It was well past midnight by the time I finished stitching Samson's wounds closed. The best we had for a table to lay him on was one of the ones we'd bought for the kitchen, moved into one of the empty rooms in the residence hall. The others sat in chairs around the room, occasionally passing me supplies or pacing anxiously. I was too focussed on my work to talk, but it didn't seem like any of us were eager to chat.

But eventually I was done. The wounds were closed and the bleeding staunched. With some blood tonic in his system, he should be recovered by the morning. I was exhausted, but I still had enough energy to gently pick Samson up and motion towards the door with my head.

"We'll meet in the solar," I said. "Once he's in a comfortable bed, we'll discuss…everything."

There were nods and murmurs of agreement as everyone slowly filed out of the barren room. I was thankful to get out of the place when it stank with the scent of fresh blood, but I wasn't completely able to escape the smell. My hands were coated in blood still. Some from the assassins I'd killed at the palace, some from working on Samson. My mouth was still stained with red, but that was all from killing.

I laid Samson down in an empty bedroom, leaving the door open as I left. My walking slowed as I turned towards the solar. I stared down at my hands. My blood-soaked claws.

So much had been happening at the palace that my mind didn't have any time to process what I'd really done. All that I was thinking about was how I'd stop whatever plan was being enacted, and I didn't even succeed. Now there was blood all over my hands for nothing. The cadavers, I didn't care about; it was clear that they were already dead, constructs created by some kind of magic. But those two in the lab….

I was upset, to say the least. It felt like a yawning abyss had opened up in my heart, threatening to suck in all my emotions. I didn't know how Grace could stand it, being a fighter and a killer for pay. Even though they were assassins who had already murdered at least one other person, and who knew how many more in their service to the "Skinners", there was an inherent pain that wouldn't go away. The worst part was knowing it would probably have to happen again.

I couldn't let myself sit there and wallow in this, though. It was done, and there wasn't any changing that. I stopped by the washroom to rinse my hands and face before going to face the flight. The blood was sticky and hard to wash clean, but with enough time and effort it was scrubbed away.

The solar was cramped with seven humans and two dragons occupying it, especially since the others hadn't had time to change out of their formal attire, which was all drenched from the flight home. Griffin had lost nearly all of their colourful sashes during the flight. I was the only one who was at all comfortably-dressed, having gotten back into my shifting robe once we landed in the courtyard and I returned to human form.

The air was gloomy and tense. I cleared my throat to make sure I had everyone's attention.

"So," I started. "I think that if we got anything from tonight, it's this: We need to get rid of the vicar."

"That's clear," agreed Rosalie. "Grace told me you were doing investigative work? Do you have any idea what happened?"

"There was a ritual," I explained. "Using something called 'royal blood'. The vicar snuck in some infiltrators from some group called the 'Skinners' and those corpse people. They were his doing. One of the cadavers tried to kill Samson—I think they were just taking out any of the servants who knew too much about Barbosa—and one of them went into the occult wing to do the ritual. I interrupted it and killed the cadaver, but I don't…I think I messed up."

I held myself back from verbally berating myself more than that. I knew that I had been worse than useless out there, but repeating that out loud wouldn't get me anywhere.

"What kind of ritual?" asked Emrys, holding his voice together well despite his pale and worried expression. "Did you see what glyphs they were using?"

"I did, but I don't remember what they looked like," I admitted. "It was just the royal blood, and then there was this…it was like a hole in the air that the blood was flowing into. I broke the bottle, and everything just…flared up. The hole sucked in the cadaver's body and the broken glass. It almost got me, too, but I held onto the door."

Emrys leaned forward, bouncing his leg rapidly as I saw a million thoughts flash behind his eyes. "Right…" he muttered. "And the cadaver, I'm guessing it was wearing a mask?"

"It was," I confirmed.

"Oh, saints preserve us," he whispered.

"What?" asked Grace. "What is it? Do you know what they did?"

"I have an inkling," Emrys said grimly. "And if I'm correct, it is extremely fortunate that you were able to avoid being pulled in, Grace. It…would have been the end of you. More so than death would be, even."

"Get to the point, man!" snapped Ingo.

"The ritual," explained Emrys. "It sounds like it was a submergence. It's…a twisted form of communion, a forbidden rite. Or, it is in Laimnâch, anyway. You see, spirits, they aren't like normal life, even the ones that come from our world. They don't change and grow as they age, they stay the same. So when a spirit wants to change something about itself, it must perform a submergence, taking something else and incorporating it into its very essence. A spirit becomes something new in this way. Spirits can do this relatively easily for small things. One that wishes to become more like a river stone it is fond of can absorb such a thing on its own, without difficulty. But more potent objects require more power, and the aid of an occultist."

Stolen novel; please report.

"So you're saying that they were trying to…combine the blood with the Serpent spirit?" asked Arthur.

"Correct," said Emrys. "Normally, it is impossible to perform the rite on an unwilling spirit, but I've never heard of this 'royal blood' before. Perhaps it has properties that allow an unwilling submergence." He nodded towards me. "What happened when you destroyed the bottle and disrupted the ritual, Belfry, is precisely why this art is forbidden. When the flow of vis was shocked, the ritual attempted to incorporate anything nearby before the vis collapsed. If it pulled in the body and the broken bottle, that would explain why the spirit sprouted a mask, glass shards, and cloths from its body."

Grace stared into the air for a moment, doing the calculus on what that implied. "So…what happens if it pulls in a living person, and not just a dead body?" she asked.

Emrys anxiously wrung his hands. "Well, it is fortunate that Belfry was able to hold onto something. There is limited knowledge on this, as it is again a forbidden rite and not to be spoken of but to those who can be trusted with its secrets, but from what I know a person subjected to the rite would…their identity would be obliterated, essentially. They would combine with the spirit into a new being with both material and spiritual forms. And if both creatures were unwillingly combined, I can only assume that whatever monstrosity that came of it would be dangerously insane."

Silence hung in the air as we processed that. I couldn't get the image out of my head, and it sent shiver after shiver down my spine just how close I had come, not just to death, but a fate worse than death. I was already struggling to keep the Fiend from taking my mind—I could hardly imagine how torturous it would be for my mind to be forcibly merged with another. Would I have forgotten my friends? Grace? Would…would the soul be combined too, or would "I" have already passed on to the afterlife as the merging separated it from my body and mind?

"But it didn't happen, so we shouldn't worry too much," Emrys said, forcing himself to be more chipper and composed than he really was after laying all that out. "I doubt the vicar wants to do something like that anyway, even if he can perform this rite on unwilling spirits."

"Speaking of," said Grace, "if it was the 'royal blood' that did that, I think our next plan should be learning where he got it from."

"Probably from the val Hosks," muttered Yura. Everyone turned to look at him. He rolled his eyes. "You mentioned the val Hosks have expertise in innovative forms of magic, and this is clearly a yet-undiscovered form of using vis. They could well be behind the vicar's supply."

"…That's…not a terrible point," I said. "But if we do go to talk to them, you aren't coming."

Yura scowled. "Why?"

"You have ulterior motives," I said. "You almost committed a murder right in front of a crowd today! If you can't control yourself in a place that public, I don't have any confidence in taking you into anywhere more private with them."

"I didn't take the chance, even though it was a perfect one," argued Yura.

"Right, because Brand and I physically held you back," I pointed out. "I understand—"

"You do not," Yura interrupted.

"Yura," I said with heavy emphasis. I let the room stay silent for a moment before I continued. "Look. I know that you have your own reasons for wanting Katra val Hosk dead. I don't even think that they're bad reasons. But you will not kill her unless I give you leave to do so, both because there is still a possibility that you're mistaking her identity, and because we have significantly more pressing matters to deal with which won't be made easier if one of our flight goes out and murders someone very famous, wealthy, and influential. Understand? This is an order, as the flight captain."

Yura took a very, very long and deep breath. "I understand."

"Good," I said. "As much as everything going on is awful and hectic, we need to stay calm and keep our heads, or the vicar will tear us apart. Right now, we need to know what royal blood is, and how it might have affected the Pure Serpent. If there's a way that we can find it and cure it, it might be an ally that can help us take down the vicar and give us some legitimacy against his reputation.

"So, what we're going to do right now is get the night's rest so that we're ready for what's coming. Tomorrow, we need to get some people to a library or bookstore in town and do some research on this royal blood. We should also try to contact Florence val Lunedor. She mentioned that her house was interested in an alliance. I'm not sure how much I trust them, but I would rather see if they can at least lend us information than forge ahead alone."

"Research, letter," Grace summed up. "It's a good start."

"Mhm," I said. "Also, just as a precaution, I…don't think that anyone who isn't a human should go into the city anymore. Not until we deal with Barbosa. I don't doubt he sees us as a threat, and if that's the case, we'll stand out like sore thumbs in a city with no dragons in it."

«What will we do, then?» asked Griffin, even their mental voice hoarse with stress. «I don't—I really don't want to just sit here and wait.»

"We can explore the shire," I said. "We've got wings, we might as well use them to try and find where the Serpent disappeared off to. If we want to cure it, we need to know where it is." I paused in thought, and snapped my fingers. "Oh! We could also fly to Lynnmore College, across the lake. The vicar spoke to me about them earlier. He…clearly didn't like them, so they might be able to help us if we're against him."

"I heard some of the guests talking about them tonight," said Ingo. "They sounded like a local bogeyman."

"Allies are allies," said Rosalie. "I would prefer to at least explore our options. And Griffin is right that at this hour, no one should be idle."

Griffin didn't seem enthused by the suggestion, but it didn't look like they'd be enthused by anything right then. They stared at the ground between their claws with a hollow, vacant look in their eyes. I resolved to ask them about what happened tonight in the morning. We had our plan, and none of us could afford to put off rest any longer. Not when we knew our enemy.

"Okay, Ninth Flight," I said. "It's been a long, long night, but we know what we're doing and where we're going. Now we need to be ready to face what's coming. Get some sleep, we'll reconvene in the morning to plan out teams."

The others quietly stood and filtered out of the room while I walked along behind them. I was trying to seem more confident than I was. I was terrified of the power our enemy had at his command, but I couldn't let them see that. They had to believe that we were going to make it, or we definitely wouldn't, and it was my job as a leader to keep the mask of confidence on. At least we could be glad that we now had some thing to fight against instead of the nebulous threat of the Scourge. Perhaps the vicar was even behind it, somehow, and we could kill two birds with one stone.

Despite my words to the others, I was up late into the small hours of the morning that night, trying my best to keep the recurring memories of the sight and smell of blood on my claws out of my head. It didn't work, and my dreams were filled with flashes of violence and red sanguine that night.

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