"A lady does not get blood on her hands."

Beatrix bit back a yelp as the cane connected with the bottom of her foot. "I'm sorry, I just wanted to—"

"Wanted to what? Embarrass your family? Sully the noble reputation of this house?" The cane came down again, its sting worse than an angry bee's. "We're grooming you to be a proper lady. A diplomat. Not a barbarian."

Multiple thumps rang through her childhood bedroom, shaking bottles of expensive perfume from the vanity. The fell to ground with pops and crashes.

"You're an embarrassment!"

Beatrix awoke with a start, her eye flying open, and breath escaping her lips in tiny hiccups. She hazarded a glance at her wife, who slept soundly beside her. Just a dream, another dream. She squeezed her eye shut and took even breaths to calm her frantic heart.

These nightmares had been plaguing her since the night of the winter ball—when she'd handed Octavia a death sentence. All the grooming she'd received from her mother flooded her mind every time she slept.

She remembered when Hedalda sent to her home country of Carmadon for aid, her parents had seen an opportunity to get rid of her. And she'd seen an opportunity to prove them all wrong. To show them she could be both a diplomat and a warrior.

And what had her arrogance gotten her? A village on the brink of destruction and a people who were holding on to false hope. Once the priests left, the netherborne would overrun them, and the blame fell squarely on her shoulders. She thought she could turn this place around, show the rest of the world that the netherborne couldn't contend against the resilience of the human spirit. How foolish. Her mother was right. She was an embarrassment.

The thumping rang through the room, faster, louder, like a drumbeat. She untangled her limbs from Winslet's and slipped from the halo of warmth they'd created under the covers.

The floor shot needles of ice through her bare feet, and the air nipped at her skin. She grabbed her robe from the rack by the door and tossed it on as she hurried down the steps to the living room. As she ambled through the dark, her shin collided with a low table and she bit down on her lip to stifle the scream bubbling up her throat. She should've grabbed a lantern. Ambling around in the dark with her already limited scope of vision was a bad idea.

Beatrix pulled open the front door, a cold blast of air making her eyes water. Beyond her threshold stood a priest with a small cylindrical canister in one hand.

"Sorry to disturb you ma'am, but the carriers brought back a correspondence from King Jaredeth."

Beatrix wasted no time snatching it from his hands. "Thank you. Would you like to come in and warm up for a moment?" The priest obliged and found a warm spot in the room's corner. Meanwhile, she trailed her hand along the mantel of the hearth, a rattle ringing through the room as her hands collided with the box of matches. She scooped them up and pulled a lantern from the wall.

As soft, flickering light filled the room she set the canister on the table and stared at it. A lady does not get blood on her hands. If Jaredeth executed Octavia... Beatrix bit her lip. One didn't have to swing the executioners axe to get the blood on their hands.

Throwing Octavia in jail hadn't sat well with her, but she had to do what was in the best interest of the village. And her judgment told her that keeping a necromancer here was not that. But, in light of recent events, perhaps her judgment was flawed.

The entire village had been out, clearing away the heaps of snow left behind from the blizzard when chaos had descended on Hedalda. The netherborne had been quiet in their approach. It wasn't until the stone monster had burst through the village's north side that they realized what was happening. Somehow Winslet and Pilar had fought their way to the Hall and freed Octavia.

By that time the stone monster had torn through three buildings—both schoolhouses and Councilman Levi's house—and uprooted the bridge. Yet Octavia had squashed it like a buzzing pestilence. Then there was that bird monster. Much gossip had followed its departure. But with it gone and Octavia unconscious and bedridden, all the speculation only led to dead ends.

And Beatrix was torn, on one hand Octavia was the Night-Blooming Rose, a necromancer that was feared, hated, written about through the annals of history. But on the other, she'd saved them all. Twice.

With Winslet still fast asleep upstairs, Beatrix elected to stay in the cold living room. Her hands shook as she popped the cap off the canister. Inside held a slip of paper, and Octavia's fate.

She'd heard horror stories of the things Jaredeth did to necromancers. The torture, the beheadings. His methods were so cruel and ruthless that she'd heard tell that necromancers gave Avaly a wide berth. She didn't know if she could live with herself if the same happened to Octavia.

Beatrix took out the paper and unrolled it, taking a breath before reading the letter:

You absolute fools.

The words hit her like a sledgehammer. TNo greetings, no formalities. No "how are you and yours." Just the scathing insult. Beatrix had only met Jaredeth twice in her tenure but she could imagine his low, raspy voice speaking the words aloud.

Honestly Beatrix, I thought you better than this. You prattle on incessantly about returning Hedalda to its former glory, yet when the key to achieving that goal lands on your doorstep, you shun her. I can't believe you would allow such ignorance to cloud your judgment.

I suppose it makes no sense trying to change your mind. If Octavia wishes to return to Avaly, she may do so at her leisure. But, before that happens, I want a hand-written correspondence from Octavia herself. I need to know that she is in good health.

And if I find out that you all have done anything to harm her, the netherborne will be the least of Hedalda's worries. You have five days.

At the bottom was Avaly's royal seal followed by Jaredeth's signature.

Beatrix sucked in a breath and wheezed her chest burning as though the air had turned into smoke. This is bad. They'd already lost the Divine City, now they were about to lose Avaly as well.

She looked towards the priest who was rubbing his hands together to warm them. "I need a favour. Go to Councilwoman Diann's house and escort her to the Cathedral, right away. Tell her it's an emergency."

"Yes, ma'am."

As the door clicked shut, she read over the correspondence again. You're an embarrassment. Her mother's voice rang through her head over and over. All her hard work, everything she'd fought so hard to accomplish—it was all going to wither away. And all these people she was responsible for, their blood was on her hands.

"Bee?"

Beatrix jumped, the empty canister flying from her lap and bouncing across the floor. She swiveled her head around to see Winslet standing at the bottom of the stairs. "Dear gods you scared me."

"Is something that matter?" Winslet stepped into the candlelight. Her black hair was tousled, and she wore a robe that dragged on the floor behind her.

"I..." She rubbed her face, needing a moment to put her thoughts in order. Her fingers ran over the ridges of scars marring the skin where her left eye used to be. "Jaredeth wrote back. I need to head to the cathedral."

Winslet wrung her hands, worrying her bottom lip. "We can't give him Octavia. He'll kill her."

"No, he's going to kill us." She rose and picked up the candle before pressing the paper into her wife's hand.

Winslet's dark eyes flitted over the paper, lips parting and eyes widening as she read. "You shouldn't wait to alert the rest of the Council." She cut her gaze to Beatrix. "I'll get a horse ready for you."

"Thank you." Beatrix brushed past Winslet and pounded up the steps to their room. She haphazardly threw on some trousers and a wool sweater and jumped into some boots before grabbing her red coat.

By the time she got out to the front, Winslet had Finn, her beloved steed, ready to go. She took the reins and pressed a kiss to her lover's lips. "I won't be gone long."

"Don't forget this." Winslet pressed the canister into her hands, the lightweight metal like ice against her skin.

Her body felt ten times heavier just holding it—not from the canister itself but from the gravity of its contents. "Thank you. Get out of this cold now." In one fluid motion she mounted the horse, and waved to Winslet as she took off.

Fast and hard Beatrix rode through the quiet streets of the village, using only the night torches to guide her. Most of the rubble and debris from the attack stood in heaps and piles on the sides of the roads. She had no clue what ungodly hour of the night it was, but there was always someone up and about at the Cathedral.

So when Beatrix came to the daunting building, she wasted no time tucking Finn away in the stables. She rounded the building its tall arched entrance and pounded on the wood as hard as should could without breaking her hand. After only a few minutes—more like an eternity in the cold—the left side swung open.

Claud popped his head out and gave Beatrix a bleary-eyed squint, one eyebrow arced. His hair was matted on one side and sticking out on the other, and a slip of paper stuck to his cheek.

As she narrowed down the priest's focus, she realized she'd forgotten to put on an eye patch. Whatever, they would just have to deal with her scars.

"Oh, Beatrix, how nice of you to break our door down at this lovely hour," he said, stepping aside to let Beatrix in.

"I need to speak to Sicero and Levi at once." Beatrix hung her coat on the rack near the door.

Claud stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked over his shoulder. "I'm sorry, but it seems like your footmen aren't here."

"Claud, please, this is an emergency." Beatrix scowled, and he threw his hands up before disappearing up the stairs. She made her way past the main stairwell, walking the torch-lit hall behind it the wooden doors of the study. It was dark inside, but she'd visited this place enough times to know where they kept everything.

Once the candles were lit, she settled into a settee to collect her thoughts, line them up in perfect order, so that she may easily sift through them if need arose. It wasn't long before Sicero came in, followed by Levi and Claud.

The High Priest ambled past her with all the vigor of a wounded animal. His hair stuck up in every direction possible, and his copper skin was slick with sweat despite the cold. He gave her a weary look and dumped his body in an armchair. "What is it Beatrix?" His voice was low, hoarse and deader than the trees beyond the windows.

"I'd rather wait until Diann gets here." Beatrix leaned her head against the back of the settee, her head lulling to one side.

Levi stood by the hearth and stuck several matches before getting a healthy fire going. He didn't appear as tired as Sicero, but his shoulders slumped forward and his back hunched as though he was about to cave in on himself. He and Lyra were living at the Cathedral since—like the schoolhouses—their house had been crushed beyond repair.

"Levi?" Beatrix kept her voice gentle. "How are you and Lyra doing?"

He gave a despondent wave of his hand. "All things considered, we could be worse off. Lyra's taking the loss hard but..." He shrugged.

She wished she could reassure him, tell him that things would get better. But with the divine city withdrawing and the threat from Jaredeth looming over their heads, they were in dire straits, sinking fast with no lifeline to grab onto. Well, there was one, but whether she'd be willing or able to help them was another issue entirely.

After they'd learned of the Divine City's decision to close the cathedral, they'd discussed evacuating the island—the one thing Beatrix never wanted to do. Except now they had nowhere to go. The closest place was Avaly, and they'd angered its king. Sicero was right. They needed Octavia's help. Even if she couldn't rid the island of the netherborne, she could stay Jaredeth's cruel hand.

Murmuring from the hall pulled Beatrix from her thoughts. Zhen entered the study a moment later with Diann on her heels. The Councilwoman had only tossed on an overcoat on top of her silk nightgown. She surveyed the room with bloodshot eyes as red as her messy hair before dumping herself in the nearest seat. "This better be good, Beatrix."

"I received a correspondence from Jaredeth," Beatrix said.

Sicero jolted upright, as though lightning had struck him. "What did it say?"

"Read for yourself." She pulled the little canister from her jacket pocket and tossed it at him. Then she stood and paced the room, unable to stay still despite the weariness in her bones, while Sicero read the message aloud.

"You absolute fools," he began, and the room grew colder despite the fire. Everyone stilled as though frozen in place, except Claud, who marched over to Sicero and snatched the message from his hands.

The clothier read the rest, before bursting into a fit of hysterical laughter. "Oh my dear gods, this is priceless. Nice job cutting off your nose to spite your face."

"This isn't a joke Claud," the High Priest snapped. "Things are bad enough as it is. Now we have Jaredeth breathing down our necks."

"Don't get pissy with me, my lord. It wasn't my idea to throw Octavia into prison after she saved all our skins." He gave another snorting laugh. "You all must feel quite stupid right now."

Beatrix ignored the sting of Claud's words. "Speaking of Octavia, has she shown any signs of recovering?"

Sicero shook his head. "The medics have done all they can. She'll either wake up on her own or not at all."

"Do you even care about Octavia's health?" Claud asked, as he leaned against the window and crossed one bare foot over the other. "Or are you only concerned about what Jaredeth will do if she doesn't wake up. Or if she dies."

"You all are fretting for nothing," Diann interjected. She sat with one leg crossed over the other and her cheek on her fist. "We have the Night-Blooming Rose. We can leverage her for the Divine City's aid."

Beatrix swallowed the string of swears before they could escape her mouth. A lady does not use foul language. "Diann, we've gone over this already. It takes at least a month for our messages to reach them. We can, and likely will, be overrun by then. Need I remind you that we had three netherborne the size of the Cathedral looming over Hedalda in the span of a week?"

"We've survived here for years. We can manage a month more. If worse comes to worse, we can move everyone into the Cathedral. It's a smaller area, easier to defend against an attack. We have the secondary barrier along with the bell."

"We're not enough Diann." Sicero rubbed his temple. "The Priesthood is not enough to stop the scourge. Before coming to Hedalda, I'd never seen netherborne so large and vicious before, and I've been around for the entirety of the scourge."

Diann tilted her head, eyes narrowing. "So, you'd trust the person who brought this plague upon us over the organization that's been helping us for over a generation? It's a good thing I already sent word to the Divine City, because you are all utterly unfit to lead."

"You did what? How could you make such a rash decision without consulting the Council!" Beatrix fisted her hands in the settees cushions to stop herself from flying over the coffee table and throttling her colleague.

"I don't recall any of you consulting me when you hired a necromancer to teach our children, Beatrix." Diann cut her eyes to Sicero. "I didn't leave out your role in all this, High priest. You're using the Divine City's resources to aid the Night-Blooming Rose, and one of your subordinates freed her from the jailhouse."

Claud snorted. "And you have it all figured out, don't you Diann? You need to pull the wool from your eyes and realize that the Divine City is done with Hedalda. They'll say thank you for giving them the Night-Blooming Rose and still abandon you all."

"It is the Council's duty to do what's in the best interest of Hedalda and its people." 

Beatrix ground her teeth together. She wasn't sure what was more infuriating, Diann's arrogance or the calm, quiet voice with which she'd maligned the council. "You're absolutely right, Diann. Which is why, as of this moment, you're stripped of all powers powers, duties and privileges afforded to you. I'm done with you. You are no longer a sitting member of this Council."

Diann shrugged a shoulder and stood. "I'll turn in my badge and jacket tomorrow." And with that, she left the study.

Beatrix fisted her hands in her hair, the beginnings of a headache tingling the back of the skull. How many more things would go wrong, she wondered. Hedalda was a mess, the Divine City was abandoning them and Jaredeth would ruin them. Now one of her Councilors betrayed her trust.

"All we can do is wait," Levi said. He'd been so quiet that Beatrix had forgotten he was in the room. "It's obvious that Jaredeth doesn't want to hear from us. There can be another attack at any moment. Even as we speak. We wait until Octavia wakes up, beg her to change Jaredeth's mind. Then we evacuate the island." He pushed a half burnt log to the back of the hearth. "I know you never wanted to leave Hedalda, Beatrix, but if we stay here, we'll die. You did your best, but it's time to let go."

The truth slammed into Beatrix like a frigid wave, sending her spiraling downward and robbing the air from her lungs. All she could do was nod her head—too crushed by the weight of her own failure to speak.

"You're willing to beg Octavia for help?" Sicero asked. "I thought for sure you would agree to Diann's plan."

"Diann is putting too much faith in the Divine City." Levi pushed his dreadlocks from his face. "A month or more is too long to wait, and I have my daughter to think about. If saving her means I have to kiss the feet of a necromancer, then so be it."