《Devil Dust》


 Bridle Suite

    Princess Genevieve sat still, a picture of cold, weighty stoicism, while the handmaid appointed by her husband-to-be dutifully powdered her face.


    "Do try not to pout so much, Your Highness," the maid said, her voice so gratingly upbeat. "It''s supposed to be a happy occasion."


    With her first intentional movement in over five minutes, Genevieve turned her head towards the hulking metal guard posted by the door. The soft whirring hum it made even while idle filled the small dressing room. The walls around it were covered in fine drapery emblazoned with the red-and-gold emblem of Gryst, a tight, winding spiral with spikes protruding from its outermost curve. Their thick fabric muffled any noise coming from outside, and in isolation that uncanny buzzing grew more oppressive as the moments trickled by.


    After too long a moment Genevieve ripped her eyes away from the thing and made herself stare forward into the mirror. It wasn¡¯t any more reassuring. Her hair had been dyed a bright blonde, and for all the praise she used to hear for her delicate features, the way they had done her up, exaggeratedly pale with cheeks rosier than her father''s thorn garden, went so far beyond reason that it almost felt like parody. The face that looked back from the glass was closer to a porcelain doll than a person. And it certainly wasn¡¯t her. "Am I not entitled even to my own feelings?" she protested, letting her voice come out as bitterly as it wished, asserting her own existence in whatever small way she could manage.


    "Of course you are, Highness," the handmaid said, in the resigned tone people used to placate irritable nobles. "More than any of us regular folk, I imagine."


    Genevieve dug her fingers into her thighs, knuckles turning white. "I would renounce my title and live on the streets if that would bring me my freedom."


    "You don''t want to live on the streets, Your Highness." The maid took a small brush to Genevieve''s eyes, lining them thin and black.


    "I don''t want to marry that man," Genevieve replied. She kept her eyes open and still, just barely resisting the urge to make the maid''s life more difficult as an act of petty rebellion.


    The handmaid frowned, and Genevieve could see the wrinkles of concern forming around her eyes in the mirror. "Then I guess it''s too bad that isn''t an option for ya." She sighed and brought Princess Genevieve up to her feet. "Whether you want to or not, I gotta get you in the dress. Not like I have a choice in that neither."


    "What''s your name?" Genevieve asked as she was brought across the room.


    "Eleanor, Your Highness," the maid answered diplomatically. She was pink-skinned, middle-aged at a guess, and a little on the short side, but that didn''t take away from the matronly authority she carried. Her wavy chestnut-brown hair was trimmed carefully, and her curvy figure managed to make even the plain workmanlike dress she wore into something fetching. "It''s an honor to serve you, Princess."


    Every estate Genevieve ever visited had a maid like her: kind and warm, but forceful enough to strong-arm royals like her into brief, localized deference. She was being diplomatic right now, feeling Genevieve out to determine if she was going to be a problem. But a friendly rapport would make things a lot easier. It was best to be sincere and try to break the ice.


    "And it¡¯s an honor to be served by you, Eleanor Your Highness." Genevieve allowed herself a moment to smirk, but her expression soon fell again. "You don''t need to flatter me. I''d rather you be honest. You have no idea how conceited I feel when the nobles insist their staff worship the ground I walk on."


    "If it''s honesty you want?" Eleanor relaxed her shoulders. "You wanna be here less than I do, and you¡¯re not being too much of a pain in the ass about it.¡± She carefully removed the pins holding an impossibly elegant white wedding gown in place on its dress form. ¡°I appreciate that, believe it or not."


    "I''ve been tempted a few times," Genevieve admitted. "But it wouldn¡¯t do any good. It''s not like you''re one of the people I''m mad at."


    "Well, I¡¯m grateful for that. But I couldn''t much blame you if I was, could I?" Carefully, carefully, Eleanor picked up the dress and held it up against Genevieve''s front. It was an ornate thing, with precisely detailed, delicate gold trims and dense layers of sheer white fabric. It lacked, however, the long train one would normally expect on an extravagant wedding gown. Instead it simply stopped at the floor, precisely fitted to hang just the barest fraction of an inch above the ground¨Ca concession, Genevieve assumed, to the dusty, rocky land of Gryst that would instantly ruin any fine fabric dragged across it.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    "Put your arms up, dear," Eleanor said. Genevieve complied. "I have to ask, though," Eleanor continued, as she began the arduous process of wrapping Princess Genevieve up in all of that fabric. "Is it really so terrible marrying our prince? Not that he''s the nicest man I''ve ever met, by any stretch. But in my head I guess I figured he wouldn''t have to be. I like a royal wedding as much as the next girl, but I¡¯m not a fool. We know it''s all politics for you regal types. The girls from the capital tell me the Queen kept separate bedchambers and found herself all sorts of pretty young things to keep her company, back before she passed. Doesn''t sound like such a bad arrangement, if you''re gonna be hitched to a cart you didn''t ask for regardless."


    Holding herself still while the gown was pulled into place around her, Genevieve could only scowl bitterly and shake her head with disdain.  "I don''t want to be in bed with that man politically any more than I want to be in bed with him physically," she said. "I don''t want any part of this whole ghastly enterprise." She glanced at Eleanor. "I''m sorry if that offends. You aren''t responsible. But he is."


    All Eleanor could do was shake her head sadly. She zipped up the back of the gown and set the outermost layer of cloth in place. "No, I understand. I''m sure this land seems cruel, coming from outside. King Harmon only tamed it by being even crueler. And Prince Cornelius is undoubtedly his father''s son. For better or worse, that''s the way of it." Once everything was done Eleanor took a step back and put her hands on her hips. "Turn for me, dearie?" she said.


    Slowly, Genevieve turned around, the delicate fabric of the gown swishing around her elegantly. It was a heavy, cumbersome garment, even with its more compact style. There was no chance of her moving very far or very fast in it. She¡¯d sat still and let herself become more trapped than she already was. The proof of that hung off her body, heavier than just the fabric.


    Eleanor was giving her most reassuring smile, a warm expression well-suited to her charmingly chubby face. The thoughts running through Genevieve¡¯s head made it hard to appreciate. She placed her hands on Princess Genevieve''s shoulders. "You look lovely," she said.


    In response Genevieve shuffled in place and pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I suppose this thing doesn''t have any pockets, does it?"


    "I''m afraid not, dear," Eleanor said with a little chuckle. "But what does these days, eh?"


    Genevieve answered with a thin, polite smile.


    "Anyway, let me get the veil for you, and you''ll be ready to go out there and¨Cdo what you have to, I suppose." Eleanor''s face fell mid-sentence. "Sorry, dearie. I was trying to be positive."


    "It''s all right," Genevieve said. "Thanks for the attempt."


    Nodding her head, Eleanor stood back to look around the room. "All right, then," she said in a long exhale. "Where''d I put the darn thing¡­?"


    She turned her back for just a moment while she looked. Genevieve took the opportunity to lean down and tug at the strap around her ankle, quick and furtive. It wasn¡¯t quite as hard to reach as she had feared, but the mess of fabric she was clothed in certainly did its best to get in the way.


    "Oh, no, you shouldn''t do that, Your Highness," Eleanor said, stopping Genevieve in her tracks. "A wedding gown''s not made for moving in. It''s just for looking pretty. You''ll start ripping things like that."


    Her breath caught in her throat, Genevieve slowly stood up. "I''m sorry, miss Eleanor," she said. "I just needed to adjust my stockings. They were bothering me."


    "That''s what I''m here for, dear," Eleanor chided gently. "If anything isn''t fit quite right, let me know and I''ll fix it up right and quick, all right?"


    Genevieve nodded silently, taking deep steady breaths, her hand pressed tightly against her side. Careful, careful, she thought to herself. Careful, careful.


    A look passed over Eleanor''s face, but she quickly decided it wasn''t her place to question. It was a convenient perk of royalty. No matter how friendly you were, people didn''t like to challenge you. Just in case you were the same kind of monster as all the others, under the surface. She moved toward Genevieve and lifted the bridal veil over her head. "Here we go dear, just like that."


    While she was setting the veil on, Eleanor leaned in and muttered conspiratorially. "Just between you and me," she said quietly. "We''re all sort of hoping you''ll be a good influence on him. Or at least that he''ll leave you in charge of the human staff."


    "I understand." Genevieve nodded, ignoring the lump in her throat and the knot in her stomach. "I wouldn''t want to work for him either."


    For a moment Eleanor stared at Genevieve, a worried frown on her face. Then she leaned in, and gently put her arms around her. Genevieve stiffened at the unexpected touch, but didn''t reject it. "Good luck to you, dear. Let''s just hope it won''t be so bad."


    Genevieve nodded, still focused on that steady breathing. She kept her right hand clutched tightly against her side, but reached out to give Eleanor a cautious pat on the back. "Good luck," she repeated, granting herself a single long sigh. "I will need it. Maybe everyone will."

 Cornelius

    Soon enough a procession of hulking automaton guards appeared outside the dressing room, and Genevieve was escorted outside into the dry, dusty air. It was chafing, cloying, and difficult to breathe, but what disturbed her most was its uncanny lifelessness. The air in her homeland was humid but rarely muggy, cool and refreshing whenever you stepped outdoors, and rich with vibrant, living magic. Her entire life she had been accompanied by the subtle whisper of energy at her fingertips. She was used to feeling a connection with the land, and being able to manifest its will as her own. But in Gryst the air, the land itself, was barren, hollowed out and dried. Whatever once grew on the plains had long died out. The earth had no power to express itself. And so neither did she.


    She didn''t understand how anybody could live in a place like this.


    And then there were the automatons. The hulking metal men marching her to her fate, sunlight glinting brightly off their smooth, rounded metal bodies. They had no faces, only empty helmets affixed to the tops of their heads. Genevieve had only realized in the last few days that the helmets were added on after the fact, bolted to the headless torsos of these things that had no need for a mind, in what must have been an attempt to make them seem the slightest bit more personable. They were nothing more than hollow shells, another symptom of the desolation that King Harmon and his ghoul of a son somehow expected their subjects to live in.


    They had given her a twisted feeling deep in her body even before Cornelius''s little display. Now she could barely stand to look at them.


    Genevieve was marched out of the Prince''s palace¨Chis summer home in remote Fogard, where it was so easy to keep her isolated¨Cand down a cordoned path with ornate arches covered in green vines and bright flower arrangements. She could feel the plants drying and fading in the sun every time she walked under one.


    Her guards forced her down the path, away from the palace itself and to the ostentatious chapel built right next door. She walked past the board in the front where the Prince''s men had put up bounty posters naming the kingdom''s most wanted. There were pencil sketches of a burly, scowling man, a girl with two horns and sharp, angry teeth, a stout older woman, and a thin, reedy man with an incredibly narrow mustache. Seeing them made Genevieve uncomfortable. Verdane issued bounties, certainly, but they didn''t place them front and center in front of a house meant to honor the Pulse. There was something wrong about it, something carceral and grotesque, but the more time she spent with Cornelius the less such things surprised her.


    Crowds had gathered along the edges of the palace to watch the ceremony. They followed her along the walkway, cheering and celebrating, eager and excited, but notably keeping a short distance from the cordons that told them where they could not go. Nobody wanted to risk stepping a toe over the line.


    The ceremony was being held at an altar constructed just for the event, placed atop a raised stage so a crowd of the Prince¡¯s subjects could witness the splendor of it all. Genevieve¡¯s automaton procession led her up the short flight of steps. She had to raise her knees slowly so she wouldn''t trip over the gown or topple over on her heels as she climbed. It was imperative that she carry herself carefully, so carefully, in case any errant movement dislodged the one thing she couldn''t afford to lose, but thankfully it didn''t make her seem suspicious. A Princess is meant to take slow, dainty little steps. That''s why they put her in such obnoxious outfits to begin with.


    Onlookers followed her from when she left the palace all through her slow walk to the stage behind the chapel. Now she had reached her destination they were filtering into the parade ground cleared out for them to stand and gawk in. Genevieve tried not to resent them too much. There was always huss and fuss around her, from people who didn''t know her and shouldn''t be giving her so much credit. But they enjoyed the show, and in a land like this one, she could hardly blame anybody brightening their life with some good old royal spectacle. Maybe they hoped the union between Gryst and Verdane would make it easier to get fresh produce from the neighboring kingdom.


    They at least could have given me a fruit bowl, Genevieve thought to herself. Normally she tried not to be so petty and entitled, but she wasn¡¯t going to be her best self today. And stress had a way of making her hungry.


    She climbed the stairs up to the altar, where a massive wooden arch decked out in red and gold stood over a lectern set up for the priest. Genevieve could see him, a tall, thin, balding man in long white robes talking with a flustered young woman she recognized as one of Cornelius''s maids behind the altar stage. Cornelius himself was nowhere to be seen, of course. His grand entrance needed to be the main event. Until he decided it was time to get this over with, Genevieve just had to stand there. Trembling slightly. Keeping herself steeled and shredding her nerves till they bled.


    The murmurs from the crowd were getting louder. Every now and then she picked out someone saying her name or title in some combination of excitement and curiosity. They weren''t hostile to her, but she was an object of fascination, a royal from another kingdom moments away from becoming one of their rulers. They wanted to know what kind of person she was, how things might change once she was part of their royal family. She wouldn¡¯t know what to tell them even if she had the chance.


    Being gawked at was nothing new, but it was strange to realize she was unknown. Back home people had developed ideas about her. She had a public persona of sorts, and the papers long ago settled on their spin for everything she said and did in public. She was the spitfire, the problem child, petulant and immature and insufficiently regal. Making herself out as a woman of the people because she was too naive to realize how politically important and tragically pampered she was. Well-intentioned, perhaps, but a little embarrassing.


    It always irked her. She respected her subjects, and she thought it was important to serve them. She understood that her position offered her privileges, and that it came with responsibilities. She had tried very hard to be an eloquent, passionate advocate to her parents, and to argue in favor of what she thought was right. But the men who wrote the papers were served well by the status quo, so if she was bringing an impetus to change it, that could only be youthful rebelliousness. Condescending self-righteousness. Childlike naivete. "It is good to have a Princess who believes in change," one of them had written, "and equally important for her to grow into a Queen that understands the importance of stability."


    Genevieve placed a hand on her dress, above her heart, just to be sure it was there. She knew what was important. She did not need an old man living a comfortable life behind an editor''s desk to agree for it to be true.The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    A voice startled her out of her recollection. "Perk up, Your Highness," the priest said, with a beaming smile. He had walked onto the stage and approached her while she wasn''t watching. "It''s a joyous occasion. Your subjects want a smile."


    Genevieve glanced out to the crowd for a brief moment, avoiding the priest¡¯s eyes until she decided how to answer. "I am simply growing impatient," she said. "With nothing to do but wait and wait."


    "That''s understandable," the priest said. "I''m sure the anticipation would be getting to me too, if I were in your shoes. But don''t fret. They''re telling me he should be coming out in just a moment now."


    "Thank you." Genevieve nodded politely. "I will bide my time."


    The priest smiled and nodded and gestured an acknowledgement with the holy book in his hand. He walked off to take his place behind the podium in the center of the altar, and Genevieve was left alone with each second crawling agonizingly slow over her skin.


    Her gaze passed once more over the altar stage itself. It was regally decorated, with the red-gold arch in the center and floral arrangements placed all around the edges of the platform. The half-dozen automata that escorted her had arranged themselves in a precise, formal line. Three on each side of the stage, standing at attention, still as statues. The sun shining on their slick, polished armor was almost blinding.


    A loud trumpet sounded out across the field. Genevieve looked all around for the trumpeter, who seemed to be very, very close, but no matter where her gaze passed she couldn''t see any sign of a band, even as other instruments began to play a regal marching tune. There was a strange quality to the sound, like it was coming from a small room through an open door. She heard quiet chuckles from the crowd as she kept looking, which told her she was going to have to take the mystery music in stride. If there was magic doing this, she would be able to feel it, but the air was as dead as ever. Which meant the sound had to be coming from some impossible device, an inexplicable Gryst invention like the automaton guards. It was another display of power from the Prince: no magic, no men, but the band plays all the same.


    He was more fond of his machines anyway.


    Clanking metal could be heard past the corner of the church, opposite from where Genevieve had come in. Cheers came from the crowd on that side of the building, who had been waiting to watch the Prince''s procession, and the first trickle of them began filtering into the parade ground for the ceremony itself.


    It took only a few moments longer for the Prince''s regiment to make their appearance. The first to round the corner was an automaton, smaller than the others, dressed in an elaborate military regalia. A commander, perhaps, leading the royal guard. Following behind came another regiment of half a dozen automatons, three on the left and three on the right, forming a phalanx around their royal charge, the man of the hour. The Prince himself.


    Prince Cornelius was a tightly constructed specimen. Perfectly chiseled, with a strong square jaw and piercing green eyes, blond hair in a flamboyant coiffe and shoulders that weren''t quite broad enough to be conspicuous. His skin was fair, but perfectly tanned in that way only the wealthy had time to achieve. He had bragged to Genevieve that a physician (whose credentials Genevieve very much doubted) told him his skull was the perfect ratio (of what, exactly, was a mystery greater than any written on the stars). And yet every time Genevieve saw the Prince, she noticed him trying to make himself look taller than he really was.


    For the ceremony he had donned a fine, tailored suit. Luxurious imported silk, in the same deep blood red of Gryst''s heraldry, adorned with the expected gold trims. He grinned big and wide and waved to the crowd as he walked around the bend and approached the altar. The sound of people swept up in the excitement and splendor of royalty grew louder the closer he got to the stage.


    More cheers came from the crowd when his procession moved onto the stairs, the leading automaton first, then the prince and the guards flanking him. The click of Prince Cornelius''s hard-toed dress shoes against the wooden steps stood out clearly amongst the metallic clanking and thudding of armor. Each step sent a little trickle of dread oozing down Genevieve''s spine.


    The commanding automaton stepped up onto the stage, and immediately marched off towards the corner, where it stood rigidly at attention. The phalanx automatons did the same, joining the ones that had come out with Genevieve in their lines at the sides of the stage. And then there was Cornelius himself, walking towards the middle and stopping just a short distance from Genevieve. He grinned at her, his eyes looking her over with ugly triumph hiding behind them, his wide grin taking on a darkly predatory quality only for her. "My dearest Genevieve," he said with looming gravitas.


    "Cornelius." Genevieve did her best to smile pretty for the Prince and the crowd. Giving him what he wanted. Best to appease him, just for a few moments. Just long enough.


    The music slowly died down and the crowd began to hush, not fully silent but keeping their conversations to a respectful whisper. A quiet thunk was made by the priest setting his holy book on the podium. He adjusted a strange device, tall and black and thin with a rounded top, that was set before him, and the soft tap he gave it reverberated loudly across the parade grounds. ¡°A good afternoon to everyone assembled,¡± he said, and his voice came out so big and booming that even those far in the back would have heard it clearly. ¡°Honored guests and loyal subjects of the Kingdom of Gryst, today is a day for rejoicing. We are gathered here, at this site of the Holy Pulse, to celebrate the marriage of these two beautiful young people." He swept his hands across the stage, and Cornelius waved big and grand for all to see. All Genevieve could muster was a tiny wave and a tinier smile. Dainty and timid, like a Princess should be.


    ¡°I know everyone has been waiting patiently to see this wedding,¡± the priest continued, ¡°and the union of this great nation with our verdant neighbors to the south. But as impatient as you are right now, imagine how our lucky couple must feel!¡± That earned a polite sort-of-laugh from the crowd. ¡°So let¡¯s not keep them waiting any longer. Will the bride and groom please step forward?¡±


    As soon as he said that, Genevieve held up her hand. "Before we do," she said, speaking up loud enough for the crowd to hear her for the first time since she took the stage. A murmur ran through the parade ground, and the Prince''s smile took on a forced, strained quality. "There is one thing I need to say to you¡­ my dearest.¡± She looked Cornelius in the eye. ¡°In front of the people of Gryst and our fine priest, serving witness for the Pulse itself."


    "And what is this portentous message, my sweet?" Cornelius asked. He was grinning wide for the crowd, but there was murder in his eyes.


    Genevieve didn''t answer with words. She put her hand to her breast, gripped tightly, and stepped forward towards the Prince.


    It was careful work, pulling it out from its hiding place under the frills of her gown. She¡¯d practiced the motion over and over with the fanciest dress she still had from home. The wedding gown was much more cumbersome. But not so cumbersome she couldn¡¯t still do it.


    She took another step.


    There was no way to be inconspicuous. So she had to be fast. The Prince was close enough now. Even with her heels. Just this once she didn¡¯t have to be elegant. She only needed to strike true.


    She threw herself at him, and aimed the blade for his heart.

 The Devil

    Cornelius was too shocked to move. Just as she planned it. He had left himself vulnerable, and her aim was true.


    But she never could have been fast enough.


    Genevieve¡¯s arms wrenched back, seized and twisted by the inhumanly powerful hands of a looming automata. She gasped in pain, and the knife she was gripping so tightly clattered to the stage.


    A deathly quiet fell over the crowd.


    "You''re putting on quite the performance, my pet," Cornelius said, visibly trembling with rage. His impeccably coiffed, pedigreed face looked like it was about to grind all of its teeth to dust. With a single heavy footstep, angrily and ominously stomped into the wooden floor, he leaned in right up close to her, and glared daggers into her eyes.


    "Your Highness, what is¨C" the priest began to say, but a single look from Cornelius silenced him. He shut his holy book and left it on the altar as he walked off the stage. Cornelius didn''t wait for him to leave before he turned his attention back to Genevieve.


    "What did you think you were going to do, you backwoods ingrate?" he hissed in his most loathsome voice. "Do you believe my father''s pointless political dance will stay my hand?" He put his hand on her chin, squeezed her face between his thumb and his forefinger. Brushed away the bridal veil with his other hand. Looking her face over like he was inspecting a piece of fine pottery for chips and flaws. And he scowled at her for being a disappointment, squeezing her cheeks forcefully, speaking in a low, threatening growl from the back of his throat. "What use do you think I have for a toy I''m not allowed to break?"


    Everything Genevieve could possibly feel was roiling through her all at once. Her limbs were frozen in fear, but her entire body shook with unbridled fury. The pain screaming from her twisted arms was just barely numbed by the adrenaline surging through her, the deep icy chill down her spine only warmed by her seething, raging, white-hot hatred. She wanted to fight, she wanted to curl up in a ball and cry, she wanted to live, she wanted to die, she wanted to strangle Prince Cornelius in front of all his subjects and every other soul in the world.


    She wanted to go home.


    The bastard''s face was so close to hers.


    There was nothing inside her now but spite and desperation. She was cornered, helpless, and restrained. But she needed to act. In whatever way she could.


    Princess Genevieve welled up all the saliva she could get from her mouth and spat in the Prince¡¯s face.


    A gasp ran through the assembled crowd and was quickly swallowed by stunned, terrified silence. Cornelius took even a second longer to process what had happened. He stepped back, so taken aback he forgot to be furious for just one brief moment, and wiped his face off with the sleeve of his fine, luxurious, royal suit.


    The Prince slowly turned his gaze towards the crowd. He stared at them all blankly. And then he turned that same blank stare onto Genevieve. Her brain started moving again in that moment, and she kicked and strained against the grip of the automaton holding her in place. But something dark and cold and monstrous in the Prince''s eyes stopped her flailing. She froze, and stood numbly with the metal hand tight around her wrist.


    He turned his back to her. The automaton waiting at the edge of the stage, the smaller one adorned in royal regalia, approached him. Prince Cornelius reached out to remove the long, thin blade that it was wearing on its hip. He held the sword up for a moment, as if testing its weight, and then he simply stood still. For one second, and another, and another.


    And then he whipped around. His sword held out. The tip extended just far enough.


    In the split second she had, Genevieve saw the point about to slash across her face. Held by the automaton, she could only jerk away from it. Her eyes closed tight, waiting for the cut. A small whimper escaped her lips.


    Thock.


    A sound like a knife smacking against the bark of a tree.


    ¡°What the hell is wrong with all of you?¡±


    Genevieve opened her eyes.


    Standing in front of her was a cloaked figure. Right arm held up, blocking the blade with a thick, padded armguard.


    ¡°Is this the kind of sick show you like to put on around here?¡±


    The voice was feminine, but husky and brusque. A blue, spaded tale wound its way out from beneath their cloak and flicked the air in indignation.


    Cornelius¡¯s face twisted from confused anger to furious rage. ¡°How dare you,¡± he snarled with open malevolence.


    ¡°What, you got this big-ass crowd of people and they¡¯re just supposed to watch you slash up a lady¡¯s face?¡±


    The Prince pulled back his blade, keeping it in his hand but down at his side. ¡°Get this thing off the stage,¡± he commanded furiously. ¡°Get it off!¡±


    At his word, the dozen automatons standing idle all sprang to life. Long, flat, heavy blades extended from inside their arms, and they charged at the cloaked person in uncanny unison. The closest one had been standing right by Cornelius. It lunged forward, blade extended, already close enough to strike. The figure in the cloak didn''t move. Their hand twitched and then it was at their hip.


    BLAM


    A deafening explosion rang out. The automaton stopped in its tracks, a hole blown clean through its center. It fell to the ground in a shaking, malfunctioning heap. The cloaked figure held something¨Ca black powder pistol, but not like any Genevieve had seen before. The hood covering her head fell back, and for a brief moment Genevieve could see a glimpse of a young woman. Her round, boyish face was covered in fine blue scales, and two nubby horns poked out from underneath her short, messy black hair. Genevieve could just barely make out, over the ringing in her ears, loud, fearful cries of ¡±Demon!¡± from somewhere in the crowd.


    The girl whipped around towards the pair of automata closing in on her next. There were two more loud BLAM BLAMs, and a second pistol was in her right hand now, each gun blasting a hole into an automaton, each automaton crumpling where it stood.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    She turned casually and¨CBLAM¨Cfired a shot towards Prince Cornelius while he made a rapid exit from the parade stage. The small automaton in the military uniform leaped out in front of the bullet, catching it in the midsection. With an uncanny shudder the machine crumpled and fell to the ground as a sad pile of scrap metal.


    Cornelius was out of her sights, so the woman turned to Genevieve. Her right hand traced an odd semi-circle in the air, looping around Genevieve¡¯s body¨Cthen aiming just to the side of her head. Genevieve winced and


    BLAM


    the grip around her loosened as the newly-perforated automaton fell down to the floor. She wrenched herself from its mechanical hands. The demon girl leaped towards her and was suddenly on top of her. She didn¡¯t look much older than Genevieve, and she was a few inches shorter, but she pushed Genevieve down, gently but insistently, arching her back protectively as she did so. She yelled something Genevieve couldn¡¯t hear over the ringing in her ears, and Genevieve looked at her confused. The demon girl repeated it again, as uselessly as the first time. When Genevieve could only shake her head the girl took Genevieve¡¯s hands and pressed them against her ears. Finally getting the idea, Genevieve hunkered down as it seemed the girl wanted her to, and pressed her hands against her ears as tightly as she could. She didn¡¯t know how much it was going to help after her ears had already been blown out by gunshots, but it was probably better than nothing at all.


    Evidently satisfied, the demon girl stood up¨Cjust as an automaton approached behind her and plunged its sword down into her. Or at least it intended to. Instead it found itself stuck in the wooden floor of the altar, the edge of the blade grazing harmlessly against the girl¡¯s padded right arm as she pivoted out of its way. She raised her guns and with two more loud bangs blasted holes into the automaton, which collapsed against the stage with its sword arm still embedded in the floor.


    The rest of the guards weren''t simply standing still. Six automatons surrounded the gunslinger and swung their blades at her with precise coordination. She darted back from one sword, only to put herself directly into the path of another. She could only avoid it by bending far backwards and letting the arc of the blade narrowly pass over her midsection. Then she had to twist wildly to right herself and slip away from the blades of two more automatons, who clashed against each other as they struck where her gut had been just an instant before.


    The last two automatons couldn¡¯t get through the mass of their comrades to attack her directly. But they swung in her direction anyway, boxing her in with the tips of their blades. The devil girl had almost¨Cperhaps literally¨Csupernatural agility, and her nimble, sinuous body was small enough to dodge away from the automatons¡¯ heavy protruding blades at every turn. That didn¡¯t matter when she was surrounded by six guards that wouldn¡¯t give her time to aim her guns or room to fire them. They¡¯d forced her into a battle of attrition, and she was going to lose.


    There had to be something Genevieve could do to help her, but she couldn¡¯t think of what. She looked around the stage desperately, but there was nothing¨CCornelius ran off with his sword, of course, and even if she had a blade¡­


    Then she noticed the small, crumpled automaton in the regal uniform, and the slight, faint, but deeply familiar shimmer coming off of it. A tiny, almost imperceptible trace of magic leaking from the hole the devil girl¡¯s bullet had blown through it.


    Genevieve knew what that must mean. It was almost a relief nothing had been released from the other ones. But she didn¡¯t have time to dwell on that. She ran to the downed machine and scooped the little shred of energy it had into her fingers.


    Genevieve hadn¡¯t been given much chance to exercise this muscle since she was sent to Gryst, three whole months ago. And even with a bit of magic, the barren earth didn¡¯t give her a lot to use it on. But she could at least stop the ringing in her ears. Undoing minor physical inconveniences was the first thing anyone learned to use magic for. So she channeled a piece of that tiny spark of life into her ears, restoring her hearing with a loud pop. Suddenly she could hear the clashing of swords and the devil girl¡¯s exertions as she dodged between them. But just as she channeled a little bit more, to protect her ears from the rest of the explosions that were sure to come, she heard something else¨Cthe clanking of metal, loud and fast behind her.


    She had no time to think. She threw herself to the side, feeling that little bit of magic she recovered slipping out of her fingers to be sucked back into the starving earth. The armored fist of an automaton crashed into the wreckage of its former captain, smashing what was left of it into pieces.


    The guard turned to loom over Genevieve. She was helplessly trapped in the thick layers of her own dress, and flailing about trying to get to her feet only made things worse. She yelped in fear and frustration, backing up towards the edge of the stage. Falling to the ground was the only escape she could think of. But the automaton was on top of her, and there was no way she could throw herself off before she was grabbed.


    Her cries caught the devil girl''s attention. She glanced in Genevieve¡¯s direction, but she didn''t let herself get caught off guard. She slid under an automaton''s sword strike, and then jumped right at the machine''s armored chest. Her feet came up and she planted them on its plated chassis, digging her clawed toes in with a metallic crunch. The force of the impact didn''t move the automaton in the slightest. It didn¡¯t have to. With all the strength she could muster, she kicked off its chest and launched herself up and over the melee she was caught in.


    One of the guards swung at her while she jumped over it. She twisted out of the way, but it managed to catch her in the shin and she went tumbling. Her head banged against the automaton''s helmet and knocked it off completely. It clattered to the ground and so did she, smacking into the wooden platform with a hard, ugly thud.


    Genevieve could see her out the corner of her eye, past the automaton reaching its hand out to grab her neck. Crashing into the ground didn''t slow her down. Teeth gritted and eyes focused, she raised her gun and fired. Bang.


    The bullet punched a hole clean through the automaton¡¯s chest. Genevieve could see clearly the strange, gently glimmering web of metal threads and geometric shapes inside the machine. A light inside it flickered red for a brief moment before dimming completely. And the guard went down¨Cwith Genevieve underneath it. Its heavy metal body collapsed on top of her, leaving her to struggle and wriggle her way out from underneath it.


    "Agh," she grunted while she jerked her arms free. "Damn it, damn it, damn it¡­"


    "Sorry!" the devil girl exclaimed. The automaton she had jumped over loomed behind her, sword raised for a killing blow, until she leaned to the side, bent her arm behind her head, and fired a shot behind her through its chest. "Sorry," she repeated. "I''ll help you out, I will, just lemme¨C"


    She vaulted forward, narrowly avoiding a leaping plunge directed at her spine, and rolled onto her feet. She twisted around on her ankle and fired off a quick shot through her attacker''s middle.


    But there wasn''t even a moment''s respite. Another guard leapt over its fallen comrade and charged at her with a fast, lunging stab. The demon girl simply jumped over it, like a practiced runner leaping over a hurdle, to land perched on one foot atop the flat of the broad, thick blade.


    Before the automaton could shake her off, she stepped forward with her other foot and sprung into a flip. Guns raised, cloak flowing behind her, and tail whipping through the air, she soared over the automaton and put two more bullets in two more guards that were waiting behind it. Then the momentum of the flip pulled her head forward and down, under her heels, and she fired one more shot into the back of her mechanical springboard. Her feet hit the ground just a second before three automatons did, one after the other in rapid succession.


    Only one guard was left, and it wasn''t programmed to back down. But now the tables were fully turned, and the devil girl was in her element. The last guard swung at her once, twice, three times, a flurry of quick, devastating strikes, but she slipped past each one with easy, fluid steps. Finding no success, the automaton reeled back for one more decisive blow, striking down diagonally to slice through as wide an area as it could.


    The girl leaned to the side and raised her arm. The blade sailed a fraction of an inch past her head. It scraped briefly against her armguard. And then the barrel of her gun was pressed against the automaton''s chest.


    She pulled the trigger and one last blam rang out, echoing across the chapel grounds. Genevieve, feeling her small bit of magical protection fade, pressed her hands to her ears so they wouldn¡¯t get blown out again. The last automaton crashed to the ground, and a long, still silence fell over the altar.

 Gravity

    With one last forceful push, groaning and grunting with exertion, Genevieve pried her legs from under the automaton pinning her. The long skirt of her dress was ripped, but still thick and heavy enough for her to get tangled up in it. She kicked the tight, high-heeled wedding shoes she¡¯d been made to wear off the stage. They fell onto barren earth. The crowd fled the scene as soon as the shooting started. She couldn''t exactly blame them¨Cnothing was coming to this place except a whole lot more trouble.


    The devil girl cast her eyes to the chapel, on the lookout for that very trouble. She tilted her guns down at an angle, and twisted one of them slightly to the side. With the hand that was holding her other gun, she held out a few fingers and spun the weapon''s rotating center piece. It made a rapid clickclickclickclick sound and then settled itself back into place. Switching sides, she repeated the same motion on the other gun. With a flick of her wrist, two long metal rectangles fell out of the guns, and she raised both of them up, prepared for any further assailants.


    While she slowly turned around in a careful circle, sweeping her barrels across the area, the gunslinger dug around inside her cloak with her tail. It came out wrapped around another one of the metal rectangles, which it inserted into one of the guns, and then dipped back inside for another. Once both had been replaced and the girl turned far enough to see Genevieve, she lowered the guns and tucked them away in holsters beneath her cloak. Her tail darted out to scoop up the two metal boxes she dropped, and slipped them into a small pouch at her waist.


    It took a bit of effort, but Genevieve managed to stand back up by herself. The wooden stage was warm and smooth beneath her feet¨Cshe wasn''t afraid of getting splinters from it, at least. Just as she was taking a few experimental steps to make sure the automaton hadn''t crushed anything, the devil girl approached, sprinting to her while she pulled her cloak back around her shoulders.


    "Sorry for droppin'' that thing on ya," she said. "I just¨C"


    "No, don''t apologize for that." Genevieve bowed her head gratefully. "Thank you for killing it."


    "Ah¡­ all right." The devil girl ran her fingers absent-mindedly over the scales on the back of her hand. "Hey, listen. Your, uh¡­ well, I mean, I assume the whole wedding thing is off, otherwise this was all a lot of wasted effort, so, uh, that asshole? Definitely has a whole bunch more of those metal men marching out this way." Her eyes wandered around the landscape just past Genevieve''s head, never quite looking directly at her face. "So we gotta, like, get all the way not here, pretty damn quick. Is the thing."


    "You''re absolutely right." Genevieve took a deep breath and mentally prepared herself to run. "Lead the way, then," she said, holding her hand out towards the blue-scaled woman before her.


    "Lead the¨Coh. Yeah. Right. Sure. I can do that." The girl looked at Genevieve and then reached out to clasp her hand. "Just, stay close, all right? I''ll do what I can."


    "Of course¨C" Genevieve began, but she was cut off mid-sentence when the girl suddenly jerked her forward, dashing towards the stairs.


    It was an instant disaster. There was no way she could keep up with this girl at the best of times, and with the big poofy dress she was in, her feet got themselves tangled up in fabric and each other after a single unexpected, bounding step. She stumbled and tripped forward and then the world was a tangle of limbs and scales and fabric, the pit of her stomach dropping out as the ground disappeared from under her.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    Genevieve squawked in the least dignified way possible as she fell into the devil girl, knocking her off the platform. The girl fell onto the stairs with a grunt of pain and bounced off of them like she was made of rubber. They both wound up smacking into the tightly packed earth of the walkway below the stage, slightly battered and entirely caught up on each other.


    ¡°Aaargh!¡± Genevieve howled angrily, trying to extract herself from the impromptu girl-pile. ¡°God damn it! I can¡¯t move in this, this fucking¨C¡±


    ¡°Hey, hey, calm down!¡± the devil girl snapped sharply. ¡°Just for like two seconds. You''ve got no idea how many explosives I¡¯m carrying right now, you¡¯re gonna set something off if you keep flailing like that.¡±


    ¡°That¨Cyou¨C¡± Genevieve started, but she didn¡¯t actually have anything to say. The warning scared her still, and she kept her body as rigid as possible while the girl dexterously slipped her way free, leaving Genevieve to sort herself out on the warm, hard ground.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± the devil girl said. ¡°Sorry, it was just easier to pull myself out with you sitting still. I only have a couple of bombs on me, for the record, an¡¯ they shouldn¡¯t be going off just from getting jostled a bit, but uh. Rather not risk it. S¡¯dangerous stuff.¡±


    Who are you and why are you like this, Genevieve thought to herself, but this really wasn¡¯t the time to look a gift horse in the mouth. ¡°It¨Cit¡¯s all right,¡± she said, shakily rising to her feet again. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I didn¡¯t mean to fall. I just¨Cthis stupid gown, it¡¯s¡­¡±


    Genevieve leaned down and started tugging at the skirt of her dress, trying to rip the bottom part of it off, or detach it, or something, so it wouldn¡¯t be getting completely in the way of her legs, but it was a durable enough garment that just tugging with her hands wasn¡¯t going to rip the thing apart. ¡°I can¡¯t run like this, I just¨Cthey put me in this, it¡¯s not like I had any other clothes, I-I have to¡­¡±


    The devil girl glanced around, her body still on alert and wary of another fight. She exhaled softly and stepped towards Genevieve. ¡°Okay, hold on. Do¨Cd¡¯ya need help? Do you want me to help you?¡±


    ¡°I¨Cyes,¡± Genevieve said, refusing to let everything that had happened in the last two minutes hit her, trying to keep her eyes locked forward. ¡°Yes. Please.¡±


    ¡°All right. All right. Just¡­ don¡¯t move or nothin¡¯, I¡¯ll try to be, y¡¯know, considerate.¡± The devil girl held out her hands, which ended in long, sharp, dangerous looking claws, and kneeled down next to Genevieve. With a deep breath she reached out and grabbed the fabric of the skirt, tearing into it with her claws. Then she yanked on the dress, harder and faster than Genevieve could have expected. In a single motion she ripped the lower part of the gown apart, shredding the fabric, leaving a tattered, uneven, ruined skirt that went down to vaguely around knee-length, give or take.


    The speed of it took Genevieve by surprise and she squeaked a little as her legs were suddenly exposed to the warm, dry air. That seemed to embarrass the girl, who looked away from Genevieve as she quickly stood up, like she didn¡¯t want to be caught staring at a lady¡¯s legs. ¡°Hey, look, I¨C¡± she started saying, but then she shook her head and tossed the scraps of fabric she was holding aside. ¡°Sorry. Thought it¡¯d be better to get it done quick. Should have given you a warning.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Genevieve insisted, ¡°it¡¯s really fine. Quite fine.¡± She took a few steps forward and was relieved that, while the gown was still heavy and awkward and no good for moving in, she at least wasn¡¯t tripping over it with every step. ¡°I¡¯m glad to be rid of it. I¡¯ll be more glad to get rid of the rest.¡±


    ¡°Oh. Okay. Well, uh, so long as you¡¯re glad¡­ I guess I am too?¡± the devil girl said tentatively, like she was trying to ask if that was the right answer.


    ¡°It¡¯s a relief, at least,¡± Genevieve said. ¡°But, please, let¡¯s just keep going.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, yeah, of course. C¡¯mon. I¡¯ll, uh, run slower,¡± she said, and she took off, leading Genevieve off the pathway, past the cordon, and away from the church.

 Marcie

    True to her word, the girl held herself back, keeping just ahead of Genevieve at an antsy, uncomfortable jog. Showing so much restraint made the girl anxious, if her fidgeting was anything to go by, but Genevieve really did need it. Most of the roads were traveled enough for the ground to be tightly packed and not too rough on her bare feet, but there were still occasional rocks, and whenever they stepped off onto a side street she found herself stepping on more gravel than she wanted to. Despite the discomfort, Genevieve kept her eyes on her guide and kept moving forward, keeping pace as best as she could and not letting herself think about anything else.


    Every now and then the devil girl glanced back at her to make sure she was still following, which Genevieve appreciated. She would be completely and utterly lost without her help, and the looks of fear, confusion, and disdain they got from the few people who noticed them on the street weren¡¯t reassuring. Everybody was hurrying inside and shutting themselves in tightly, anticipating the trouble they already knew was coming. None of them wanted anything to do with whatever mess Genevieve and the devil girl had gotten themselves into.


    After a few minutes of running through the streets like that, the devil girl jerked her head up just slightly, as though she was suddenly struck by an important thought. ¡°Oh, right,¡± she said, and she slowed her pace down even further to match Genevieve¡¯s step for step. "Marcie."


    Genevieve was confused for a moment before she realized what that meant. "That''s¡­ your name?"


    "Yeah. Marcelle Silver. But Marcelle''s kinda weird so folks just call me Marcie. Or Marce. My dad called me ''Marcester'' once but I told him I was not gonna let that catch on and it didn''t."


    "I¡­ I see." Every word that came out of this girl¡¯s mouth made her significantly less intimidating. Genevieve was glad for that, though. "Well, then, my name is¨C"


    "I know who you are!" Marcie interjected. "C''mon. You''re that princess. Princess Gene¡­ Genese? Guinevere?" She scratched the side of her head with a clawed hand. "Okay, shit, maybe I don''t know," she muttered sheepishly.


    "That''s all right." Without slowing down, Genevieve roughly mimicked a courtly curtsy in her ripped gown. "I am Princess Genevieve of Verdane. Thank you very much for your assistance."


    "Right, that was it," Marcie said. "Jen."


    "...Jen?" Genevieve repeated, taken aback.


    "Oh. Should I not call you that?" Marcie asked, looking away like she had been rebuked. "All right. That''s fine. Uh, should I say the whole thing every time then, or¨C"


    "That''s really all right," Genevieve said, cutting her off. "You can call me whatever name you want. I¡¯m completely in your debt right now."


    "Ah, no you''re not." Marcie drew her cloak around herself, her body language hunched and guarded. Her scraggly bangs hung down over her face, giving her a grumpy yet charmingly disheveled look. "All I did''s the bare minimum. It''s a pretty sorry state of stuff if that whole crowd could watch what was going on there without anyone even trying to raise a hand."


    "You fought off a dozen automaton soldiers single-handedly," Genevieve said dumbfounded. "That''s far beyond the bare minimum."


    "Eh, they''re really not that big a deal," Marcie said with a shrug. "They got this, like, processing center thing in the middle, and a buncha motor junctions that control the function of each individual limb and stuff, uh¡­"


    She spoke with the halting cadence of someone about to wander off into the woods, but before she lost Genevieve completely Marcie bit at her lip with her pointed, sharklike teeth and reconsidered the trajectory of her sentence.


    "...Point is they''re not built with a lotta redundancy in mind? Armor''s s''posed to keep all the important stuff safe, so if you got somethin'' that''ll punch through it and know where you need to hit they''ll, uh, they''ll go down pretty quick."


    Marcie turned down a particularly narrow back alley, too narrow for them to walk side by side, so Genevieve followed a few steps behind. It was strange to hear a girl barely older than herself talk so casually about taking down the fearsome metal soldiers that had convinced her father to marry off one of his children in the first place. But when Genevieve thought about it, it only made sense Marcie would have some experience fighting them. "I saw your face on a wanted poster," she said. It wasn¡¯t an accusation or even a question, just a statement of fact.


    "Yeah, well¡­ that''s a misunderstandin''." Marcie''s tail flicked the air behind her. "Okay, half a misunderstandin'' and half a he deserved it. Times, uh, five or six. Call it three misunderstandings and three he deserved its."


    "You¡­ get into trouble like this a lot," Genevieve said. If she were thinking straight she probably wouldn¡¯t have said something so pointless, but she was struggling to keep up in more ways than one.


    "I mean, s''not like I''m tryin'' to." Marcie sighed. "S''just, you know. When the creeps in charge are bein¡¯ shitty to people and stuff. I mean, like, back there, right? No one else was doin'' something about it. And it''s just, like, someone should do something about it." They came to a big pile of discarded wood and furniture stacked up in the alleyway, almost fully blocking it. Genevieve assumed it was a makeshift barricade, but nobody would have had time to construct it in the short time they had been running. "So I felt like I had to. Be the one who does something, or whatever."


    Before Genevieve had a chance to ask what they were going to do about the obstruction, Marcie exhaled with a sort of hoo, boy cadence and hopped up onto the furniture pile. She was unnaturally lithe and nimble, her tail out behind her flexing and curling to help her keep balance. With just a couple of graceful, fluid leaps, her athletic body stretching and bounding with ease, she was on top of the pile and bending down to offer Genevieve a hand up. "Here, c''mon."


    It took a fair bit more effort for Genevieve to climb the mountain of debris, scraping and scuffing her already-ruined gown along the way. As soon as she reached the top she stumbled and swayed, nearly losing her footing, and had to crouch down to clutch the overturned dresser beneath her for dear life. Marcie, though, was completely unfazed, standing on the awkwardly angled wooden furniture as easily as if they were still on the ground.


    "Besides," Marcie continued. "I''m like¡­ scary. So folks kinda don''t wanna give me that much leeway. Which is sorta unfair I think but, y''know, it is what it is."The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    "W-well," Genevieve said. She was a little too busy trying not to fall and split her head open to come up with a response to that. "I, ah¡­ oh dear¡­"


    The nervousness in her voice made Marcie glance down, and only then did she realize the plight Genevieve was in. "Oh!" she said. "Sorry, sorry. Didn''t realize you were, uh. Having trouble. Here, hold on," she said, leaning down to help steady Genevieve. "We''ll hop down real quick. Just stay close. I gotcha."


    The climb down was barely less harrowing, but it only took a few moments before they were back on the ground. Genevieve stood still a moment to make sure her feet were planted firmly on the dusty earth before she started brushing off her dress, as useless as that was. "What is this pile of furniture even doing here?"


    "Oh," Marcie said, "people throw stuff like this up here and there around this part of town. It screws up the metal guards'' tracking. They''re not clever enough to smash through ''em without someone giving an order, so they try to find the long way around. They don¡¯t bother to send humans out this way too often, either, which means you usually get a good few weeks of privacy."


    "I see," Genevieve muttered, trying to wipe some of the dry, crumbling dirt off of her hands. "The spirit of ingenuity I suppose."


    "Folks''ll do anything to keep the cops away." Marcie shrugged. "And can you blame ''em? Cops suck." She leaned her back against the alley wall and then let herself slide down it, settling into a sitting position with a soft ugh. The front of her cloak was open, giving Genevieve her first good look at what she was wearing underneath. A plain off-white shirt with short sleeves, brown pants made from a coarse fiber, and around her waist a thick belt where her two strange pistols were holstered. One of her arms was mostly exposed, but the other had a long, thin cotton sleeve, separate from the shirt, with a padded leather armguard wrapped around it. Genevieve wasn''t sure how much protection that could possibly add, but it seemed to work for her earlier. On her feet she wore thick leather boots with the toes cut off to make room for the two large, curved claws she had at the front of each foot.  "Anyway," she said, "It''ll buy us a bit of time to rest. Sorry, but I kinda need it."


    "Are you sure we can just stop?" Genevieve said, a little more forcefully than she meant to. "They''re still after us. They can¡¯t be far behind. Do we even have a plan to¡­"


    She trailed off when she noticed something dark and wet staining the bottom of Marcie''s pant leg. Instead of saying anything more, Genevieve knelt down by Marcie''s side and rolled her pants up past the ankle to take a better look.


    "Hey, what''re you¨C"


    "You''re bleeding," Genevieve said. There was a gash on the back of her leg where the automaton caught her with its blade. The scales there were damaged, and blood was slowly seeping out through the wound.


    "Well¡­ yeah," Marcie said, looking away from Genevieve. She tapped her knuckle against her scaly blue face. "I got a little more protection than most folks, but there''s still skin n'' blood n'' stuff under there."


    "I wasn''t expecting there to be something else."


    "Good. Cuz there isn''t."


    Are we arguing about this? Genevieve wondered. She genuinely didn''t know. But she decided to just move on. "You''re going to have a difficult time if you keep running on that. At least let me dress it for you."


    "It''s fine," Marcie insisted. "I heal quick. Not, like, instantly or nothing. But give it a day and it''ll sort itself out."


    "Are we planning to sit here behind this stack of chairs for a day?" Genevieve asked, getting just a little bit snarky.


    "No," Marcie admitted.


    "All right. Then let me dress it." Even as she said it, she knew she was being stubborn. If they were back home she could just call up a little bit of healing magic, but all Gryst had to offer was dust and gravel. She didn''t know the first thing about field dressing a wound. And she certainly wasn''t carrying a first aid kit around right now. She was insisting, though, so she just had to follow through.


    She pulled at the short sleeve of her dress, trying to tear off a strip of it, but the fabric was thick and layered and she had no good way to pull it apart. With a grunt, she leaned in closer towards Marcie and presented her shoulder. ¡°Here, rip off some of the fabric for me.¡±


    ¡°Hey, there,¡± Marcie protested. ¡°Again? I¡¯m not a seamstress, y¡¯know. Ripping up clothing ain¡¯t exactly my thing.¡±


    ¡°Just do it,¡± Genevieve said in a stern voice. ¡°This thing¡¯s ruined anyway, and if it wasn¡¯t I still wouldn¡¯t want to keep it. We might as well put it to use.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not about the dress, y¡¯know, it¡¯s¨C¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re concerned about seeing my royal shoulders?¡± Genevieve says, cutting her off with sharp sarcasm.


    ¡°What? No, that¡¯s not¡­¡± Marcie began, but she decided to just give up and shake her head. ¡°Ugh, fine,¡± she said, and she leaned up to grab the shoulder of Genevieve¡¯s dress and rip the sleeve off with her claws. "Just so you know,¡± she said petulantly, ¡°I don''t make a habit of tearin'' up ladies'' dresses. And I''d only ever do it if they asked me to. That¡¯s a fact."


    Genevieve looked at Marcie incredulously. "How can you possibly say something like that with a straight face?"


    "I''m being sincere!" Marcie said. "People see the claws and the teeth and stuff and they always get some kinda weird about it." She huffed and crossed her arms. It was a little cute when she pouted. "I just don''t want anybody thinking I''m some sexed-up brute."


    The more Genevieve had to look at Marcie¡¯s wound, the more aware she was of her complete lack of experience. But she knew you wanted to staunch the bleeding if you could, so she wrapped the dress scrap around Marcie''s ankle as tightly as she could manage. "I can''t claim to know you well, Marcelle Silver," she said as she worked. "But if there''s anything I can say for sure about the last fifteen minutes, it''s that you definitely aren¡¯t a brute."


    Marcie winced as Genevieve pulled the makeshift binding tight and tied it off. "Well, thanks," she said. "I''m glad you think so. I really am trying, believe it or not."


    "I have no reason to doubt you." With nothing better to do, Genevieve scooted over and sat along the wall next to Marcie. The dry, unpaved ground was a little rocky underneath her, but she was well past complaining. "But I have to ask. Do we have somewhere to go? Are we just running until we get caught?"


    "I''ve got somewhere," Marcie said. As she spoke she absent-mindedly scratched at the binding around her ankle.


    "You shouldn''t pick at that," Genevieve said, putting some of the royal authority into her voice.


    "Sorry. It''s just a bit tight."


    "It''s supposed to be, so you don''t bleed all over the place."


    "All right. If you say so." Marcie pulled down her pant leg. "Anyway, I''ve got a friend in town. Their place is hidden away. They shouldn''t be able to find us there."


    "That¡¯s good. So long as there''s a plan." Genevieve took a deep breath, and tried to relax for just a moment. It wasn¡¯t a very long moment. Barely a few seconds had passed when she heard the first hints of shouting and clanking metal on the wind.


    "Well, fuck," Marcie muttered, dragging herself onto her feet. "Guess we''re back on the move." She offered Genevieve a hand. "C''mon. Nice as it is hanging around, break time''s over."


    There was no sense being proud, so Genevieve took Marcie¡¯s hand and let herself be pulled up. "Then let¡¯s keep running."


    They were only one step ahead of Prince Cornelius and his automaton guards. One step was enough. They ran a circuitous route through the back streets, taking shortcuts through alleys and sticking to the parts of the city Marcie knew their pursuers would take longer to reach. Genevieve couldn¡¯t hope to keep track of the winding path they took, but she had to trust Marcie¡¯s sense of direction. No matter what, she couldn¡¯t go back. The devil she knew was far worse than the one that she didn¡¯t.

 Sanctuary

    The cellar door closed behind them with a weighty thud. The light was gone in an instant, and Genevieve was completely blind. She bounced back and forth in place, sucking air through her teeth, not wanting to keep her feet on the unbearably cold stone any longer than she needed to. ¡°Is¡­ this it?¡± she asked, more nervous than she wanted to let on.


    ¡°There¡¯s an entrance. Right over there. Bit of a squeeze, but we¡¯re almost in the clear, promise.¡±


    ¡°Over¡­ where, exactly?¡± How the hell was Genevieve supposed to tell where anything was in the pitch dark? ¡°I can¡¯t see a thing.¡±


    ¡°Oh. Right. Sorry, I forgot. Lemme just, uh¨Chere. I¡¯m gonna take your hand.¡±


    ¡°Okay?¡±


    A rough, scaled hand closed itself around Genevieve¡¯s. She didn¡¯t have time to notice it when they were running, but now the contrast took her by surprise. Princesses were supposed to be pretty and petite, but royal living had never made her feel soft and dainty the way Marcie¡¯s touch did. For the first time in her life, it hadn¡¯t even occurred to someone that she should be treated with delicacy. It was a strange thing to realize. At the very least for how it put everything else into context.


    Genevieve was led to¡­ somewhere in the room. She really had no idea where. She¡¯d only seen a glimpse of it in the sunlight when they first slipped inside, and she hadn¡¯t taken in the layout at all. After just a few steps, though, Marcie let go of her hand. ¡°All right. Hold on. Lemme move this.¡±


    Marcie grunted and Genevieve could hear something being dragged across the floor. Gradually, a small flicker of torchlight appeared through a hole in the wall, roughly three feet tall and wide. ¡°Go ahead,¡± Marcie said. ¡°Gotta crawl through it a bit. I¡¯ll come in after you.¡±


    ¡°Where in the name of the Pulse are you taking me?¡± Genevieve asked. In the dark, all the hesitation she had left behind was catching up to her.


    ¡°S¡¯a little hidey-hole someone I know keeps. Fellow named Lenn. Runs sort of a¡­ religious thing down here. Like, separatist stuff, all talking about how the King runs the church and it¡¯s a corrupt institution and that kinda junk. You¡¯re not exactly allowed to say that in public, so, weird little cavern. I helped them out when they had some trouble with the crown and their metal men a while back, and I wasn''t doin'' it for my own sake or nothing, but technically they owe me. If the Pulse doesn¡¯t fill them with the spirit of altruism or whatever it does to spiritual types, I¡¯ll cash in the favor.¡±


    "And in your estimation this Lenn person is¡­ reliable? Trustworthy?"


    "Ah, sure," Marcie said, her silhouette shifting in front of the tiny bit of light from the hole. "They''re, y''know, the honest kind of devout. Read their books, came to their own conclusions. Decided they were gonna have principles and stick to ¡®em. So, like, the kind of religious type religious types aren¡¯t so fond of, y¡¯know?¡±


    It was a funny way to describe someone. But Genevieve knew what she meant. ¡°It sounds like you think highly of them.¡±


    ¡°I respect ¡®em,¡± Marcie said. ¡°Dunno if that¡¯s the same thing or not.¡±


    ¡°I think it¡¯s close enough.¡± Genevieve took a deep breath and got down on her knees to crawl through the small hole. She was scraped up and worn down, mentally and physically, but she was hoping this would be the last hurdle she¡¯d face for the day. ¡°Wish me luck.¡±


    ¡°Uh.. sure?¡± Marcie said. ¡°I mean, I¡¯m right here, I¡¯m not gonna let nothin¡¯ happen. So you don¡¯t gotta worry about luck. But, uh, have some anyway. Might as well.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be sure to make good use of it.¡± Genevieve crawled through the hole, poking her head out to the other side. She froze in place when she realized that other side was a three-foot drop directly onto the stone floor below.


    ¡°Oh, uh, mind the drop,¡± Marcie said. Apparently it took her until now to remember she should have said something. ¡°It¡¯s a bit of a big one.¡±


    ¡°I can see. It¡¯s fine. Let me just swing around here.¡± Genevieve carefully turned her body around and squeezed herself through the entrance, slipping her legs over the ledge so she could carefully drop down feet-first. ¡°Oof,¡± she muttered as her feet hit the stone floor. Once again she took a moment to try and brush herself off. She was getting a little tired of being covered in grit and soil. ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± she called back to Marcie. ¡°I made it.¡±


    ¡°Knew you had it in ya.¡± Marcie slid through the hole easily, like a cat shrugging its way through a hole in the front door, and dropped onto her feet without any hesitation. Once she was on the ground she turned around and pulled a small handle attached to what Genevieve could now see was a metal container. With surprisingly little effort Marcie slid it back into place, covering up the hole. ¡°We should be in the clear now, or at least as close as we¡¯re gonna get. I¡¯m sure you wanna kick up your feet for a while, so let¡¯s head, uh¡­¡±


    She turned her head to look up and down the tunnel they were in. It was a surprisingly solid, well-crafted stone corridor, with occasional sconces on the wall, some of which were mercifully occupied by lit torches. The underground was still quite dark, but it was much better than stumbling about in pitch blackness.


    ¡°...All right, I haven¡¯t exactly spent a lot of time spelunking down here,¡± Marcie admitted. ¡°So, uh, we might have to just kinda guess. We¡¯ll end up somewhere I recognize eventually, probably.¡±


    ¡°Eventually?¡± Genevieve repeated. ¡°Probably?¡±


    ¡°Hey, look, it¡¯s not a good plan,¡± Marcie said. ¡°But it¡¯s what I got.¡±


    ¡°And more than I have.¡± Genevieve sighed. ¡°So I¡¯ll have to accept it.¡±


    ¡°Look at it this way,¡± Marcie said. ¡°Sooner we get moving, sooner we get lost.¡± She arbitrarily turned to the right and walked down the hall, waving her hand for Genevieve to follow. ¡°C¡¯mon, we¡¯re not gonna get anywhere just standin¡¯ still.¡±


    Genevieve followed Marcie down the corridor, and then down another, and another. From what she could tell, the space they were in wasn¡¯t massive, but the dark stone walls were hard to distinguish from one another, and she couldn¡¯t focus enough to map out the area in her head with her feet aching and her stomach still doing backflips. Every now and then they passed a heavy wooden door, but Marcie didn¡¯t seem interested in any of them, so Genevieve assumed she knew they weren''t what they were looking for. Eventually, though, she couldn¡¯t help but ask. ¡°Do you know what¡¯s in there?¡± she asked as they passed a pair of wide double doors.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°Hm?¡± Marcie glanced over at the door, as though she hadn¡¯t even noticed or thought about it. ¡°Uh¡­ no.¡±


    ¡°Could it be somewhere to stop and sit for a bit, at least?¡±


    ¡°Uh¡­ probably not. Or, well, I mean, I guess it could be.¡± Marcie stepped up to the door and peered through a small hole set into it. ¡°Eh. Looks like it¡¯s just one of those big libraries or whatever. I mean, there¡¯s probably some chairs inside, like for folks to read, but Lenn wouldn¡¯t want us mucking around too much in there.¡± She turned to look at Genevieve, and considered her for a few moments, her mouth gradually curling into a frown and her brow furrowing. ¡°But¡­ if you just wanna get off your feet for a bit, it¡¯s probably not a big deal so long as we don¡¯t start digging through the records and junk. Assuming we can get the thing open at all, that is.¡± She tried the door handle, and when it didn¡¯t turn, she jiggled at it a few times. That didn¡¯t work either, so she started yanking on the handle forcefully, pulling on the door with so much strength it rattled against the stone with a loud thunk.


    Genevieve opened her mouth to warn Marcie off that plan, but luckily she had enough sense to stop on her own. ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s locked,¡± she said in the blunt way Genevieve was learning to expect from her. ¡°Old locks, though, probably not that hard to coax ¡®em open if I really wanted to. Without just blasting them, I mean. That¡¯d work but I don¡¯t wanna make Lenn deal with it.¡±


    ¡°No, you don¡¯t need to do any of that. It¡¯s better that you don¡¯t, in fact.¡± Genevieve put an arm on Marcie¡¯s shoulder and gently pulled her back from the door. ¡°Let¡¯s just keep moving. We¡¯re bound to run into something or someone sooner or later, I have to imagine. There¡¯s an old trick about following the right hand wall¨C¡±


    ¡°Who goes there?¡± a steady, level voice called out, interrupting Genevieve in the middle of her thought. The light of a lantern could be seen around the corner, shining into the corridor ahead, and footsteps echoed around the stone walls.


    A tall, lanky figure with a spear in one hand and a lantern in the other walked into the hall. Their skin was khaki, perhaps paled by a lack of sunlight, and they wore a thin wool shirt with grey linen pants that hung baggily on their thin body. They had long, straight, dark brown hair hanging down over one eye, and the bottom half of their face was covered by a scarf wrapped around their head. "If you come in peace,¡± they said, leveling the tip of their spear towards Marcie and Genevieve, ¡°stay where you are."


    If Genevieve was startled by the new arrival, she would have to be startled for two, because Marcie was as unconcerned as ever. "C''mon, Lenn," she said, brushing past the point of the spear without a care in the world. "Who do you think you''re talking to?"


    "Ah. Marcie. It''s you." The tension in their shoulders dropped and they lifted up the spear, setting the base of it on the ground. ¡°I have a front door, you realize.¡±


    ¡°Not while the metal men are out combin¡¯ the city you don¡¯t," Marcie retorted, her tail flicking behind her impishly.


    ¡°In that case, you''re right. I don''t have a front door.¡± Lenn glanced over at Genevieve. They took her in curiously, and Genevieve could tell there were gears turning in their head. "Marcie, tell me. Are those metal men marching through the city because you''ve run off with the Princess our sovereign whelp is meant to wed?"


    "Hey, I didn''t run off with her!" Marcie protested. "I mean¡­ okay I did run off. And she did come with me. We ran off together so, like. I did run off with her. But only in, like¨Cnot in the¨C"


    "Ms. Silver did me a great service," Genevieve said, speaking from the diaphragm as she took a step forward. Diplomacy means busting out the Royal Voice. "I was trapped in a very bad situation, and she saved me from it out of the goodness of her heart. I''m very grateful for her help."


    Lenn sighed, their lamp flickering in the dark hall. "Yes, that''s exactly what she would do. Impulsively, I''m sure, and without an exit strategy." They turned back and walked around the corner they came from, tilting their head to look at Genevieve over their shoulder. "Come with me, then. You can stay here until we figure out what to do next. I have some spare clothes and shoes on hand for those who need them. I¡¯d ask if you want them, but I think I would be a bad host if I didn¡¯t insist."


    ¡°I¡­ thank you,¡± Genevieve said. She was not going to complain for a second, after all she had been through, about a pair of shoes and some clothes that didn¡¯t feel like they were trying to smother her.


    Lenn led them down a long corridor. Unlike Marcie, they actually knew where they were going, and Genevieve finally started feeling like the ordeal was over. At least for now.


    While they walked, Lenn glanced back at Marcie and spoke. ¡°By the way, Marcie. Why did you lead her all the way out here to the archives?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re giving me too much credit, Lenn.¡± Marcie jabbed her thumb randomly at the wall. ¡°I can¡¯t tell where stuff is down here, all the tunnels look the damn same and it¡¯s not like you put up signs.¡±


    ¡°There are signs,¡± Lenn said, indicating a metal plaque on the wall they just passed.


    ¡°Okay, fine, but they¡¯re like a hundred years old and it¡¯s not like any of them say ¡®this way to Lenn¡¯s sketchy dungeon clinic,¡¯ now do they?¡±


    Lenn¡¯s eyes narrowed as they glared at Marcie. ¡°I know you¡¯re being facetious, Marcie,¡± they said. ¡°But I¡¯ve worked very hard to provide care for those the crown would prefer to abandon. And though they¡¯ve fallen into disuse, I have made every effort to reclaim the abbey¡¯s archives as a site that honors the True Pulse and its call to service. So I would greatly appreciate it if you chose not to malign my efforts.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, yeah, all right, that was uncalled for. I apologize, Lenn. You¡¯re doin¡¯ good and I don¡¯t wanna take away from that.¡±


    ¡°Apology accepted. All is forgiven.¡± Lenn¡¯s shoulders, which had tensed up considerably, fell back to ease.


    After only another few minutes of walking Lenn turned another corner and opened a door. ¡°Here,¡± they said, holding it open for Genevieve and Marcie. ¡°There are a few spare cots in this room. You can sit down and rest here, if you would like to. And if you wouldn¡¯t like to, you can take that ¡®can¡¯ as a ¡®should,¡¯ and a ¡®will.¡¯ I¡¯m certain that both of you need to rest, and it isn¡¯t my manner to let the tired and worn keep grinding themselves down, no matter how they insist.¡±


    ¡°I assure you I need no convincing at all,¡± Genevieve said.


    ¡°I¡¯m doing fine, though,¡± Marcie said. ¡°I mean, I won¡¯t say no to putting my feet up, but I¡¯m not, like, hurtin¡¯ for it or nothing.¡±


    ¡°I need you to know, Marcie,¡± Lenn monotoned glibly, ¡°that people like are you are exactly the reason I¡¯m so insistent in the first place.¡±


    ¡°People with horns and scales, you mean?¡±


    ¡°People who like acting tough.¡± Once Genevieve and Marcie stepped through the doorway, Lenn followed after them with their lantern. It was a small room, some kind of dormitory by the look of it, with a pair of cots lined up against the far wall and two desks near the door. Before anything else Lenn walked to the desks and lit the candles resting on them with their lantern.


    While they were doing that, Marcie was busy with her own hang-ups. ¡°What d¡¯ya mean, tough?¡± she asked. ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯m tough. I just got more stamina than most. S¡¯not, like, special or nothing, just is what it is.¡±


    ¡°You may have more stamina than most, but that doesn¡¯t mean you can keep going forever. If you aren¡¯t careful, it will creep up on you, and you¡¯ll be worse off than if you had just taken a rest when you could afford to.¡± Lenn gave Marcie a look. ¡°So I would greatly appreciate it if you took a seat for a while.¡±


    ¡°Hey, it¡¯s fine,¡± Marcie said, crossing the room to plop herself down on the far cot. ¡°Happy to do it. Don¡¯t gotta be on my case or nothin¡¯.¡±


    Lenn folded their arms across their chest, the skeptical frown they were giving Marcie almost visible through their scarf. ¡°Well,¡± they said in a deadpan. ¡°I¡¯m very glad that I don¡¯t.¡±