In the sprawl of Stitchspace, Nestus is equally aligned to Eclipsia—home of the Fae—and Ocren, a sub-plane of Greater Death. Visitors from both are not uncommon.
-Planewalkers’ Guide to Nestus
(Immediately after the murders)
The professors took the bodies before calling an all-captain meeting, while Goldmask called an all-quill meeting. Nikolai was a captain and Arlen was thankful that he spoke in her stead. “I will tell you all everything, after dinner,” Esme said before running to catch up with Drayla.
Daephina, Julia, Marcella, and Tris all looked to Arlen, who instead saw the faces of their quills attached to their body, all panting expectantly. “I need a moment,” Arlen said before running back to the castle. Esme’s gaze had always left her cold, but to feel the gazes of all the other students—like she killed the three students!—made her feel small and slimy like a worm. And what do people do to worms? They crush them, or run a screwdriver through them, or flick them into the ocean, or any number of undesirable things. If it wasn’t for me, nobody would even know that they died!
A hand grabbed Arlen’s, stopping her. Spinning, Arlen dropped her fist when she saw it was Bennet who had grabbed her. “I’m going to the dungeons to spar. You should come with.”
Arlen scoffed. “I’m hardly in the mood to spar, Bennet.”
“Beats sulking around the castle or the dorms where everyone is going to stare at you,” he said. “Cameron was my friend,” Bennet said, his voice low. “If I see one more person look at you, I will grieve his death in a very unproductive way.”
Arlen sighed, letting herself deflate, hopefully enough to float away. “I guess I did ask.” She held out her hand. “Lead the way.”
Bennet smiled, a shaky thing. “I know a place and if anybody comes, I’ll beat them off.” Bennet paled at his innuendo. “With a sword, I meant I’ll beat them off with a sword.”
Arlen arched her brow. “With a sword?”
“I meant I’ll tell them to get bent.”
Arlen gave him a light shove “I know. Lead the way, Titan.”
Bennet’s broad shoulders provided an excellent shield from gazes, and he was quick to glare a dagger back. “You know, maybe tone down the death glares a tad,” Arlen suggested, “so you don’t send all of your suitors running to the cliffs.”
Bennet shrugged as they began their descent into the dungeons. “I have enough of them to fend off as is, and that’s not counting the pressure from the other side this year.”
“The guys liked you last year too,” Arlen said, confused, but thankful to be thinking of other things, even if it was dating. Bennet was nice and strong and any of the school’s harpies would be lucky to have him. It’s him that won’t be lucky, Arlen thought, hating the image her mind conjured of Bennet and Carlotta together.
Bennet shook his head. “No, it’s my father pushing me, saying he’s expecting a partner by the end of my final year,” he said, “preferably a military girl, bloodlines and all that.”
Arlen connected the dots quickly. “Esme?” Given how noble families worked, Arlen reckoned Bennet would end up hitched to one of them. Loathe as she was to admit it, Esme and Bennet made a nice picture, though Arlen doubted there would be any feelings between the two. Such was politics, and she was as glad that she didn’t have to play it as she was sad and worried for Bennet.
Bennet nodded. “Or Julia or Carlotta or even Professor Damasc.”
Arlen stopped in her tracks. “Lilian looks like she’ll just die wearing a dress in front of that many people!”
Bennet scoffed as he stepped into one of the practice rooms. “That’s what I tried to tell him, but he kept going on about how Fenrikan said we’d be a good match.”
“Are you sure he doesn’t want you to marry Fenrikan?”
Bennet shook his head and tossed a practice sword to Arlen. “I have the oddest feeling he’s saving that for Clarissa.”
Clarissa had graduated from Canor two years prior and would occasionally drop in from patrols to check in on her brother. It had been Clarissa who had shown Arlen some of the best spots in the forest, and to think of her being essentially chained to Ravenshroud made Arlen’s heart plummet. “Let’s get to sparring,” Arlen muttered as she took off her scarf and jacket.
Bennet nodded and stripped to his pants, his golden hair blending in with the golden skin below. Waves of muscle played across his skin, his gangly arms and legs seas of molten gold. ”That”—he grinned—"sounds like a great idea. Come at me, Whitestreak and I’ll see if we can’t keep you out of the doghouse.”
Arlen gripped her wooden rod in both hands, knowing Bennet could easily flick it away like Tris had done earlier. Not going to make that same mistake, Arlen thought as she circled him with measured steps, eyes on Bennet’s sword and making sure her guard was ready.
“Must I fence for the both of us?” Bennet said nonchalantly, arm extended, back straight as a board.
Arlen grit her teeth and darted forward, guard raised high until she could strike his stomach. The tendons in her legs talked seamlessly with those in her arms, making the strike perfect.
Textbook perfect. Bennet sidestepped easily before bopping her head with the end of his sword. “Much too tight, I’m honestly surprised you didn’t snap.” Bennet placed his hands over Arlen’s and brought them lower, pulling her arms and shoulders with it. “Relax your shoulders, they’re not pauldrons. I need to only look at them to figure out what you’re going to do.”
Easy for you to say, you’re practically wearing armor when you’re naked, Arlen thought before pushing herself through the movement.
“Isn’t that better?“ Bennet asked after a few movements. Arlen nodded, and Bennet placed his hands on hers again. The grip was awkward with both of them competing for space, but Arlen was sure that it was more capable for the addition of Bennet’s hands. “And now we can work on that grip. Loosen up, if your knuckles get more white, anymore and they’ll call you Whitehand instead of Whitestreak.”
Arlen stilled her hand, figuring that it was loose enough when her knuckles were no longer white. It feels like it’s going to fly out, Arlen thought. “Let’s go again.”
Bennet smiled as he returned to his position. “Let’s.”
Arlen’s mind went back to the previous move, but banished it. He’ll be expecting that, she reasoned before darting forward at an angle. Her feet shuffled—hopefully fast enough—before she made three swift cuts as if she was holding a dagger.
Bennet caught her blows with his own sword and a few shifts of his feet. He wedged his own blade underneath hers before flicking it into the air, catching it by the end and offering it to Arlen. “That was better, but don’t let up and change your angles.”
What a show off, Arlen thought, taking the offered sword. “But I did cut an angle.”
Bennet shook his head. “You did, and then you stood there, effectively giving you no angles. Every strike should have a step, even a small one.” He poked her chest with the end of his baton “Keep up the pressure, or it will be taken from you.”
Arlen took up her stance again. “Let’s go again,” she said, breath hot with eagerness.
“No. We have enough to work with today,” Bennet said before patting one of the straw dummies along the walls. “Hay-din will be your instructor for a little bit.”
Arlen arched her brow. “Hay-din?” she said, testing each syllable like tough meat.
Bennet clapped the dummy on the shoulder “My companion in my long nights, and perhaps your guide through the winter of your soul.”
Arlen giggled as she approached Hay-din. “You should stick to blades because poetry obviously isn’t your strong suit.”
Bennet shifted from left to right across the dummy beside Arlen, sword rising and falling like a wave in line with his feet. “Once from left to right,” he began the movement again, in reverse, “then back.”
It was a familiar combination, one Arlen knew she hadn’t truly mastered. It had been enough to avoid Fenrikan’s ire in years past and Arlen had already programmed the minute adjustments she planned on making to avoid it this year. She’d be faster by a tad, and more precise by an inch, but no more, not for the brute.
“75 reps on Hay-din and then you’ll do it 75 times on the rope ladder to give him a break,” Bennet said before he began his own sets, twice as fast.
Arlen began her set, mumbling each step and swing before doing it. On the first perfect movement, Bennet nodded. “74 more, just like that.”
Bullshit! I’m at least 37! Arlen thought. Sighing, Arlen went through the motion again, earning another nod from Bennet as he glided through his own movement. “You could be a bit more encouraging, and I’m at 40, if you must know,” Arlen said after a silent few minutes
“You’re at 17, and no, you should be able to do this after four years,” Bennett said curtly, almost coldly. His face was a tight, imperious mask, not angry that a peasant like Arlen had been let in, but that she had been allowed to stay and coast. “You want encouragement? Praise? Earn it. Make me. Get to 75 without a single slip.”
Bennet’s face didn’t waver, eyes set on her and awaiting her next no doubt lackluster move. It was—Arlen determined—not a look that she liked, and she set her shoulders like he’d taught her to. “You’re on,” Arlen said as she decimated 40. “I’m gonna make you open those damned eyes.”
Bennet chuckled. “Awfully confident, little Vitestreak,” he said, his voice a perfect mimicry of Julia’s voice. Arlen was glad she hadn’t started 42, because Hay-din would have smacked her for the resulting clumsiness. “And I thought that might trip you up. Finish up to 75, then we’ll move to ladders.”
Two minutes later, Bennet laid three ladders side by side. “Each sidestep will be into one of the other rows. Do this down and back, 75 times, and maybe Hay-din will let you redeem yourself.”
“He better,” Arlen said as she took her first step, aiming her foot just left of center every time she entered a box.
“Good, good, consistent steps,” Bennet said as he glided from end to end, the patter of his steps being the only proof that he stepped at all. Arlen stopped halfway through a run, sighing as she admired his speed and fluidity. It was so effortless, making Arlen want to fly soon so she could show him a measure of the same surety in flying that he displayed with fighting. “Lose count? You’re at 16, halfway through, let’s go.”
“You’re really good,” Arlen said needlessly before she resumed her stride. Of course he knows that.
“Thanks, my father practically beat the timing into me,” Bennet said. “Sometimes I thought he was going to make me sleep with the metronome he used and Pavlov me into practicing in bed.”
“Sounds rough.”
Bennet shrugged. “It makes duels between houses easier, that’s for sure. It’s like a damned vacation here without him over my shoulder while I train,” he said softly.
“Glad I can help?” Arlen said, mostly sure she was helping.
“When fifth year is over, I’ll be able to go wherever I want,” Bennet said. “Maybe I’ll get a shack in the woods, or maybe I’ll just sleep outside with Whitecap like you do with Halfsies.”
“Y’know, there’s a reason why I return to the castle,” Arlen said. “It’s damned cold out there at night, and besides Halfsies, not a lot of conversation.”
“You say that is if there is any better company,” Halfsies said into Arlen’s mind. “I can assure you, there is none.”
“Perhaps you’re right.” Bennet relaxed into his stance, shoulders and arms loose. “Now pick up the pace, before you make me all sappy.”
Like a good student, Arlen sped through the remaining reps. “So, have I earned another try from Hay-din?”
Bennet placed his head near the straw dummy’s. “Think we should?” he whispered before sparing a glance at Arlen. “I suppose the grasshopper can be given another chance,” he said, in a startlingly accurate impersonation of Blachen’s voice. “He says yes, but you have to say something nice about him at the end.”
Arlen rolled her eyes. “I think your straw is very tight with how much people must hit you,” she said as she began her set. Her feet found familiar positions as she moved, as if the ground was calling for her to step on it.
“46,” Bennet called out. “We’ll work on this and a few other rotations, then we’ll move on and see if Esme is done.”
“No need,” Esme said from the archway into the room. “How goes the training, Bennet?”
“Better than I thought,” Bennet said, “but still plenty of room for improvement. For someone small”—he sighed—“she’s scrappy.”
Arlen’s heart grew wings at his words, sending her skating through her reps. “An hour and a half each night or in the morning on drills will work will do her wonders,” Bennet continued.
Arlen wanted to die. “Why not both?” she groaned.
“No,” Esme said, “with today’s drills, being bruised to start the day hardly seems smart.”
“How about sparring the first morning of the week and after dinner on Fivesday?” Bennet proposed.
“It will have to be you,” Esme said. “It seems I will be busy with more meetings like today.”
Arlen growled as she struck the dummy’s neck. “You better run to your meetings, Bondblood, because I’m gonna leave you bond-bloody when I’m done with this.”
Esme laughed, light and bubbly like champagne. “Hopefully she won’t lose that quick wit and sharp tongue.”
Arlen struck the dummy with enough force to make the rod wobble. “I’ll cut yours off!” She wagged her practice baton. “Do you know what a suppository is?”
Bennet sighed. “Arlen, it’s Esme, of course she knows what a suppository is.” Arlen could almost hear Esme’s brow rise. “I’m just saying she has a very extensive vocabulary, is all,” Bennet stammered.
Arlen had a response already on her tongue, but grinned when Esme beat her to it. “From all of the poetry I do, correct?”
“I personally think suppository is a bit much for a haiku, but I’m sure our captain could manage,” Arlen said as she finished her final rep.
Esme rolled her eyes. “As fun as all of this is, I think you two should clean yourselves. The others are waiting,” she said before beginning up the stairs.
“Clarissa and Abella must have had a field day flustering you,” Arlen said with a smile as they followed their captain. “Mighty good thing we’re meeting the dracosine with quivers and not quips.”
Bennet shook his head as he dressed. “I let them,” he said before adding quietly, “seems I never learned the banter part myself.”
“I bet they liked that.”
Bennet shrugged “I knew what I was doing. Believe it or not, there’s a brain behind these muscles.” He leaned into Arlen. “Don’t tell Tris, she might get jealous.”
Arlen ran her finger over her lips. “Your secret is safe with me, my benevolent blond titan,” she said in as grandiose a voice as she could manage.
The common area between their rooms had several plush couches and chairs around a table of lacquered pine. Someone had boiled water in one of the dorm’s kitchens and the scents of lemon and mint teas mingled in the air. “So,” Julia began as Arlen and Bennet poured tea, “are we going to need to replace Whitestreak”—said normally—"or is she salvageable?” The others laughed and Arlen let them; it was obviously a joke and with how the day had gone, she didn’t care if she was the butt of it.
Bennet kept his face a stone. “I’d focus on yourself before we need to do dual lessons, Whippinggale.”
Before Arlen could grin too wide or say anything, Esme raised a delicate hand. “That’s not what we came here to discuss,” she said curtly. “I’ll start with what we covered with the professors, and then Arlen can add what she saw.”
Which was close to fuck all, Arlen thought miserably.
“The bodies had two small holes no bigger than a coin along their neck, about an inch apart,” Esme began. “Further, they were drained almost entirely of blood.”
Arlen nodded. “They looked a tad pale, I guess,” she said. I didn’t look too long at them before we decided to book it. Y’know”—Arlen shrugged—"trying not to die and all that.”
“Something from Cacklerot?” Bennet suggested. “Lots of carrion beast over to the north, and we know Hoarden is coming south. The corpsepickers”—the marabou-stork-headed, hyena-bodied beasts favored by that nation’s riders—“are the fastest among the rider mounts.”
“Cacklerot has never come that far south outside of war,” Julia quipped, “and we are at peace with the salt barons, for now.”
“Stormsdeep then?” Tris suggested. “Slink up through the spire, disappear into the ocean before anybody notices.”
“We’d have seen their serpents as early as Proudhowl,” Esme countered. “And I’ve heard from certain associates of my father that the port cities are fighting again. All of their corsairs are going to be there for the time being, and their thalalynxes with them.”
“It’s not a cave rat, is it?” Marcella asked.
“Fangs the size of a coin?” Daephina shook her head. “That’d be a big fucking rat.”
Tris nodded. “And rats don’t drink blood either,” she said. “Any prints?”
Esme shook her head. “None that weren’t trampled by the group as they went in and out,” Esme said, prompting everyone to shoot Arlen a glare or side eye.
Their gazes weren’t cold, but they certainly weren’t warm. Arlen threw her hands up. “I didn’t see anything because it was dark and I, was, running, for my, life,” she said curtly. “Did I mention that part?”
“Nobody is saying you did it, Arlen, just—“ Julia began.
“Well, it sure as hell feels like it!” she yelled. Everyone flinched, save for Tris who merely smirked, brow raised as if wanting more. Part of Arlen wanted to fling her tea into the dark girl’s face before tackling her off the couch.
“Calm down, whatever you’re thinking won’t end well,” Halfsies transmitted. “Take a breath and sit down.”
Arlen realized that she had stood, a bad look while everyone else was sitting with tea. “Easy for you to say when you’re the top dog in the kennel,” Arlen transmitted back as she sank onto the couch, wishing the cushions would swallow her.
“I’m sorry, Arlen,” Julia said sheepishly, her eyes not meeting Arlen’s.
Great, now I’m going to feel like shit all night. Nonetheless, Arlen nodded, appearances and all that. “It’s fine,” she mumbled. “Just continue, please.”
Esme cleared her throat. “The professors seem to think it is some kind of dracosine grubling.”
“Again, that’s a pretty big grubling,” Daephina said.
Grublings? We’d have found the parents if that was the case. “Not the largest though,” Arlen mumbled, if only to say something. “Knuckerbear, maybe?”
Esme nodded. “That was our consensus.”
“And with how knuckers slither,” Daephina chimed in, “you wouldn’t see any prints. That’s still a long way from Hoarden, unseen. Sure it’s not thalalynxes?”
Esme nodded. “Thalalynxes would leave behind current signatures in the waters,” she explained, “which Proudhowl has not reported. Drakes on the other hand, have been seen further south along the eastern coast.”
Daephina sighed. “Looks like we’ll be doing ocean patrols.”
“Knuckerbears in the ocean is the leading theory for the murders,” Arlen transmitted mentally to her winged companion. She accompanied the words with a textbook image of one the bear-headed sea serpents. “Have the quills said anything else?”
“No,” Halfsies said, “but if you are free tonight, I think it would behoove us to scan across the coastline, as fast as we are.”
It was hardly the worst idea. The sooner they found what had killed the students during the day’s flight drill, the sooner she could return to sleeping in the forest, reading her cryptid encyclopedias, and generally ignoring the school’s harpies as they spread rumors and tried to bury the bone in each other. She’d at least be away from their accusing, suspicious glances for the night. “I would, but we’re on curfew within the immediate city,”
Arlen felt Halfsies roll his eyes at curfew, her own eyes rolling in sync. “As if we have not slipped curfews before. What is a curfew compared to mischief between friends?”
“Yes, Daephina,” Esme said, drawing Arlen from her mental communication. “Professor Albia wanted to make half our lessons patrols. How she’ll incorporate that into the curriculum with so many of us is beyond me, but I’m sure that today is as easy as our year will be until we put these worms back in the can, as it were.”
Bennet sighed. “On the bright side, maybe we’ll have less homework?”
Esme shook her head. “Hardly. Professor Fenrikan yelled so much about increasing our drills that I thought Professor Damasc would melt.”
Arlen had no trouble picturing the burlier professor slamming his fist into a table and belting out drill numbers like some divine code. “We’ll have to be extra nice to her, she’s gonna need it.”
Esme nodded again. “Agreed. She always took a liking to you, maybe we could get her a small gift. Does she like chocolate? Flowers? Skulls?”
Arlen shrugged, having never had the money to consider grand gestures. “All of the above, and I might be able to throw in a tome or two,” she said. Her esoteric tomes were her prized possessions, what she often spent her limited allowance from Drayla on, but for Damasc—who had recommended Arlen numerous books—she could spare a book.
“Maybe one of each?” Marcella suggested, drawing nods from all. “’Phina, could you get—”
Daephina nodded. “I can get a skull, yes.”
“Julia,” Emse said, “I can get chocolates if you want to get flowers and arrange everything.”
Julia beamed, hair shining like molten gold. “You’re too generous captain, I’d love to.”
Esme graced her with a rare smile. “If that’s all, I’ll see you all at dinner,” she said before she left for her room.