“Your mother is a stick, right?” Alexanne, with Waishen hair that was impossibly long, asked bluntly.
“And your last name is Rainey, right?” said Rowa, the dark-haired one who somehow seemed ageless.
“Your mother is a stick named Rainey, right?” Alexanne asked.
“Yes,” Rian answered, more than a little confused. “What about it?”
They dropped a thick pamphlet on her counter. Rian had seen it being sold on the street corners when she came in, and noticed more than a few customers walking around with it. The cover said CHAMPIONS OF MARADAINE in large, bold letters, with an image of seven saints in silhouette below it.
“That’s your mom, isn’t it?”
“What’s my mom?”
“The Inspector Rainey in there, who rutting saved the city from, like, monsters or something. Is that your mom?”
Rian opened up the pamphlet and read through some of the pages.
The fire faded, and in a shimmering spectrum of light, there they were.
Saints.
Champions.
Dayne Heldrin and Jerinne Fendall, their Tarian uniforms a mess, their shields scorched and seared. But still standing strong, refusing to yield to these villains.
Inspector Minox Welling, sword in one hand, the other glowing with magic.
Inspector Satrine Rainey, in the red and green of the Constabulary, crossbow in hand.
The Rynax brothers. Asti in his patchwork coat and knives at the ready. Verci, leather coat over suspenders and shirtsleeves. Darts in one hand, metal glove on the other.
And the Thorn—I could scarcely believe it, the Thorn was real—with his crimson cloak shimmering with magic as he leaped into the air, drawing back his bow.
“I—I need to read all of this,” Rian said.
“It’s astounding,” Alexanne said.
“I don’t fully believe it,” Rowa countered.
“I heard from Freya and Macey it’s all true. They have cousins who live in that part of town.”
“They fought a giant winged serpent?”
“Did your mother fight a giant winged serpent?”
“She doesn’t tell me everything about her work,” Rian said, continuing to read through it. Mother did all that? Jerinne did that? How was that even possible?
“Well your mother is very crush,” Alexanne said. “We’re dying to have tea or such with her.”
“Quite,” Rowa said.
“I’ll let her know,” Rian said.
“Please,” Rowa said. “Invite us when you can.”
They floated off, leaving Rian to read through the impossible, incredible tale three or four times before she left.
She left the shop out of the employee entrance, and was surprised to find Jerinne Fendall waiting there, in dress uniform with a violet mourning sash draped over it. She looked incredibly dashing, especially since she also wore the gloves Rian had sold her.
“Are you going to a grieving?” Rian asked.
“I am, actually,” Jerinne said. “But your mother said you were getting off work so I thought I’d see you.”
Rian held up the pamphlet. “Is this real? Did this really happen?”
“It really happened,” Jerinne said. “Though it glosses over how I spent half the fight knocked out in the bell tower.”
“How?”
“It’s . . . one of the monsters got a piece of me.”
“Oh my saints!” Rian exclaimed, her hand almost involuntarily reaching out to touch Jerinne’s face. She pulled back just before she actually did. “You’re all right?”
“Miraculously, yes,” Jerinne said.
“I . . . you must have been scared, right?”
“Terrified,” Jerinne said. “But not half as terrified as I am right now.” She took a step closer to Rian, and Rian suddenly felt her heart race again.
“Why—” Rian cleared her throat, which had become quite dry. “Why are you terrified?”
Jerinne smiled—warm, bright, vibrant—and looked down to the ground for a moment, before looking back up and meeting Rian’s eyes.
“Because I want to kiss you. Is that all right?”
Rian couldn’t breathe for a moment. When she found her voice, she was astounded by what she said.
“I think you should.”
Then the most extraordinary thing happened.
It wasn’t the first time Rian had been kissed—there had been Poul Tullen, who had been rough and quick and altogether rushed. Rian had found that rather disappointing, even though her schoolfriends had told her that was just what kissing was like. She had resigned herself to accepting that.
Jerinne was something else altogether. Fierce and intense, confident and strong, soft and giving, kind and tender.
Everything Rian had thought a kiss should be.
Jerinne pulled back. “Was that all right?”
“More than,” Rian said. She glanced over to the employee door. Thankfully no one had come out. “Though we shouldn’t stand around here like this.”
“Right,” Jerinne said, flashing another smile. “I’m about to go to this service for a friend. Would you . . . would you like to come with me?” She offered her arm to Rian.
It had been a long day, and Rian knew she needed to go home, read three chapters and study math, but none of that mattered right now. She took Jerinne’s arm.
“I’d love to,” she said. “Though you’re in your dress uniform, I’m in shopgirl clothes. Won’t you be embarrassed by me?”
“Never,” Jerinne said. “You always look like a princess.”
“And so, dear friends, we are here in celebration of Maresh Niol. A man who lived in pursuit of truth, and art, and beauty, and whose loss diminishes us all.”
It was a beautiful sentiment, though Dayne did wonder how much Maresh—a man who spoken so strongly against the current government as well as the hierarchies of the church—would feel about Ret Issendel—former bishop, now member of Parliament—speaking at his service.
“He was a man who would probably argue vehemently about me speaking here,” Issendel went on. “The few times I met him, he argued with me, and . . . I will miss the opportunity for further arguments. His work challenged us all to look deeper into our preconceptions. I’m pleased to see us here in celebration of him, and the work he did.”
The courtyard of The Nimble Rabbit was decorated with Maresh’s art—largely charcoal sketches, but a few painted pieces—and filled with an eclectic mix of people. There were writers and artists from other newssheets. There were other artists—eclectic, broke Fenton types as well as tony ones with rich patrons. There were a few Tarians beyond just Dayne and Jerinne, mostly other third-year Initiates. There was a
