Povenna follows a long, empty corridor. Her footsteps are silent.

Sunlight pours through wide windows, shifting as dark clouds move across the sky. Ahead, a set of heavy black doors is framed by columns.

Inside, Castor waits. If Povenna’s nose is correct, he is in bed with Abba.

That surprises Povenna. Abba, of all people, didn’t seem the type to crave such things. Clearly, Povenna has misunderstood her.

There are a lot of things Povenna doesn’t understand. Tatiana’s determination to gamble her life, the sexual needs of people, her own loyalty to the man she calls her husband.

At least the last one made some sense to Povenna. Time is a powerful thing. And, if nothing else, that was something Povenna and Castor had plenty of.

Povenna was in an orc war camp when she met Castor. Back then, she was little more than a mass of power. She was contained in a jar on an important orc’s belt. A golden blob contained within glass.

The orc believed the sprite granted luck. Povenna didn’t really understand what was happening. She just watched as the orcs walked the land.

Village after village. Homes burned. Bodies broken. Trails of bloody footprints left behind.

Castor had led a war party of his own. They’d intercepted the orcs and went to battle. His party had been annihilated. Most of them were killed instantly.

The orc with the jar seemed interested in Castor especially. It had struck him repeatedly, and he hadn’t died. It found some sort of humor in his toughness.

So he was tied to a tree while his remaining people were abused. The orc with the jar sat next to him, watching his reaction.

The orcs amused themselves, pleased themselves, fed themselves. Just like with the people of the villages.

Povenna only vaguely recalled all of it. But she remembered Castor’s silence. He didn’t scream like the people did. He didn’t cry. He didn’t beg. He just watched.

A few times, Povenna wondered if he had died. But Castor was alive, watching.

Apparently, Castor had a wife and a son among those people. Povenna only heard of it offhand years later.

In those moments, it was all violence and voices. Weakness and strength, and what happened when they came together. Faces cast in firelight.

Povenna wasn’t able to keep watching. Because something drew her attention.

Magic.

Something happened to Castor. Something changed. It landed like a drop of magic. Something from high above landed on his head.

The ripple was silent. But to Povenna’s sensitivity, it struck like a bolt of lightning.

The ropes burned, and Castor was on his feet. He stood differently. The blood on his body steamed. The ground around him split apart, crumbling into dust as it rose.

Castor didn’t fight the orcs. He just moved. He collided with their bodies and kept going. Their bodies didn’t stop him. They didn’t even slow him down. They just came apart.

Povenna didn’t understand at the time. If killing the orcs was so easy for him, why hadn’t he done it before? Why watch his people suffer?

But he didn’t stop there. He killed his own people. The few that had remained, battered and bloodied. He finished them off.

Nothing was left alive. Nothing but Povenna and him.

Castor stood over the maimed body of the orc with the jar, unmoving. But his eyes were on the jar. Somehow, he’d been aware of her watching.

And Povenna stared back.

She wondered if he had lost his mind. She wondered if he believed killing his people was a kind of mercy. She never asked him.

His bloody hand trembled as he reached for her. He took the jar. Then, he’d started to walk.

Povenna watched as he kept walking. She watched as he spoke to something only he could hear. Something he referred to as ‘Luke.’ But sometimes he referred to this something as ‘Castor.’

It confused her. But as time went on, she started getting annoyed that he didn’t seem to have a plan. And the man had become quiet. He was just walking.

By the time Povenna figured out how to unscrew the lid of the jar from within, the man was sitting against a tree. His eyes were empty and his body was frail.

A river flowed nearby. Trees rustled above.

Povenna knocked the lid away and rose like a cloud of golden smoke.

The man’s empty eyes followed her as she did. But he didn’t speak.

Povenna wanted to tell him that he should eat food if he didn’t want to die. But she didn’t know how.

So she went into the water and spread herself out. In a flash, the water exploded into steam, and dozens of fish were turned into burnt meat.

Povenna guided several of them through the air, dropping them at the man’s feet.

“What…” he reached for one of the fish and winced upon touching it. “What are you?”

Povenna gathered herself around one fish and lifted it off the ground. She launched it at his face, and he dodged to the side.

The charred fish exploded against the tree, scattering into mush and burnt pieces.

“Alright,” he said. “I’ll eat.”

He did. And soon he was walking again. It wasn’t long before Povenna walked with him.

She found herself imitating his movements, and eventually his shape. And as time went on, she grew larger and larger. She seemed to be passively absorbing power from the world itself.

So Povenna started condensing herself. As she did, she became more solid. She didn’t actively choose a shape. It just seemed to develop as she solidified.

The man got into more fights. As he did, people began to gather around him. After one battle, he declared himself ‘Castor Malvey’ to a group of people, and they cheered.

Those people started to walk with them. And Castor was speaking of building, and making a home.

As Povenna gained power, it wasn’t long before she understood herself as something far more capable than Castor and any of his people. But she was loyal to him. Because he was the one who saved her.

One day, Povenna stared into the same river she’d boiled to feed Castor. She watched her own face in the water.

At some point, she’d gotten hair. Blonde hair that sat across her face. At some point, her face could express emotion. At some point, she was completely unrecognizable as the sprite in that jar. But her eyes remained pools of gold. That was all that remained.

It was around then that Castor insisted that she start wearing clothes. Povenna thought it strange. But she found that she liked clothes.

Castor conquered the fifth realm, Povenna at his side. She rarely had to help. When she did, she usually killed more people than necessary.

Castor was made responsible for the growing community in what would be known as Romenthe.

They lived in tents at the time. Povenna was constantly wary of setting them on fire. Romenthe was being built, day by day. It was around then that he decided to marry Povenna.

Along with that came his cot . He asked her into that cot and wanted to touch her. He described it to her. He believed they could bear children and wanted to try.

It didn’t make sense to Povenna. The things he wanted to do to her reminded her of what she’d seen those orcs do to his people. Did that not disgust him?

She thought that was something creatures did when they hated. Something the strong forced upon the weak. He insisted that it was different. He insisted that it was an act of love.

But when he was done, Povenna felt stained. She didn’t like the way he’d touched her body. She didn’t like what he looked like while he’d done it.

His satisfaction made him look like that orc with the jar.

She sat on that bed as he dressed himself. For some reason, it felt as though a wall of glass had risen between them.

Povenna stared at him from within that glass. She wondered if, despite her strength, she was weaker than him. She wondered if, somehow, she had never been freed from that jar. Maybe, she’d just been attached to someone else’s belt.

For a few moments, she considered killing him. She considered proving that she was stronger.

But Povenna was loyal to him. So she did nothing.

Castor saw it. He seemed to sense the change in her. He stood at the edge of the bed, staring at her through that glassy air.

And that was where they stood, ever since.

Azalia. Halliel. A year apart. Nearly twins despite the age difference.

It seemed as soon as she gave birth; they were carted off into Castor’s army. Castor had given each child a ‘mother’ in the court. Apparently, they were better equipped to handle raising a child.

Povenna would see them now and then. But she would look away, and they would have become replicas of the man.

For a while, Castor let her be. He was focused on raising them and building Romenthe.

He came to her bed years later, claiming to have desires he couldn’t control. Povenna thought that was foolish.

Tatiana was born not long later.

“The child will be dead before she has matured,” a seer claimed from Povenna’s bedside. “Do not spare her your mercy. Love given to this child is love thrown off the cliff-side.”

So Castor wasn’t interested in her. He considered leaving her out to starve.

Povenna wouldn’t have it. So, she was made responsible for her. She was provided with the milk that normal women could apparently produce.

Joane and Rue, two servants of the house, kept Povenna supplied.

Povenna did everything else. Though, it was a struggle. Bathing the child without boiling the water was nigh impossible. Holding for extended periods of time without burning her skin was difficult, even with layers of cloth between them.

Povenna went to the ‘great healer’ Harlan for seals to reduce her power. The fool couldn’t even manage that. His seals burned on her skin.

Castor warned her again and again that Tatiana would die. He worried Povenna would become too attached.

But Povenna had already decided that the child wouldn’t die. She didn’t care what the crone had said. If she were so powerful, surely she could preserve one child’s life.

It frustrated her when Castor came to her bed again a few years later. She gave him permission to go out and be with any other women.

Castor promised that the only woman who would bear his children was his wife.

Kann was the last child Povenna bore for Castor. The boy seemed fond of Tatiana as they grew up. Despite being raised by Toma of the court, he always came to find the girl.

Kann was also the last one to die. He got sick and never got better.

And Tatiana was still alive, a grown woman in every respect. Povenna wanted to believe that she’d done it. Even though Tatiana often seemed determined to risk her life on foolish endeavors.

That was why, when that same drop landed on Tatiana’s head, when Povenna registered it like a bolt of lightning, she was ready.

Povenna believed Castor would act. She believed anyone who was magically aware would sense the arrival. She believed she would kill Castor to protect Tatiana.

But no one reacted. It seemed she was the only one aware.

On top of that, she was prepared for Tatiana to become a creature of slaughter, as Castor had. Instead, she just seemed to stand there.

So Povenna moved and acted accordingly.

Now she is going to be responsible. She would protect Tatiana’s secret.

She needs to make sure Castor understood. She needs to make sure he wasn’t anywhere near understanding Tatiana’s situation.

Looking back, Povenna regrets not asking more questions about his ‘second mind.’ She’d heard most of what she knew from gossip and the like.

Now, she wasn’t even certain of what Castor was. Is Luke still within his mind? Have they become a single mind?

He’d mentioned that he would kill anyone else he found who possessed a spirit. But he wouldn’t say why. Is it because of what it made him do that day? Killing his own people?

Povenna gives one knock before pulling a door open.

Inside, daylight strikes a dark bedroom. A yellow bed moves, blankets falling away.

Castor sits up, black hair moving across his face. His muscular chest is covered with hair, and his dark eyes land on Povenna.

Abba lies beside him, seemingly asleep. Her brown hair sits in her face. Her tattooed chest rises and falls slowly.

“I am…” Castor trails off. He seemed to have, for a moment, forgotten that he didn’t need to keep his affairs secret. “What is it, Povenna?”

“Why are you in bed?” Povenna asks, stepping further into the room. “It is the middle of the day. One of your knights has gutted my daughter.”

“Tatiana knew the risk when she chose to enter the ceremony,” Castor says.

Abba stirs and turns onto her side. Her eyes open and meet Povenna’s. She sits up abruptly, hair whipping around her head.

“Lady Povenna?”

“Abba,” Povenna says, spreading her lips into a flat smile. She’d grown to learn that it annoyed most people. That satisfies her.

Abba clears her throat and nods slightly. She seems ashamed to Povenna. Something to do with the pink in her face and the stiffness in her posture.

Povenna is vaguely annoyed by Castor to even consider having the woman in his bed. She is hardly four years older than Tatiana.

Usually Castor had taken servants and even other men’s wives into his bed. Seeing Abba there makes Povenna jealous in a strange way.

Abba is a lady of the court. She was one of the few people Povenna had managed to teach magic to. She doesn’t like Castor having access to her in that way.

She decides that she will question him about it later.

“Cover yourself,’ Castor says, moving to the edge of the bed.

Abba pulls the blanket over her breasts. Her eyes search the surface of the blanket.

Povenna watches her, curious if she found any pleasure from what Povenna found vile.

“This is all beside the point,” Povenna says. “I came to let you know that I’ve taught my daughter magic.”

“Tatiana learned magic?” Abba asks. “I thought she was incapable.”

Povenna gives a nod.

“I saw,” Castor says simply. “I was impressed.”

No, Povenna thinks, don’t be impressed. She doesn’t want him attempting to absorb Tatiana into his army.

“I will likely be teaching her more spells, now,” Povenna went on. “Don’t be surprised when her magical ability starts growing.”

“She’ll make a fantastic knight, yet,” Castor says, slipping out of bed.

Povenna watches his face as he dressed himself. She hates that Tatiana looks like him. That determination buried within their faces.

Maybe that was why the drops landed on their heads. Maybe it was the world’s response to that will.

“If you need…” Abba clears her throat, and suddenly, that stonelike calm Povenna normally expects from her has returned. “Lady Povenna, I know how difficult teaching is for you. I am more than willing to help—”

“That won’t be necessary,” Povenna says, raising a hand. “Tatiana is my daughter. Teaching her is far easier than my other students. Because…” She raises a hand to her chest. “We are blood.”

“Azalia was your daughter,” Castor says. “You failed to teach her.”

Povenna says no more. She leaves.

She’s struggling not to let her mind wander to Azalia when she feels the magic move.

The O’Hagan girl at Tatiana’s tower. Why is she there?

Povenna considers returning to Tatiana’s tower to confront the girl. But she knows very well how Garnavelle O’Hagan treated his daughters.

The Malveys, the O’Hagans, and the Albanums are the three most powerful families in the realm.

Back then, the O’Hagans and the Albanums were pushing for the ruling line to cycle between the families.

Castor was in the process of shutting that down. Despite claiming himself king of the realm, he always seemed willing to at least entertain Garnavelle’s whims.

Povenna didn’t understand what sort of power Garnavelle had over Castor.

They’d just arrived at Harken to speak with the man. Castor at the head and a few knights flanking them.

Garnavelle oldest daughter, Yordga, was tied to a post in the courtyard. Her back was bloodied and her clothes were in tatters. She was surrounded by men.

Most people walked by, paying her no mind. High above, Garnavelle watched from a balcony.

Povenna split off from Castor and the others, approaching and ignoring his warnings.

The situation became clearer as she approached. The men scattered, making way for her horse. One struggled to hide his exposed groin.

Yordga raised her bloody face.

Povenna had no qualms about executing the men. It seemed the obvious thing to do.

Yet Castor was furious with her.

“These are not our matters to interfere with!” He’d argued as Povenna worked her arm out of a man’s crushed ribs. His scorched skin steamed as he collapsed before her.

“Do we not rule this realm?” She’d asked him. “I won’t tolerate this.”

Povenna freed Yordga, despite her pleading against it.

“No,” Yordga demanded, pushing away from the woman. “I have to stay until dusk. Don’t you understand?”

“Where is your father?” Povenna asked, peeling her cloak off and throwing it into the girl.

Garnavelle seemed apologetic. But there was anger in his eyes.

He spoke of Yordga’s crimes and begged forgiveness for not knowing of the law against such punishment.

His two daughters stood behind him. The younger one was pressed against Yordga’s side. Yordga’s eyes were on Povenna.

“My daughter has acted against me,” Garnavelle explained. “She needed to be punished.”

His wife, Kirei, nodded.

“There is no such law,” Castor had started to say. “It’s merely a misunderstanding. The publicity of it wasn’t necessary—”

“I’ll kill you if it happens again,” Povenna said. “Consider that your law.”

Garnavelle had hardly reacted to the threat. He just gave a nod.

“You’ll go to war over this?”

“Heal your daughter,” Povenna said. The air shifted between her and Garnavelle and a few papers on the table caught fire.

“Povenna,” Castor warned. “I will not allow you to harm him.”

Garnavelle stared at Povenna. His green eyes narrowed slowly.

“My warning stands,” Povenna said. “Do not forget yourself, Garnavelle.”

“How can you expect to enforce such a thing?” Castor asked as they rode home. “These people are our allies, Povenna. Don’t you understand?”

“Do you approve of what was done to the girl?” Povenna turned her gaze to Castor, watching him as he stared ahead.

“You can’t kill whoever you please,” Castor said. “They’re at our throats as it is. If we make enemies of O’Hagan, we make enemies of Albanum. Then it is us against the entire realm.”

“I am more powerful than all of them,” Povenna said. “I am not afraid.”

A week hadn’t passed before Povenna learned that the Albanums and the O’Hagans were preparing for war.

Povenna planned to meet the army alone, despite Castor’s belief that they find some sort of agreement.

He knew he couldn’t stop her. He only said it once and didn’t bother trying to argue.

“How many people will you kill?” Tatiana had asked. “If you kill Garnavelle, the O’Hagan war party will come here. They will descend on this city with the might of the realm.”

“I am more powerful than they are.”

“The rest of us aren’t. What will be left when you’re done burning the world? No matter how powerful you are, you can only stand in one place at a time.”

Povenna thought about those words for a long time. She looked at Tatiana and she saw Castor in her tearful eyes.

Then, she went out into the night to meet the armies.

But Povenna had only ridden to the front gates of Romenthe when she encountered the girls.

The two daughters of Garnavelle. Maya and Yordga. They rode up the path on a camel. Both of them wore dark cloaks.

Yordga dismounted and approached Povenna. Maya remained on the camel.

Yordga passed under patches of moonlight. Her face was bruised and her hair was still bloody.

Povenna’s first thought was that the girls were running away. Perhaps they were seeking refuge from their father.

The girl dropped to her knees as Povenna dismounted. Povenna moved to help, but she realized she was being bowed to.

“I will end my life,” Yordga said hoarsely. “If that satisfies you, I’ll do it.”

Povenna didn’t understand. She knelt slowly, reaching for the girl.

“Surely,” Yordga said, her fingers digging into the dirt. “If I do, there’d be no need for the war. You wouldn’t have to fight. Right?”

Povenna raised her head, meeting Maya’s grim eyes.

“Your father sent you?” She asked. “To talk me down?”

“Father wants you to fight,” Maya said. “He believes they can overpower you. He doesn’t know we’ve come.”

“Your father is a fool.”

“If I am dead, there would be no need!” Yordga yelled the words into the ground. “Tell me it’s true!”

Povenna wasn’t sure what to say. She couldn’t understand what the girl was asking of her.

“I would still have to fight,” Povenna said carefully. “I will not tolerate what your father has done to you.”

Yordga slowly raised her head. Her face was cast in the night, but her wide eyes were like small moons.

“My brother walks with that army,” she breathed. “Innocent people walk with that army. I don’t want them to die. Not in my name.”

Povenna stared at the girl.

“Tell me.” Yordga clawed at Povenna’s dress. “Tell me. Please. What can I do?”

“I…” Povenna backed away. Something drew her attention: a faint awareness. She raised her head slightly, searching the dark of Romenthe’s wall.

Through a window, a figure watched. Tatiana.

The girls hadn’t happened to catch Povenna when she’d been leaving. This had been orchestrated.

“I don’t want them to die,” Yordga pleaded, sinking back to the ground.

The weak and the strong. But it was up to Povenna to decide what happened when they met. She hadn’t felt strong in that moment. She’d felt pathetic. She felt as though she should be the one groveling.

Povenna did go to meet the armies. She approached Garnavelle, Kirei, Tortchune, and Allactus; the heads of Albanum and O’Hagan.

Povenna bowed her head to them, and she walked away.

On the way home, something happened to Povenna. Liquid gold oozed down her face. It was as though her eyes couldn’t maintain their shape.

Povenna didn’t calm down. She couldn’t breathe. She sat on her horse’s back, choking and melting.

“I’m sorry, mother.”

Tatiana rode up on her own horse. She’d come from behind Povenna and joined up with her. Her blonde hair bounced lightly as she rode.

Povenna turned to the girl, and Tatiana paled. Her brown eyes searched Povenna’s face, and her lips parted.

“I’m sorry,” Tatiana said again.

Povenna saw Castor on the horse next to her. And again, there was that glassy air between them.

The weak and the strong. The ones who act and the ones who crumbled. But Povenna hadn’t acted. Tatiana had acted. Yordga had acted.

“Am I weak?” Povenna had asked. The words came out thick, as though her throat were clogged. “For feeling this way?”

Tatiana’s trembling hand reached across the space between them. Her fingers brushed against Povenna’s molten face, and she winced. But she took Povenna’s cheek into her hand.

“Your hand,” Povenna warned, watching Tatiana’s face tighten. She tried to withdraw, and Tatiana leaned toward her, shifting her weight precariously on the horse.

Povenna watched the tears gather in Tatiana’s eyes. Tatiana never answered Povenna’s question. She just held onto her for as long as she could.

They rode home together.

Relations between the Malveys and the O’Hagans are something Castor still works to mend. He plans for Tatiana to marry Brevard, Garnavelle’s son.

Yordga has changed in the few years since she clung to Povenna’s dress and begged for her people’s lives. She rarely spoke, and it was even rarer that Povenna saw her away from her family.

When Povenna saw her, she usually looked back. Yordga always looked at her, and she always got that strange look in her eyes. The same look she had when Povenna threatened Garnavelle.

“She’s thankful to you,” Tatiana said when Povenna mentioned it. “Is it so strange?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Povenna had said. “There is nothing to be thankful for.”

“Perhaps.”

Garnavelle’s other daughter seemed to love coming to Romenthe.

The Maya girl and one of the Albanum daughters had entered the stonewall ceremony. If Povenna understands correctly, they only entered because Tatiana entered.

Povenna knew Garnavelle would be furious if he learned that Maya had come to Romenthe alone. His favoritism wouldn’t keep him from punishing her.

So he wouldn’t find out.