#exandria

She could lie, and decently, but there was a reason they sent other Children ahead of her for covert missions. She had utmost respect for the Children whose first and foremost choice was subterfuge and that appreciation rose to new heights after experiencing what delicate work it was firsthand. It wasn't just the skill of weaving the lies in the first place—it was making sure they held under the weight of time and scrutiny.

She supposed she was on the other side of it: those more skilled at wordplay might have taken her fighting prowess for granted. There was a reason they needed diversity; different roles required different tools. The Children's success meant knowing when they needed a dialogue and when they needed bloodshed.

Nepenthe wondered if it was a privilege, before, not having to puzzle her way through every possible outcome, readjust her mental footing, deflect. She wondered if this was just a fraction of how Vierna's mind worked, a peek into her labyrinthine mind. She again found herself grateful they balanced each other out. Nepenthe could stop Vierna from exhausting herself on what-ifs and Vierna had helped prepare Nepenthe for the work abroad with thought exercises.

The blame didn't end there. If she'd been faster during the fight, been able to mount or pin down the dragon, they could've slaughtered it. Instead, they were forced to watch it flee and shrink into another speck of snow on the night's horizon. Her eight legs itched to follow, but there was no closing the distance before the vial wore off.

It was the first she felt like she'd misjudged the danger of a situation. The transformation stretched her body beyond what it was normally capable of, its purpose to balance or tip the scales. Would the outcome have changed if she hadn't? Would the dragon have stayed or still retreated? It had been basic math, at the end—five against one, six if her drider form counted as two.

Weeding Luxon worshippers was always meaningful regardless of how many died. Killing the wolves hadn't been enough—all the power of a goddess in her hands had been wasted on wild dogs. Part of her secret—the Children's secret—spilled, and she hadn't landed a single blow on the dragon.

She only cared what the others thought insofar as it didn't leave their circle. They all coveted power, didn't they? How it took shape varied. At least the how of her secret wasn't clear if she didn't elaborate.

She flopped into the snow while Derval and Maes allowed her to recover. It rapidly cooled her fevered skin. She'd heard her. Loud and clear, not just indistinct whispers. A manic laugh wanted to burble up like blood; she bottled it.

Everything Vierna had written undercut that voice, facts wearing down her initial thrill and elation. Lolth praised; her wife cautioned. Nepenthe's heart paced between them, wanting to please both.

Learning about Azul had twisted up her mind, and now her body matched, punished for lacking. Her daughter had run. The dragon had flown off. What good was power or love that couldn't be used?