woods and leaving it by the riverbed would have been far less trouble—and I was tempted!” She laughed again—sharp, unrepentant. “Many times!”

  Even if Owen had thought of something to say, he wouldn’t have been able to interrupt her oddly jovial monologue. His mouth simply would not move. There was no pressure or obstruction, it was as if the requests he sent for it to speak were simply ignored, and he could only blink at her, placid and unmoving, as she went on.

  “But— I will concede — a firstborn will always have some use.”

  Owen swallowed as she lifted the cup again. It trembled in her hands, dark liquid sloshing against the rim with each shudder.

  “It’s an investment. One I went to a great deal of trouble, a great deal of money, to keep secret. I had to cover this face all the way from The Span.” With her free hand she gestured to the face in question, pristine save for the beads of sweat dotted along her brow. She took a trembling sip. When she spoke again, her voice had shifted—vowels stretched, her cadence dipping into a slow drawl. “And that little chit ruined it all.” She set it back down on the saucer, porcelain rattling with the tremor in her hands.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  “Having to skulk around in the mud, in the dark, pissin’ in pots. For weeks. You have no idea how much-“

  “I don’t give a shit,” Roland cut in. Owen snapped his gaze to him, startled. He tested his mouth—a stilted grunt broke free. His tongue felt too big for his mouth. Taneah smirked at them.

  “You require a third demonstration? My, my, aren’t we stubborn?”

  “Y-y-you’re sh-shaking,’ Owen forced out through clenched teeth. “It’s not endless, you know. And you’re overtired.” Taneah’s eyes flared, violet light bleeding into the room.

  Roland shoved himself to his feet and kept going.

  “I don’t give a shit who you are. I don’t give a shit what you’re doing up here. I don’t give a shit about your investment. Take your people and get the fuck out of my place.”

  Roland reached into his pocket and flung a leather sack onto the table. It hit heavy by the tongs, knocking them out of alignment with the sugar bowl. Owen had the absurd urge to nudge them back into place. Taneah looked up at Scram with a contrived doe eyed confusion, her tone going molasses sweet.

  “Your place? Why, I thought this outpost belonged to the Astrophales?” She turned her eyes to Owen. They had a weight to them, a knowing tilt that sent tickling fear down his spine. He shifted in his seat, moving to rise as well.

  “You are, Owen, correct? Owen Astrophale.” The name dropped like a toppled bottle, shattering between them.

  The information was not dear to him. It was no secret. There were several who knew his family name, or at least suspected. He had never hidden it. Yet, from her mouth, it felt like something he should have guarded—should have kept closer.

  He couldn’t look away from her eyes—an odd sort of blue, almost lavender, like forget-me-nots washed in sunset light

  “I know your brother,” Taneah went on. “We exchange favors now and then. He told me so much about this place—isolated, remote, the new last bastion of civilization! All hail the Frontier Service Mandate!” She laughed.

  “He was ever so helpful with Avenna’s paperwork,” Taneah continued. “Poor girl got herself in a heap of trouble.” Owen clenched his hands, twisting his fingers to work out the agitation creeping up his chest.

  Taneah refilled her tea. Her hand was steadier now. She nudged the leather pouch toward Roland, dropped a sugar cube into her cup, and stirred.

  “You may keep the money,” she added with a dismissive flick of her hand at the pouch. “I am much more interested in continuing our discussion.” Roland opened his mouth to protest.

  "Roland," Owen said, voice tight. "Please. I’d—ah—I’d like to listen. For the outpost."

  Roland didn’t move, his gaze burning, radiating confusion and barely checked rage like body heat. Owen’s heart was drumming so hard he was sure it could be seen through his clothes.

  “Oh, sit down. The useless posturing is giving me a crick in my neck.” Taneah motioned to the chair. “You’re right—I am tired. So, either we come to an arrangement that protects all of our interests, or I introduce your little misfit settlement to every ounce of scrutiny and consequence the name Taneah Winterglade commands.”

  Roland scoffed in open disgust, snatching the pouch off the table and sitting with it clenched in his fist, arms crossed in sullen defiance. Taneah nodded her approval.

  "I had hoped to have the thing done with in secrecy. Avenna would stay here to care for the child, perhaps even make herself useful to you, and I’d come to collect it at a more opportune time.” She sighed over lost opportunities. “Who else in this outpost knows who I am? Be truthful.”

  Owen was not sure if it was one of her compulsions, but the answer slipped from his lips without resistance.

  "Other than Roland and myself, no one." Owen glanced at Roland for confirmation. He gave a curt nod. "We sent Maribelle up to check on you, but we didn’t tell her your name."

  "Good," Taneah nodded. "That makes things a bit simpler. Lazrin is strong, but he’s been... overworked as of late. Bonding two of you will be enough as it is."

  "Oh, fuck no." Roland sat up, the implication hitting like a hammer.

  "Roland—" Owen tried.

  "I will not have another one of those fucking marks on my body," Roland bit out.

  “I’m afraid you have little choice,” Taneah did not sound at all remorseful. “Your word is of no value to me. You have nothing to offer but a bond. Even sick as they found themselves to be this morning—“ she gave Scram a speaking look. “—we still have the numbers.”

  “Or I could slit your throat, see to that leech outside and send your crew on their way.”

  Taneah did not look as threatened as a woman in her position should be, settling back in her seat with the air of a nanny waiting out a child’s tantrum. Owen knew what Roland was capable of, there was no doubt he could follow through.

  Taneah must know as well. Owen thought. She knew their names. She had spoken to his brother. His blood was loud in his ears, his mouth gone suddenly dry with all the ways that conversation could have gone.

  “Said so yourself, you hid your face all the way from The Span.” Roland sneered. “No one knows you’re here. No one here ‘sides us knows who you are. Just another poor nameless mother buried in the woods.” The reminder of how Taneah had come to be here startled Owen out of his spiraling thoughts. He gaped at him.

  “You think that lot outside gives a fuck who they’re following around?” Roland unclenched his hand, holding up the pouch and nodding his head towards the window. “You paid them more than this? I doubt it. Black to hide the hand, gold to seal the lips. That’s how it goes, right? I give them this they won’t mind taking back an empty carriage."

  Taneah laughed, high and amused. She looked even more at ease than she had at the start, as if the angrier Roland got the safer she became. Taneah’s voice turned almost pitying.

  “You know, Elias rather oversold this place.”

  Owen flinched at the name. Closed his eyes. Tried to breathe. His mind was a riot of noise, his thoughts so loud it felt like a thousand voices were screaming yet he could hear everything around him with perfect clarity. When he opened his eyes again the room was over bright.

  “It’s rather… vulnerable.” Taneah smirked. "Weak. Out here all alone at the edge of nothing. What was it you said? Just a few planks and a hot fire.”” She leaned in as if sharing a secret. “Told me all sorts of stories. The one I found most…enlightening was how it all came to be.” Her eyes drifted from Owen back to Roland who remained watchful and rigid. “Such a fascinating tale.”

  Dread settled in Owen’s stomach like heavy stones.

  “What are the terms?” He blurted. Roland’s head snapped to him.

  “Owen,” Roland was incredulous. “You can’t seriously be asking me to—“

  “No! I wouldn’t-I would never- but-“ Owen looked at Taneah rubbing nervous palms along his trouser legs. “Perhaps a Custodial er…arrangement?”

  “Have you lost your fucking mind?” Roland hissed. Owen had never seen Roland so angry at him, veins bulged, his entire body coiled with an intense thrumming anger he had only ever directed at others. Even the night before, with the blood and chaos and the fear there had been an underlying care to his hostility. Now Owen could see only his wrath. Owen turned away from him with a shuddering breath, unable to continue if he could see his face.

  “Everyone here, save me, is under the Mandate. They cannot leave without my authority and I can ensure their silence here.”

  “Like fuck you can.“ Roland grabbed his arm. “No. No. You are not fucking doing that.”

  “I have told you many times,” Owen tugged it away. He did his best to keep his voice steady despite the way his entire frame shook and tremored with each thud of his heart.

  “I speak for myself.”