"And just how are we meant to get into the most intensively surveilled fortress in Yor? The world, even?!" Sianna asked, clicking her claws together.

  The Opal was the heart and brain of the Last Empire, nestled into an ostentatious setting like a jewel to a ring. Olive had conceived it in the fashion of Plato's Republic, an oasis of revolutionary thought that thrived under the gentle auspices of a secular regency. At least, that's what the magnanimous, just Alys Nightshade was meant to put in place.

  "All I ask is a bit of faith and flexibility," Ylsa said, taking down a crate from a stacked rack. "I have a plan, you just need to let it germinate! Come with me when I head out, and I'll give you every reason to trust me, okay?"

  Sianna slid her eyes to Olive, who met her with a nod, sipping at a mug of water. The Felinae nodded back. "Alright, we'll call it a deal. For now." She narrowed her eyes at Ylsa. "Aren't you worried about the Matriarch in the room?" Sianna cast about. Ylsa stiffened. "Won't she be there?"

  Ylsa relaxed. "Maybe, maybe not. Either way, if my man is right, she's a recluse, barely does anything. He says she doesn't even leave her quarters, doesn't eat, doesn't excrete."

  "I-isn't she omniscent?" Luna asked, voice quavering. "Th-that's what they say, right? That the Matriarch sees all?"

  "Of course they say that." Sianna snorted, an ear twitching. "Just as they tell children to finish their plate or the Mossy Gollum will come to swallow them up. It's a lie to promote good behaviour, nothing more." She clicked her tongue, tail gently tickling Olive's side. "I'll wager she excretes just as much as the rest of us. From the front and the back..."

  Olive's cheeks expanded as she suppressed a laugh. Come on! That wasn't even funny! She told herself, her face gainsaying her with an oink-like snort.

  "Whatever the truth, I doubt she'll be an issue, at least for this excursion." Ylsa cracked open the top of the crate, the nails of its lid hanging ajar. "What might be an issue is your state of dress, however..."

  Olive arched a brow, then blanched with a quiet gasp, crossing her arms over her chest, the scorch marked. She swung her gaze, checking each face, finding mostly indifference.

  Sianna, however, wore a flush, her ears tall. She looked away with a furtive brush of her petticoats, knuckles running along the fabric with a lady's grace. "I take it the plan is some sort of cover?"

  "You'll be a high noblewoman," Ylsa said, shoving the lid aside, revealing frippery, a colourful stack of dresses and cloaks. She reached in, drew out a thin gown, silken, jade to match Sianna's eyes. "The head of your household. The rest of you would play retainers, servants, guards, whatever you can swing."

  Sianna measured the dress, ran her fingers along its hem, its dagged sleeves. Her face pinched, taut with focus, contemplation. "And what's my cause?" She asked, licking her lips. "Why would I be there? It's rare for a high born Felinae to make the trip, let alone pay her respects."

  Ylsa shrugged her shoulders. "Maybe you have a pet project, a passing interest in anthropology to satisfy. Maybe you're there to leverage connections, further your family's image." She grinned. "Or, maybe you just had a day, and thought 'why not?'. It's your role. All kinds make the pilgrimage, every year. So long as you have the credentials, and the Wings, they won't look too close. Not unless you give them a reason."

  Sianna bit her lip, tail swinging behind her, then nodded. "I'll give it some thought. How long do I have?"

  "Until tomorrow."

  Sianna's fur bristled. "That's a mite soon, don't you agree? Shouldn't we secure the capital first? The documentation?"

  "Mostly done. We just need to do a quick errand and fill out a few names, really." Ylsa tucked the dress into the Felinae's arms, like a bouquet into a bridesmaid's. Her eyes glittered. "As for the rest of you, I have less... grand garments stored away, for you to pick out. High quality, of course! Lady Sienna never settles for less than the best!"

  "Lady Regelia, actually!" Sianna corrected, with a haughty harrumph, nose thumbed high in the air. "The youngest daughter of Lord Fenris Oph'ianis, a lord known for his quick temper and ruthless taxation policies! Here to study the great deeds of the Matriarch, that I might take her example." She held out one hand over her head, the other on her chest, and beamed, took a bow.

  Bristle gave a clap.

  "I'll be sure to note it down," Ylsa said, dryly. " You can tuck it away for now. Olive, though, should probably grab something now." Her mouth bent at one end, into a sly smirk. "Or are you going for the arsonist aesthetic?"

  Olive puffed out her cheeks, but made no reply. I would rock it, for your information! She craned her head, peeking into the crate, skimming over the gaudy fabrics, finding bright reds, violets, blues, yellows, and pinks in multitude. Ew. Why pink?

  "Would any of them even fit her?" Sianna asked, leaning in at her side, ears bent inquisitively forward as she scratched her fuzzy chin.

  "Some." Ylsa picked up a velvet cape, shimmering gold. "I bought pieces in all sizes."

  Olive pulled out a few likely looking dresses and robes, wincing at the lurid colours. I wouldn't have been caught dead in any of these yesterday. Thankfully, on a cursory glimpse, most didn't fit.

  But one did. And, of course, it had to be pink.

  God, why did it need to be such a good fit?!

  The cut was low, showing the nestle of her pink chest, even with the laces done up taut. It hugged at her waist, propping them up, fanning the heat in her face. The sleeves were short, butterflying above her elbows, and the fringes were ruffled, spotted with white, floral patterns. A frilly skirt swayed as she walked, brushing at her thighs, her wool stockings.

  Worse, the group adored the look. Luna especially, calling her 'cute'. Again. I will hurt you.

  She quailed at that.

  When a grey cloak was offered, as the five readied to leave, she leapt to accept, wrapping it tight to the amusement of the room. They had their own, of course, all with thick hoods to veil their very distinctive faces. Faces that the guards were looking out for.

  As they went to leave, passing through the front of the store, Ylsa stopped them. She took care as she looked over the shelves, tapping her chin as she made careful calculations in her mind. Finished, she picked out a few spheres, a sack of caltrops, a box of noisome pellets. "Just in case," she told Olive, giving them over.

  They crowded her arms, bulging outward. "U-uhm... thanks," she said, grunting. "I guess. Does this thing have any pockets?"

  "You could use this," Sianna said, with a groan, plucking a bag from a shelf. It was another cat, like the stuffies, a hat sewn onto its sable head, a zipper cut into its back. And it gets worse! Sianna's face was drawn, twitchy. "Assuming it's okay."

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Ylsa clicked her tongue. "I'm sure it is." She said, out of hand.

  Sianna helped Olive tuck her bounty away, slung it over her shoulder, under the cloak. Olive rolled her eyes, hiding it. It would do for a pinch.

  "How sure?" Sianna asked, quinting. "Who owns this place, anyway?"

  Ylsa opened the door, light deluging past her, and shrugged. "Me."

  The market was abustle, overflowing with faces, colours, sounds, and smells. Sweat was sharpest in Olive's nose, followed by leather, beer. Does everyone drink beer for breakfast, here?! I don't remember writing that...

  Luna, from the back of their party, stared at her, eyes pale in their shadowed alcove. She walked with shoulders hunched, twitching, taking in heady breaths.

  They kited and elbowed their way through the throng, Bristle an icebreaker at the front, shoving some to the side, apologizing, wagging his tail, happy to contribute.

  Just like any dumb dog, she thought, then sighed.

  They passed between banks of jutting tenements, strumming minstrels hawking for leavings, under clotheslines, dripping, pattering their cloaks.

  A wall of faces stared as they loped, pasted on what seemed to be a fortification, partitioning the rest of the city from a fortress. Maybe the army headquarters?

  The wax seals at the corner of every bounty dispelled her doubt. They were silver falcons, wings unfurled. So this is the Rookery. She craned her head, tried to see over the tip of the tall, stone walls, but could only make out cerulean skies, the sun leaking through, burning her eyes. I didn't write them having a wall. She pouted, trotting forward with a huff...

  ...and smacking her snout right into Sianna's chest, bouncing back. She burned, goosepimples prickling across her skin as she rubbed at her sore nose, tail wiggling as her nerves shot. "Shit! Sorry! I--"

  Sianna didn't notice, her eyes riveted to one bounty in particular, just as the others were.

  Olive followed their gazes, saw her own face on the wall, detailed to a disarming authenticity with precise paint strokes. Her heart missed a step, and she slid back a step. "Oh... that's not good, is it?"

  "It's not wonderful, no," Ylsa said, with a sigh. Under the portrait, Olive read:

  BOUNTY: Wanted alive!

  500 Ws

  Profile -

  Name: Olive Farrier

  Gender: Female

  Species: Porcene

  Height: 4'0

  Weight: 90 lbs

  Age: Early 30s

  Reason for inquiry -

  Special interest in on-going investigation. Please contact Eryck Carlson with information at 3141 Maverick. Payment will be provided upon arrest.

  Olive's tongue was a dried-out sponge, her ears pumping with hot, torpid blood. Do they know? Fuck, they know, don't they?! I need to leave, this was stupid, this is all stupid, stupid and insane--

  Luna laid a hand on her shoulder. A warm hand. "They don't know anything." She told her, softly. "If they did, they'd put the crime up there..."

  Olive relaxed, blew out tension with a long exhale. She was right. They might suspect something, but that was it. She could manage that.

  "Where's my bounty?" Bristle asked, ear cocked.

  "We shouldn't linger." Ylsa surged ahead, head snapping from side to side. Sianna turned to Olive, gave her a knowing, worried look, then followed, her tail curling around the Porcene's waist. Stay close to me, she commanded, voice like a warm wind on Olive's brain as she tottered up behind her.

  "Ylsa! My sweet tea! My moonlit pond! How can I assist you and yours today?" A man with a coiffed beard and walnut eyes greeted them, lowering into a bow as they swept into the fragrant building. It was an apothecary, Olive reasoned, a large, black sculpture of a mortar and pestle set into the wooden building's frontage. The inside was more modest: a counter, bookshelves, burning incense. Herbs, garlic, and strange, prickly flowers dangled from trellises and hooks, more ornamentation than function, forcing Bristle and Sianna to duck their heads.

  Ylsa smiled, stepping forward. "Just a commission. A single commission." She told him, sternly. "To be delivered before tomorrow. Does that sound manageable?"

  The man's amber robes billowed as he gestured to the counter. "Of course, of course! Everything is manageable! Anything for our magnanimous patron! Anything!" His face, coppery and keen, held a sharp, constant smile that should have cracked his face, and his eyes glinted like coins.

  Behind the counter, he appeared again, stepping through beads from a back room. "You can go, now." He told the smirking duplicate, his tone hueless. "They don't want to deal with it."

  "Um..." Olive pinched at her ear. "Why are there two of him?"

  "Six, actually!" Smiley said, a finger jabbing the air, like a precise needle. "Why, because Mauro Linquest is the best of alchemists! So great that only he, himself, can play the match!"

  "Enough." The hueless one said, snapping his fingers. Smiley shattered, breaking into golden shards, then a flash of light.

  Then nothing.

  "Apologies." The one behind the counter said. "He means well."

  "Excuse me, what the fuck?!" Olive scream-whispered to a side, addressing Sianna.

  The Felinae shrugged. "Just how he 'cracked', I suppose.'

  Olive gaped. What was with all the 'cracking'?! "What does that me--"

  "I want you to make a poison, Mauro." Ylsa told him, stalking up to the counter. She reached up to her scalp, plucked out a few, violet hair, without so much as a wince. "Tailored to my physiology."

  Olive's jaw almost fell loose. Sianna mimed the expression.

  "Are... you sure?" Mauro asked, cocking a charcoal brow. "You know I'm--"

  "The best?" Ylsa broke in, helpfully.

  "--good." Mauro corrected. "If I make a poison, it works."

  "That's what I'm hoping for." Ylsa snorted, laying the hairs on the counter. "Something deadly, that can linger in the system for a while before activating."

  Sianna's ears jumped. "Ylsa, what are you--"

  "And an antidote, of course!" Ylsa added, quickly, holding up a hand. "One that I can drink at any point before the symptoms take hold, and experience no side effects."

  Mauro took a deep breath, rubbed at his stubbly brow. "A mighty big ask, you're giving me..."

  "Well, you did say anything," Ylsa said, with a snigger. "If you get it done, consider your obligations void." His face lit up. "Clean slate."

  "I'm gonna need some clarification at some point!" Olive groaned, with a stamp of her foot.

  "I'm going to drink a poison tomorrow, when you go to... witness history." Ylsa narrowed her eyes at Mauro, who turned away with a grunt. "You will bring the antidote when you go. Thus, my life hinges on you returning the antidote, meaning I would be a right fool to betray you, or put you at peril." She looked over her shoulder, glared at Sianna. "Is that assurance enough?"

  Sianna stood dumbfounded, ears dipping low, like a chastised dog. "I... suppose that would suffice..."

  They kept their heads low as they kited down the thoroughfare, keeping quiet, letting the din rush over them. Luna hugged herself, her face pinching as the crowd swelled, the smells of stew and bread and meat rising. Olive's stomach ached, grumbling like a sour child.

  "I told you I had a plan," Ylsa whispered, leaning toward Sianna. "I know how I look, from your perspective. I'm not expecting blind trust."

  "I understand, yes," Sianna said, with a sigh. "And I do appreciate the assurance. It's just that--"

  "S-so... loud..." Luna whimpered, chest heaving, fists squeezing the sides of her head. "C-can we-we stop..."

  "Just a bit further," Ylsa said, pointing. "Market's close."

  Luna shambled on a few steps, her shoes skimming along the flagstones. Her face was peaked, eyes rheumy, a sickly pallor falling across her skin. Overrun, she dropped to a crouch, closed her eyes, rocking on her heels. "Down the river and past the pines. Down the river and past the pines..." She muttered, singsongy, her suede voice crinkled in places.

  Sianna stopped, reaching out. "Ylsa, I think she's--"

  Luna rocked, rocked, muttered, muttered. Olive, Bristle, and Ylsa stopped, too.

  "Luna, sweetling?" Sianna approached, tail up, reaching out with a tepid paw. "What's wrong?"

  Olive yanked at her fingers. A boulder of worry settled in her chest as the crowd around them slowed, stared. It made the girl rock faster, mutter louder.

  "Down the river and past the pines. Down the river and past the pines!"

  More bodies. More staring. Olive's chest was drum tight

  Luna, stop! She snapped, gritting her tusks as she forced an affable, guileless smile. Get the fuck up! You're gonna get us caught, you selfish fucking--

  She caught herself, rubbed at her eyes. That was too much, even she knew that.

  But it worked. Luna looked up, her wide face empty of expression, her eyes broad as windows, glazed by a day's rain. "O-okay..." Her voice was mousy, damp.

  "Good, sweetling, good!" Sianna beamed, holding out a hand. "Let me help you up."

  Luna reached out to accept it, then paused, her mouth agape.

  "What now?!" Olive snapped, then blanched, the crowd still milling around them. "I mean, uhm... we really need to be off..."

  "Yes we do!" Luna pushed up, her legs wobbling. "They're coming! I hear them! They're coming!"

  Olive's belly twisted, knotting with the hunger. "Who? Which they?!"

  The other's tensed, peering about.

  Luna grabbed her hand, suppressing a wheeze.

  She didn't have to answer as the rustle of mail bounded towards them.