My voice came back the moment we left the Olethepagos. My mother must have released the spell, but I could not speak.
No one did.
We walked home in silence. The guards didn't follow. Why would they? They knew I wouldn't go anywhere. Tomorrow at noon, the escort would come to take me to Silesia. Less than a day left, and that would be that.
I was exhausted. I'd spent the whole time screaming in my head, screams no one heard, no one answered, until there was nothing left in me at all.
When we reached the house, my voice came back for real. "Did you know?"
My mother stopped in the doorway.
She didn't turn around. "I suspected it." She stood there for a moment, then turned to me, "I used every favor I had. But Menekrates needed someone to die. It was never going to be you. That left Perikles."
I wanted to protest. Wanted to ask why she hadn't saved him. Wanted to tell her how it wasn't fair. But she'd already told me once that the world wasn't fair, and now it was abundantly clear.
"He still sent me to Silesia. To die there."
"At least you'll have a chance," my mother said. "That's all I could get you. Menekrates will call it mercy. He'll say he spared you out of respect for me, and the city will believe him. The peace between him and the Order will hold."
"But he didn't spare me!" I said.
She finally looked at me. "But he did. You're alive, aren't you?"
"So that's it? I go to Silesia and hope nobody finds out I'm a witch? Spend the rest of my life hiding in some foreign town?"
"No," my mother said. "Not likely. If Menekrates wants you dead, he doesn't need an open execution. The escort could be paid, a robbery gone wrong, a stable fire—there are clean ways to finish a person quietly. And if he doesn't do that, he will tell the Silesians you're there. They don't need proof. They need a name."
"How can he do that," I asked, "when he knows you'd kill him for it? How would he get away with it?"
She considered. "How would I even know you're dead? And if we somehow find out, how would any of us know it was his doing and not an accident, or Silesia doing what Silesia does?"
"So he didn't spare me!"
My mother's face stayed still. "No," she said. "He spared himself. He needed to look merciful. Exiling you gave him that. He did give you a chance to live, even if his plan is most likely to snatch it away as soon as he can."
"So what am I supposed to do?" I asked.
"Survive," she said. "Prepare. Get strong. Keep a list of favors. Expect betrayal. Don't trust the escort. Don't trust any man." She said it like an order. "That's all I can give you."
"That's it?" I said. "That's all you can give me? You're the High Priestess of Mēnē, half this city is terrified of you, and the best you can do is tell me to get strong and give me a list of things not to trust?"
My voice came out raw, shaking. "You let them kill him! You stood there and said nothing!"
"If I'd spoken, they'd have killed you too."
The logic of it sat there between us, ugly and plain. It didn't make it fair. It just made it true. I had brought her trouble, she had bought me time. I was the one who'd dragged her into this, who'd made her use every favor she had.
I slumped into the chair and something that might have been a sob tore out of me and I slapped my hands over my mouth because there was nowhere for it to go. Tears weren't dignified or useful, they didn't solve anything. They only made my face salty and stupid.
After fighting back the tears I was finally able to speak again. "I'm going to kill Menekrates."
My mother didn't look surprised. "Then live long enough to do it," she said. "Hold on to that anger. Use it, but don't let it blind you."
Neither of my parents said anything else for a while. When my father finally moved he said, "You'll need more ammunition."
He went to the workshop and came back with the second revolver, the one he hadn't finished when all this started. He held it out to me, polished and loaded. "It's yours." He hesitated, like there was something else he wanted to say, then added quietly, "I should have put enchantments on it."
My mother began gathering health and mana potions from the shelves. "Take these. Use them only in an emergency, or if you're not topped up and are expecting trouble."
"Even when I'm not missing that much mana?" I asked.
"Better to waste a potion and live," she said, "than need it and die."
"But how will I know? How do I tell when it's worth it?"
She glanced at me, already stacking the vials into a satchel. "You weigh it in your head. How likely is the danger? How costly would it be if you're wrong? Multiply those two things and you'll know how much risk you're exposed to. High risk—use the potion. Low risk—save it. Do the math before the blade is at your throat."
That was my mother, practical to the core, always thinking in odds. It occurred to me this was probably the same math she'd used to buy me this chance to live, spending every favor, every scrap of influence, knowing someone would have to die.
It started to feel real then. Soon I wouldn't just be alone, people would be actively trying to kill me.
My father slung a leather belt across the table, lined with bullets. "Keep it full. Keep your revolvers clean. You'll have to clean and reload yourself from now on. And remember: you shoot first, or you're dead."
I just nodded because I couldn't find words.
"Did you gain a level after you shot Menandros?" my mother asked.
"...Yes." I answered.
"What skill did you use to kill him?"
"[Clean Entry]," I said. "It ignores barriers and armor for a single shot, but it costs most of my mana."
My father's brow furrowed. "That's a gunslinger's last-resort skill. They use it when there's no other option, because it drains them completely. You'd need a high mana pool just to survive the cast."
"I can cast it once," I said. "Then I'm empty."
He looked at me, startled. "At level one? You have that much mana?"
I shrugged. "Apparently. And I'm level two now."
My mother leaned forward slightly. "If you gained a level, you can acquire a new skill. Take [Omniglot] now. You'll need to understand what everyone is saying if you want to live, especially the ones talking behind your back."
She was right. I didn't argue. I took it.
[Omniglot] acquired.
[Omniglot]
Type: Passive
Words are weapons. Now you've got the whole armory.
"You took it?" my mother asked.
"Yes."
"Good. Meowphistopheles is coming with you. It will help you understand him as well."
From the top of the shelf came a surprised, very clear, "I am?"
I stared at him. "You can talk?"
"I've always talked," Phisto said. "You just never listened."
I turned to my mother. "He can talk."
"The real challenge," she said dryly, "is getting him to stop."
Phisto flicked his tail. "Oh, so you're just trying to get rid of me, is that it? She shoots a guy and I get punished for it? Because I talk too much?"
My mother looked at him with a blank expression. "Now she can hear you, you're acting like you don't want to go with her. You always say she's your favorite human."
Phisto sniffed. "I said she was my least annoying human."
My father, who couldn't hear any of it, looked genuinely offended. "I'm not his favorite? After all those scritches? None of that meant anything to him?"
Phisto stared straight at him and started licking his paw. "She smells better."
I gave my father a small, guilty look. "Sorry, baba."
He sighed and waved it off.
"Enough of that," my mother said briskly. "You should also have three free skill points. Put them in Barrier."
"I already gain Barrier passively every level," I said. "We all do."
"Yes," she said, "but only a fraction. With a class like yours and a mana pool that large, your passive Barrier gain is likely quite poor. You'll be vulnerable."
"I could put them into Dexterity or Attunement instead," I said. "Those are my primary stats. More speed, more mana to work with."
"More mana won't matter if you're dead," she replied. "Safety first."
My father half-smiled. "If you won't listen to her, then put them in Dexterity. You know what I always say."
I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, yeah. You shoot first, or you're dead. Dexterity, then."
I opened my interface and put the points in. The change hit instantly—every movement suddenly weighed less. My arms felt lighter, smoother, like the air itself had thinned. The room hadn't changed, but it looked slower. My parents' gestures dragged just a fraction behind what they'd been a moment ago. It felt incredible.
Dexterity: 8 (8 + 0)
My mother gave a small nod. "Get some sleep. You'll need your strength tomorrow."
I looked at both of them—my parents, who'd killed for me, who'd given everything they could—and nodded back. Tomorrow I'd leave. Tonight, I'd rest.