Session 94: Whispers and Writings

As the final dance set is about to begin, there is a sudden arrival announced to the crowd by the master of ceremonies. Prince Cyrix of the Winter Court, son of Queen Mab, the Queen of Air and Darkness arrives. Partners are already chosen and the last set of dances is about to begin, leaving him as a spectacle to be seen, but not interacted with as he motions for the music to begin.   Aisling takes to the floor with the Swan Queen. Aisling can tell that she is rather annoyed at the Prince's arrival. She had been set to have the final dance with the mortal who made a large impression at dinner, securing the spotlight for herself. But Prince Cyrix's arrival had claimed it from her. With her and Aisling's skillful dancing, she calmed a bit, feeling that eyes would be upon them once again and the onlookers could bask in their grace. While dancing, she spoke to Aisling about how she admired her, stating that she sees not just her beauty, but also her strength. She said that other Courts would see her beauty, but not not understand her strength and likened them to placing her on a pedestal where her Court would see her instead as a swan, free to fly, respecting her beauty and grace as well as her sword. There was no offer of their being Champion or joining her Court, but it appeared that the groundwork for invitation may have been being laid.   Bolvaic danced with the Ashen Lady, who praised him, seeing how fire had transformed him into something deadly, but also beautiful. She said that she saw him as the last ember of his clan ready to set a new fire instead of burning out. She asked him to champion her for the festival. She then offered him a gift--an Ember of the First Flame. It is said to be an ember of the first flame that ever burned. She gave it to him in a small glass case where it glowed in heat. She said that the ember could not be extinguished. Lack of air, water--these would not extinguish the ember. Them ember could be used to set fires, though they would be mundane fires capable of being extinguished, but that ember would still glow hot and bright, ready to set fire anew.   Ilbryen was unpartnered and approached by True Thomas stating that "We are intended to dance together." They danced together in silence for most of the dance, until Thomas broke the silence by telling Ilbryen that there will be a moment, not soon, but not far, where a truth will beg to be recorded and if they write it, it will cease to be truth--it will become law, and in doing so, it will kill what it describes. He tells them that he is forbidden to tell them what they will do, but told them that one Court would offer them silence, another song, and one would offer nothing--only a quill made of bone. He told Ilbryen that they are not merely a scribe, that they were either the period that ends the story, or the comma that lets it live. Ilbryen asked questions about the prophecy, but Thomas warned that anything he says it truth, so the more he talks of things to come, the more they are set in stone. Ilbryen understood that the less spoken, the better.   The Scary Crush Emissary of the Stag King took to dance with Illevaere. He told them that he was surprised to see Prince Cyrix's arrival. He explained that the Queen of Air and Darkness has many heirs and they scheme and plot and even battle one another in their mother's realm in hopes of gaining her attention and favor. This seems to be how she wants her Court to run--with political machinations and paranoia. He also said that Cyrix is called, not to his face, the Son Behind the Shadow since he is quick to use his mother's protections whenever he can, and, as a result, comes off as one of the less ambitious of her children. He isn't sure if his arrival is due to machinations of his mother or of Cyrix himself trying to gain influence. However, it is a major Court and so, attention should be paid and they should be well attended to.   He also explained the choice of the Winter Courts invited when Illevaere suggested that they had not received the warmest reception from them. Svartálfheim is closest to the Court of Winter ruled by Mab, being the closest reflection of it, just as Álfheimr is the closest to mirroring Queen Titania's Court of Summer. The Goblin Court controls The Goblin Market, which is an important asset that all of the Courts rely upon. While Courts are free to name their rulers however they wish, be it King, Queen, Prince, or General, the Barbed Countess was named Countess by Mab herself, so there is a strong connection there. The Frost Prince has ties to powerful Fey, but he is typically unresponsive to invitations, so it was a surprise when he accepted. Finally, the Fractured Princess and the Court of Shattered Mirrors was invited because it was believed that it was better to have her present and accounted for instead of present and unaccounted for.   He then told Illevaere that he was aware that they sought intimacy, so he offered intimacy appropriate for this place--a whisper to an unasked question. He told them that he was one of the three who slew Stag King, though each of the three had their own reason. His reasoning was that Cerunnos and The Wild Hunt had become too precise and too successful. He would name his quarry and the Wild Hunt would pursue it endingly until it was felled. But as it grew more precise, it became more of a threat. He said that Cerunnos was made to name the white hart as his prey, unknowing that it was the Stag King. Then, when the Stag King was slain before he was hunted, he died, but was still alive as part of the land--so the quarry exists, but it is unhuntable, unreachable. So the hunt pursues it still, unendingly. This has made the Hunt truly Wild again and more fey. He tells Illevaere that he told them this because he believes that they would understand, but also that they would be capable of making the same decision should it need be made. The Court of Leaves and Whispers suffered from the loss of the Stag King, but the whole of the fey were strengthened.   Levi danced with Smolder, who was intrigued by Levi's deference to Prince Cyrix's arrival, asking if he had favored the Unseelie over the Seelie. Levi mentioned his affinity toward the Court of Hoof and Claw. As they spoke, Levi picked up on Smolder's feelings about the Ashen Lady and Bolvaic. He has worked hard in supporting and promoting her as a warlock, but Bolvaic and Ashwyn Mariglow both easily gain her favor because of their history with fire. Though Levi sensed the bitterness, he was still charming and civil about it. He then told Levi that he saw him as a beast that's pretending not to prowl, that he was rage with a leash on and every step he took, every breath he drew that doesn't end in blood was a testament to his discipline. He asked Levi to see it, saying that he didn't have to bite, but to stop pretending that he wouldn't. Though Smolder's intentions were obviously seductive, Levi bit him though without trying to embrace the seductiveness of it. Smolder cupped the back of Levi's head and pressed in against him, whispering in his ear about his strength and power. Levi broke the bite and the pair finished dancing, though with Levi a bit flustered.   The final dance was announced, wherein the dancers would begin partnered, but then break off as "falling leaves" ending with a new partner. Whomever they ended with, they were expected to share a whispered secret with one another.   Aisling saw the Starborn Lady, the Swan Queen, and Eldring Thunderstike attempting to end with her. The Starborn Lady was the most skilled of the dancers, but Aisling outdid her dancing, but partnered with her anyhow. The Starborn Lady whispered to her “I have thus far appreciated you more than most mortals that I have seen. However, do not think that I have not noticed your sympathies for poor little Blue. It would be best if you did not get attached. Her fate is written in the stars.” Aisling responded by asking what her fate was, but the Starborn Lady simple said that she had already been told her secret. Aisling shared in response that fate put her with her group, but she secretly hates one of them, implicating Illevaere discretely. Before she could see through Aisling's facade of contempt, Illevaere used one of her misfortuned lots to cause her to fail to note anything beyond Aisling's words.   Bolvaic saw Caleum Thunderstrike, Aralmeni, and Dökkálfar make their way to him. Bolvaic attempted to steer his dancing to a different partner, but Dökkálfar's dancing bettered his and they ended up partnered. Dökkálfar told Bolvaic that there was a member of the Barbed Countess' court who was looking to elope. She told Bolvaic that he could tell the Countess to try to win her favor, or could help the elopement to further stymie her, she did not care what he did with the information. Bolvaic confided in her about his bravery being a mask, and she gained a bit of respect for him for exposing a vulnerability like that to her.   Hyrsam, Veluth Al Shee, and Arsa each tried to partner with Ilbryen, though ultimately it was Ilbryen's dancing that proved the best, though she ended with choosing Arsa. He confided in them his love for them as well as inviting them to their villa in the morning so that he could give her a gift from the Court of Yestermorrow. Ilbryen's response was simply that they had plans for the morning.   As Illevaere danced, they noticed that Shadowstitch was attempting to dance with them, but also that a second Shadowstitch was on the dance floor, attempting to end with Levi. Illevaere was able to discern that while the Shadowstitch approaching them was illusory and not the real person, the magic was concealing someone else beneath it. As they moved together to end their dance partnered, Illevaere attempted to dispel magic, but it was immediately counterspelled. He then told them his secret to him--that he knows the purpose of the Festival and who it was that they were seeking and where it is that they could be found. Illevaere responded that they knew that they were not who they appeared, but then was able to take some of the spores from Sprout and place them on the false Shadowstitch to possibly track later.   Levi saw Sneachda, Shadowstitch, and Anwyn Brookmist approaching in the dance finale, though noticing Anwyn was using him as a feint and instead moved to Porter on the edge of the dance floor. Sneachda and Levi ended together, and Sneachda told him that he would answer any question as her secret to him if Levi told her why the Frost Prince kissed him. Levi said that it was because he knew it would upset someone else at the dance--and Sneachda immediately intuited that it was the "one who smells of orchid." Levi confirmed the suspicion and then asked him if she knew where Rivariin was, but she did not know who he was. He then caught sight of Anwyn whispering to Porter, who blinks, blushed, then kissed her.   The dance was concluded and the false Shadowstitch slipped away, though with spores marking them as they left. The party returned to the villa. Once there, Aisling saw that Mirror Moppet's message in the webbing of the terrarium now read "Aisling has no eyes". Aisling then took the spider to Bolvaic who had agreed to watch it for the night. He put it in the closet and went out for a walk with Aralmeni. They talked about their day and Bolvaic spoke of the Court of Cinder and Ash's interest in him as well as the information of someone in the Court of Thorns and Brambles looking to elope. Aralmeni said that she doubted that turning them over to the Countess would change her heart about them, but that it should be spoken about with the rest of the party. Bolvaic then shared the secret that he shared with Dökkálfar of his bravery being a mask. Aralmeni then shared that they would be starting a clan sooner than they had thought. Bolvaic was overjoyed with the news and the pair enjoyed a walk together in the Court of Leaves and Whispers.   Hyrsam arrived with Illevaere in their room and, expecting the spend the night, he did not rush with any seduction as the pair instead talked. Illevaere brought up the contract and the Scarlet Centurion's expected arrival. They said that they had an extra copy of the contract that he could sign, but Hyrsam said that he would not put his name on a fey contract--that he avoided the entire dance without even putting his name on a dance card. He does not trust fey contracts. Illevaere did admit that they were curious about the Centurion's mention of his hip movements in the contract, but Hyrsam said that he has no problem with anyone joining them, but he did not want his name on a contract. When the Centurion arrived, Hyrsam continued to refuse to sign the contract, and the pair agreed that they would either participate concurrently or consecutively, but that, without a contract, there would be no sexual touching between them. Illevaere also suggested that playing a board game together could be an alternative if things proved too unmanageable.   With the first ball ended and the first day coming to a close, a few missives were sent out in the night. A letter from the Iron Swan to Levi was delivered by Anwyn, who asked if Porter was around and if she could see him while Levi penned his response.   The letters received were the following:  

The Swan Queen to Aisling

  To the Radiant Miss Aisling Hawthorne,   There are few among the mortals who carry themselves with the bearing of the old ballads, the grace of moonlight over still water, the potential to become something... enduring. I have watched you glide through the Festival’s halls—not merely observed, darling, watched, as one does a comet, or a budding bloom still unaware of the shape it will take. You are not yet what you are meant to be.   But you could be.   You could be more.   My Order—the Swan Mays—are not simply warriors in silk, nor darlings in armor. They are guardians of elegance, of dignity, of poise beneath pressure. We are that which resists being sullied by blood, yet never hesitates to spill it when beauty or loyalty is threatened. I see in you a rare thing: the capacity to be lovely and lethal in equal measure. You already wear your beauty and strength like a crown. I could teach you to wear it like wings.   Others at this festival will offer you thorns, or fleeting pedestals, or riddles, or ruin dressed in moonlight. Let them.   I offer you a Court. I offer you belonging. I offer you the Order of Swan Mays—a sisterhood that endures when all other bonds fray.   You are not yet mine, Aisling. But I suspect—no, I know—you could be. And in becoming mine, you will become more than yourself.   Think on it, dearest.   We glide above the rest for a reason.   In elegance and expectation,   Her Serene Radiance, the Lady of Gracehold Weald, Monarch of the Court of Brook and Bawn, Warden of the Still Waters, Matron of the Swan Mays, and First Feathered Crown of the Gilded Reed, the Swan Queen    

The Fractured Princess to Aisling

  To Aislings (I’m sending this to both of you, incase I mix up which is which),   Thank you thank you thank you for letting Almost-Aisling meet Tigs!   She was so excited she cracked her cheek again from smiling too hard. I stitched it back with spider thread and secrets. It holds for now.   Tigs is sweet. Tigs is shy. Tigs doesn't remember all the things he forgot when he was Levi. That’s good. That’s bad. That’s goodbad.   Did you know he used to be Levi? And now he’s a completely new person that just wants to be Levi.   Almost-Aisling asked if she was real. She touched her arm and said it felt like wood. But that’s silly! She’s not wood.   She’s paint and strings and my love and the echo of someone you miss when you don't even know you're missing.   So she asked me again, “Am I real?”   And I told her yes. And I told her no. And I told her "as much as Aisling is."   That made her cry, but only from one eye. The other eyes don’t know how to cry yet.   Then she asked if she would have to be wood like Tigs, but I told her that maybe you would rather be wood. But I made sure she knows that if she ever has to go away, she can live in the mirrors and she can look back at you instead of your reflection. Wouldn’t that be great? You two could always be together and you’d BOTH be Aisling.   But then I gave her the memory you said she could have and she feels much better. She can wiggle her toes now and she knows your mommy’s name.   Thank you again for the visit. I saved some of Tigs’s footprints in the dust. He left a lovely pattern.   Forever and sometimes, Princess Juniper (and Almost-Aisling and Baby Never-Born and the girl in the red coat say hiiiiiiii)    

The Ashen Lady to Bolvaic

  To Bolvaic Boradrak, Son of Silence, Bearer of What Remains,   They say you walk with the weight of things no longer present.   I have seen the echo of your rage. It hangs behind your shoulders like smoke, clinging to your scars, your silences. I know the look of a man who has lost a home—and never found another. I know it, because I am She who rules what remains.   I am the Ashen Lady.   My court is not gilded. We do not dance in perfumed airs or weave riddles into threads of gold. We walk the charred halls of what the world has cast aside—dreams that burned too brightly, and were left to smolder. We do not forget. We do not heal. But we make beauty of ruin. We endure it.   You, Bolvaic, belong not in sunlight but in twilight—where strength is not polished, but proven. Come. Walk the lands where even time forgets to pass. Stand beside me as Champion of Ash and Ember, where your fury is sacred, your silences honored, and your sorrow sharpened to a weapon. Others will try to mend you. I will not. I would never insult you with such kindness. I only ask you to be true to what you already are.   Something broken. Something burning. Something beloved by the ruins.   If you wish to answer, burn this letter. The ash will find me.   In ruin and reverence,   The Ashen Lady Queen of the Hollow Ember Court, Keeper of What Was Lost, Sovereign of the Sorrow-Forged Blade   Bolvaic answered the letter by setting it aflame with the Cinder of the First Fire.    

Caelum Thunderstrike to Bolvaic

  You fight without a clan behind you.   I’m calling warriors to my villa. We test strength. Bone. Blood. Voice. Whoever survives earns the right to carry the banner of Storm and Surge before the other Courts.   You want that right? Come and take it.   Or don’t. Stay where it’s safe. I do not beg.   Levi Kilgore will be there. Yes. Him. He talks strong. Dances pretty. We will see if that keeps him standing. Others will be there as well.   You will face them. Not all at once. Not clean. Not fair. It is not meant to be. Life is not fair. Storms are not fair.   Winner will represent us in the Festival’s games, in the field, and before the other Courts. You will be our thunder. Or you will be broken trying.   Come. Or don’t. A storm doesn’t wait.   —Caelum Thunderstrike Lord of the Storm That Never Bows, King by Challenge    

Arsa to Ilbryen

  To Ilbryen Dorydark,   It is a cruel trick of the loom, isn’t it? That I grow into the truth of what I feel, just as it must be unraveled again.   But I would not trade this fleeting evening for all the unbroken lifetimes in the world.   You were fair to me when I was young and clever, even when I spoke too boldly. You were patient when I was middle-aged and cautious, even when I spoke too little.     And now, as I sit beneath the stars with hands too tired to grasp what I long for, you remain beside me still. That is a kind of love. Perhaps the truest kind.   There is more I might have said, if time allowed. But time is the one partner I cannot outdance.   So let me say this instead:   You have been a lighthouse to me.     Not a fire to burn in, not a harbor to anchor in—just light, steady and brilliant, when all else blurred. I wished, in another turn of the weave, to be your equal in constancy. But I was never built to stay.   Tomorrow I will wake as me, but also someone else. Younger. Brighter-eyed. A boy again, chasing butterflies and forgetting poems.     And I will smile at you without remembering why it hurts. I will remember the course of this lifetime, but I will be another lifetime–one that I do not carry the same heart within.   So tonight, let me say the part my younger self will not yet know to miss:   I loved you.     Not in the way of ballads. Not in the way of epics. But in the quiet way trees love the wind that passes through them.   It changed me. And it will leave me. And I am saddened that I will not hold that change.   Yours—for this one evening,     Arsa    

The Goblin King to Cobb (Ilbryen)

  To Cobb,   Hello.   I was chewing on a bone (not mine) when Dan–yes, Dan with the ears–said that you were a clever one. Said it three times, so I know it’s real. Said you’ve got a brain so big that spills out of your head. Not in the “someone hits your head with an axe way”, but like with your words and stuff.   You’re already my herald. That means you carry my words like they matter. That’s good. But I want you to carry something heavier as well.   I want you to be Champion for the Goblin Court too. It’s good to double-up. If someone challenges us at the Festival, I want someone who can do stabby AND talky.   We’ll give you a title, like the Cobb the Surprisingly Tall, Champion of Heralds and Herald of Champions. It’ll be good because you can announce yourself at events. Cuts down on the bureaucracy.   Dan said you might say no, but I said you would say yes. But then I thought, if Dan was right, he’s probably a witch who can see the future and should be burned at the stake.   So, say yes.   Great Gark, the Goblin King   P.S. Marriage is still on the table if you want to add Queen to those titles. Wink. Eyebrow waggle. Charming smile.    

Smolder to Illevaere

  To Illevaere, Keeper of Spores and Silences,   I have done you wrong.     And I know fey apologies often come dressed in mischief, cloaked in riddles, or barbed with charm. But not this one.     This one comes bare.   When I reached for what you carried—those quiet, sacred spores—I told myself it was curiosity. Reverence, even. But the truth is uglier, and simpler: I saw something rare, something powerful, and I wanted it.   I forgot that some things are meant to be given, not taken. That some offerings bloom only in trust, not in desire.   And you, Illevaere... you are not a thing to be grasped. You are the hush of rot turning to renewal. The stillness that stirs. You are ruin made holy.   If I have burned what flicker might have once danced between us, I will bear that ash.   But if by chance any ember remains—if any heat lingers in your gaze when it falls upon me—then let this letter be the breath that coaxes it to life.     Not a blaze. Not a wildfire. Just enough to say: I remember. And I hope.   I do not ask for forgiveness. Only the chance to be near again. Not to steal, or study, or spark.   Just... to make amends and to meet you in honesty and without ulterior motive other than to enjoy your presence.   With more honesty than I’ve ever dared,     Smolder    

Gloni to Illevaere

  To Illevaere Solandra, Daughter of Rot and Promise,   You seek the path of venom and void. Then let us walk it.   I accept your wish to learn my sacred rites of Caena—not in the tongue of dry sermons or garden alchemy, but in the rites of fang and fang’s purpose. I will share with you not only how to draw poison but to call it, to coax it from flesh the way others draw prayer from lips.   Here in Svartálfheim, the soil is too cruel for herbs and too cold for dreams. So we harvest the old way—by fang, by claw, by bite willingly risked. Caena does not smile on comfort. She smiles on the cunning wound and the patient drip.   You may come alone, though if we want true quarry, you should gather a hunting party.   We could begin with the ceremonial draining of a purple worm, if your courage is true and your hands steady. Their venom is sacred when taken during the coiling death.   But if you hunger for something more, we may attempt the greater quarry: a beither. It is said that the only way to survive its venom is to reach water before the beither does. I have yet to test this myself.   Few survive such rites. Fewer return unchanged. But Caena favors those who seek the poison that does not wish to be taken.   I will guide the rite, but you will make the wound.     You will name the venom as it enters the vial.     You will bleed, if Caena wishes it. That is her welcome. If fang breaks skin, you will feel when something deadly courses through your veins and it sings to you.   Bring what weapons you trust. Leave behind the need for certainty.   Let me know when your pulse quickens enough to begin.   —Gloni Daughter of Needles, Vessel of Caena’s Breath, Poison-Tongue of Svartálfheim    

The Iron Swan to Levi

  To Mr. Levi Kilgore,   It is with the measured poise expected of my station—and the generosity afforded to those who persist—that I write to address our recent exchange at the Autumn Canopy Ball.   Word reaches me (as such things always do) that my decision to decline your invitation to dance caused some stir. I offer you my apology, not for the choice itself, but for the assumption you may have made that your invitation would be accepted without pause. You must understand, Mr. Kilgore, that I am often required to make swift judgments regarding alliances, appearances, and… well, intentions.   That said, I do recognize the effort you have made in presenting yourself as something of a gentleman—however unconventionally shaped that effort may be. It is, at the very least, endearing in the way an unschooled hawk might still carry itself with feathers enough to pass among swans.   In the interest of civility—and morbid curiosity—I would extend to you this: at the next ball, should your feet find rhythm, your boots be polished, your shirt less open, and your lips less occupied–with idle chatter, I shall consider your offer to dance.   I trust you will find satisfaction in this small courtesy, and not mistake it for affection.   With unshaken grace and a measure of mercy,     The Iron Swan Commandant of the Order of Swan Mays Blade of the Gracehold Weald    

The Fractured Princess to Levi

  To Mr. Levi With the Sharp Smile,   You said yes.   You said yes you’ll help, and that makes the dollies very very very happy. We spun in circles and knocked over the mirror and now it shows things that haven’t happened yet. It says you keep your promises. I like that. I like you.   The Still-One doesn’t like games. He wants everything to be numbers and bones and unpretend. He takes off your masks and makes you look in the mirror when it’s not ready. That’s mean. That’s like cutting open a birthday cake before the singing part.   You’re going to help stop him. Stop him with your eyes and your hands and your not-yet-regrets. That’s good. That’s good. That’s so good.   I asked Mister Inside-Out what he thought of you and he just screamed in agony. But that just means he likes you.   If the Still-One comes, and he tries to tell you you're just a boy and not a prince or a poem or a possibility—   You don’t listen. You just don’t.   Because you are mine now, Mr. Levi. And I only keep fun things.   Like dollies.   And promises.   And knives in teacups.   Please don’t die. If you do, I’ll have to make a dolly of you, and it won’t be as good as the real you. I’m not good with eyes. They always blink when they shouldn’t.   See you in the mirror. Or the dream. Or the not-quite-real place.   Kiss the air three times and I’ll know.   ~ Princess Jemmie (and Mister Inside-Out and Cathy Crickety-Crack and Jack-in-the-Nothing say hi)    

Queen Aibel to Aralmeni

  To Aralmeni, Daughter of the Ironblood Line,   Hammer-sung and Sovereign Untamed,   I have watched you.   Not with the eyes of men who see only ornament, nor with the gaze of courts who praise poise over power. I have watched the fire beneath your skin, the steady set of your jaw when silence would have been safer. I have seen the steel of your spine—and I know it has not gone untested.   Among these courts of glitter and dew-draped flattery, there is no throne built to seat your strength. No pedestal high enough. No garland woven of words that will not patronize you. But I am not them.   In Svartálfheim, we do not fear what women become when unshackled. We honor it. I ask you to stand not beneath me, but with me. Come to my side. Bear my banner at the Festival—not as a pet champion for spectacle, but as a symbol of what all Courts deny: that womanhood is strength, and strength unacknowledged becomes strength unconquerable.   Let them see you. Let them whisper your name with awe and dread. Let the men look upon you and know their dominion is already dying.   I will not flatter you. I will not woo you. I offer you respect, command, and a place among sisters who do not forget what the world tries to make us swallow.   Let others kneel for roses. I ask only that you stand with me, crowned in frost, carved from will.   —Aibell   Queen of Svartálfheim Winter’s Unbending Flame Sovereign of the Daughters of Night    

Vasilisa to Tertius

  To His Grace, Duke Tertius Greyhall,   I write to you not with silken verse or petals pressed in wax. I leave that for the fey—those with charming tongues and fangs hidden behind smiles. I have listened to their words: each sentence curled like a serpent, each compliment dripping with venom. It wearies me.   I was raised among hags–I know what poison truly is, and I prefer it straight from the root, not brewed in honey and sweet insincere words.   But these fey… They speak in riddles and ribbons, laughing to pretend that they know more than they do, and speaking in saccharine words that mean nothing, only uttered to try to impress and outdo one another in the way boys might compare themselves to one another behind a barn and resulting in just as much masturbatory practice.   You are not like them.   Your gait is awkward, your words are stammered and plain, but they are yours. There is honesty in you, even when you do not mean to offer it. You remind me of home—of rough wool, of iron pots, of firewood that cracks and snaps without apology. For this reason, I offer you a place beside me.   You shall be Champion of the Thrice-Nine Kingdom, if your will is steady and your step sure. You will stand in my name during the trials, wearing no illusions. Only truth.   Come again to my villa, but this time leave as my Champion. Do not come seeking flattery. Bring your blade, your strange smile, and your smell of horsehair. If you delay, the offer will sour like old kasha.   I await you.   —Vasilisa   Princess of the Thrice-Nine Kingdom Bearer of the Candle That Burns in Both Worlds Keeper of the Yaga’s Lantern