Priscilla was desperate to find a topic of conversation that didn't revolve around food and her gaze fell on The Starving One's blue dress, on the fabric that looked like gauzy silk.

"Where'd you get such a fine gown?" Priscilla asked as The Starving One finished chewing through the chunk of wolf meat.

The woman brightened, lavender eyes crinkling with delight like she had been waiting for someone to comment upon it. She grabbed a rag from a nearby bag that Priscilla hadn't noticed before, wiping her fingers daintily.

"It was a gift," The Starving One said, running a now clean hand down along the fabric lovingly, "from the Apostle for my devoted service."

Ah, it was from the cult leader then.

He didn't actually have a proper name, for reasons that had never been explicitly stated in TDE but it had been hinted at that it had something to do with the reason why he wished to kill every other god in existence. He insisted upon being called the Apostle, as he saw himself as the voice for the Goddess of the Violet Moon, the sole believer who cared enough for Her to bring Her out of exile.

While he insisted on such a pious form of address, Priscilla knew that the title of cult leader fit him much better. He had the charisma of one, preying upon the vulnerable to bring them under his wing, promising vengeance and a place in the new world he would bring about. He cultivated fanatics, of which The Starving One was certainly one – the woman insisted on only being called that title to feel closer to the cult leader.

Priscilla kept her distaste for the cult leader off her face as she kept the conversation going.

"Does the Apostle frequently speak with you? From what I've been told, he's a rather…" Priscilla swallowed down the painful feeling of blood coming up her throat, inwardly ranting to the god of cowards that she was just doing good ol' fashioned lying that wasn't relying on TDE knowledge. "…elusive figure."

The Starving One tilted her head, a frown touching her sharp features.

"The Apostle acts as he deems best for his people, following the call of the Violet Moon," The Starving One said with an unshakeable conviction. She paused, gazing at the fire with a wistful expression, her palm resting upon the golden belt on her waist. "Though that does mean that our paths do not often cross, I know that he thinks of me, as he does all of his Chosen. I can only endeavor to help him in whatever way that I can."

Priscilla nodded as sympathetically as she glanced past The Starving One towards where the boys were. They seemed to be making some sort of soup with the cultists? Or maybe it was a drink based on the way a man in a coyote pelt brought forth several cups. Sulaiman was watching over a stiff-backed Kavil, who seemed to be in charge of making the drink and serving it to a cultist with a smile. Priscilla didn't know what they were up to, but she hoped they were staying safe, even if it looked like they weren't keeping their head down.

Beowulf was walking back towards the fire, his gaze on Priscilla. She pretended not to notice and returned her own attention to The Starving One, who hadn't picked up on Priscilla's inattention, her lavender eyes staring into the fire as she caressed the golden belt.

Priscilla was on a clock here so she might as well get as much information as she could while The Starving One was being surprisingly open.

"So, where's your next assignment taking y–"

Priscilla was cut off by a woman bursting through the edge of the camp, her footsteps surprisingly loud against the damp ground. She was panting, as if she had been running for a while, and the animal pelt she likely wore on her back was tossed over her arm instead to reveal a sweat-soaked tight shirt.

Instantly, the carefree atmosphere of the cultists disappeared as everyone snapped to attention, watching as this cultist approached The Starving One. The Starving One titled her head as the woman came to kneel before her, Beowulf assuming the position at her right hand side like it was second nature, looming above.

"My Glory," the woman panted, struggling to have her words come out steady.

"Shh," The Starving One said, reaching out to brush away the sweat-slick hair out of her face. "Catch your breath first, then speak."

The woman nodded, taking deep breaths. This close Priscilla could see that the woman had a hyena pelt draped over her arm.

"The Raven sent me ahead with news, so you could prepare," the woman said, smiling as if she was announcing they found a pot of gold. "The silver fox was apprehended, along with the missing sacrifice, and the Raven is bringing them to you now."

The Starving One gasped in delight, her eyes alight with glee. Without looking, The Starving One put a hand on Beowulf's arm, stopping the man mid-lurch, while saying, "Thank you so much for your diligence, Hyacinth. Please, take your rest with the others."

Hyacinth stood straight, pride shining bright on her face as she nodded. She went towards where Kavil was now quickly distributing that drink of his to the newly arrived cultists. Beowulf huffed, muttering something about missing all the fun while The Starving One soothed him, whispering that all the fun was about to be had.

While all that was happening, Priscilla was freaking the fuck out.

Her pulse was skyrocketing, palms getting sweaty as her hands began to shake. Priscilla tucked her hands behind her, grabbing her wrist to try and hide it. She knew she was blinking too fast even as the rest of her face went blank.

The tentative plan Priscilla had come up with was to deal with The Starving One and her cronies when their cover was blown and then go find Illnyea in the woods – but now Illnyea was going to be at the mercy of these fanatics when all of Priscilla's lies were blown wide open.

Priscilla's throat was so dry from fear it made it hard to swallow.

Think, Priscilla, think, she demanded of her mind but it was drawing up blanks, too lost in the vivid imagery of Illnyea using too much magic against the Raven and getting ever closer to triggering a magical overload, of The Starving One licking her lips before going to tear Sulaiman's throat out, of Kavil laying there bleeding out because the Wolf thought he was too weak.

Desperate for something to anchor her, Priscilla looked towards Sulaiman. She found that he was staring right back at her, black eyes hard as Hyacinth spoke nearby, laughing with the cultists.

Sulaiman must be hearing the same thing that Priscilla had in probably more detail, and by the way his jaw clenched, liked it even less. His body was like a tightly coiled spring, all tension and restless energy ready to spring into action the moment he was allowed.

In a split second, Priscilla's mind finally came up with an answer.

"I'll deal with," Priscilla mouthed, tilting her head towards The Starving One. "Save Illnyea."

Sulaiman glowered, but Priscilla was turning away.

She didn't care if he didn't approve of her plan, it was still the best they got. Priscilla couldn't allow The Starving One to grow too interested in Illnyea, lest the crazed woman decided to bite a chunk out of Illnyea's arm like she had done during their original confrontation in TDE. The boys were tempting targets as well and The Starving One had already looked at them like they were prime ribs.

Priscilla may not have any special powers or abilities that made her delicious, but she could be one hell of a distraction if she was within punching distance.

Asha tightened on Priscilla's hand, giving her comfort that no matter what happened, Priscilla would not be facing it alone. Slowly, so slowly that anyone who couldn't feel it would be able to notice, Asha changed. The fabric of the fingerless glove just below Priscilla's knuckles began to stretch towards Priscilla's fingertips at a snail's pace while Asha sent filled the bond with a feeling of slow but vicious patience.

For a moment, Priscilla considered sinking her fist into The Starving One's sharp cheek, shattering it beneath her knuckles, but dismissed it. If the Raven came back to her master being under attack, she may kill Illnyea out of sheer spite.

"How long do you think it'll be until they get back?" Priscilla asked, neatly stuffing all of her thoughts and feelings into a box in the back of her mind where they wouldn't ruin everything as she stepped closer to the woman.

The snake did not succeed because it attacked at the first opportunity – it succeeded when the unknowing target drew too close to even dream of escaping.

The Starving One shrugged a bony shoulder, the fabric of her dress artfully rustling against itself. "I do not know. She was hunting to the north, but I don't know how far she ventured. For now, we must prepare."

Priscilla smiled, eyes crinkling as if delighted when she offered, "Please, let me know how I can be of help."

...

Illnyea's bicep hadn't left Raven's grip as they walked ever closer to death. Even though there was both a layer of a shirt and gloves between Illnyea's skin and Raven, there was an odd staticky feeling in Illnyea's arm where Raven held her tight. It was distracting but not painful, so Illnyea ignored it.

Holly had been crying for a while but since Raven snapped at her to be quiet, the girl had been silent. The only other sound was the ground squishing beneath Illnyea's boots and the other warriors around her, and the sound of Illnyea's own ragged breathing.

llnyea stumbled a few times because she couldn't see, but she hadn't fallen on her face yet so it was a win in her book.

Time was the enemy still, refusing to be perceivable, so Illnyea tried to just focus on trying to count how many steps they had taken.

Unfortunately, she lost count somewhere around sixty-five when Raven said, "I hear you're talented with earth magic."

Illnyea's fingers twitched, her magic briefly pulsing within her without her permission, like it was begging her to use it. She firmly pushed that impulse away.

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(don't you dare give information to the enemy, Sulaiman would have snapped.)

"Yes," Illnyea murmured. If it was just her trapped, perhaps she would have been sullen, but Illnyea would not have Holly's death come early because Illnyea wanted to pretend to be a hero.

Raven hummed, tapping her pointer finger on Illnyea's arm. Each time the finger pressed against Illnyea, the staticky feeling pulsed – and the madwoman had somehow managed to time her tap to the pounding of Illnyea's headache, so it was like shockwaves were spreading from the touch.

"I dabble in earth magic, myself," Raven said. There was a smugness to her tone, and Illnyea couldn't figure out why.

Just what did Raven want from the conversation and how could Illnyea give it to her so Holly would stay safe?

Illnyea wished she wasn't blindfolded, so she could read the woman's expression. Hesitating may earn more violence, so Illnyea forged ahead.

"Really?" Illnyea asked, keeping her tone neutral.

There was a rustle of feathers as Raven readjusted her grip.

"I may not be able to do your little trick with the dirt walls," Raven said, "but that doesn't matter, not when Her Glory will give me such a gift when she's done with you."

It was like someone had poured ice down Illnyea's spine at the thought of someone stealing her magic.

Her magic had such a visceral reaction that she missed a step trying to keep the magic within her from lashing out.

But Raven's strong grip didn't let her fall.

"Don't go hurting yourself anymore," Raven snapped, jerking Illnyea back up so fast it made Illnyea's head pound.

"Sorry," Illnyea mumbled automatically, struggling to breathe as her will battled against the churning tide of magic within her.

(center yourself, whispered the part of her carved from broken glass harshly, or you and Holly will die for nothing.)

Stubborn determination filled Illnyea.

It was like trying to control an earthquake, almost impossible to struggle against, but Illnyea had been practicing controlling her magic – it didn't matter how strong or wild it wished to be, the magic was still a part of Illnyea and Illnyea refused to allow another part of herself to spiral out of control. Her body may give out of her, her mind may play tricks on her, but Illnyea's magic would not be the reason why she died.

Illnyea forced the magic into submission, shaking as she did so as a sudden wave of exhaustion went over her.

She had not had access to that much magic a few minutes ago. There had been barely scraps after running away from those awful toads, and though it should be a good thing that Illnyea felt like her magic reserves had been completely restored and then some, fear had lodged itself within her gut like an arrow.

Illnyea was deeply unsettled by what had just happened.

Yes, she sometimes put too much power into spells, but never had Illnyea lost complete control of her magic in this way.

But… but maybe she had, now that Illnyea thought about it some more.

Earlier, when the birds had attacked them before breakfast, Illnyea hadn't meant to put spikes on her earth shield. And it had been then that strange mark appeared on Illnyea's right hand.

It was all connected, but Illnyea knew she was missing information because her brain refused to offer any sort of explanation for what was happening to her, refused to make sense of what was happening.

Ignorance made everything even scarier and Illnyea wished she had asked Mishra and Marsha more questions about magic when she traveled with them, wished she knew more about magic in an intellectual sense rather than just muddling through learning it by following her instinct, wished she wasn't afraid of what would happen if she hadn't been strong enough to control herself.

Where Raven held Illnyea's arm ached something desperately now and Illnyea didn't have the faintest reason why. Yet another mystery, another thing that Illnyea just didn't know, but yet again, Illnyea could only focus on the here and now, putting one foot in front of another.

Magic rolled beneath her skin, ever ready for the moment that Illnyea's self-control slipped.

...

Beowulf had taken his place near the prisoners while Priscilla helped The Starving One move the roasted wolf away from the fire. The cannibal pulled two wicked looking knives that looked like filet knives, testing the tips on her fingers to draw out a bead of blood. The Starving One licked her finger clean, smiling as she tucked the two daggers on the side of the golden belt. While she did that. Priscilla had grabbed the small bag of quartz and tied it to her own belt, preparing for the worst.

Priscilla watched The Starving One carefully, and kept an eye on the daggers. From what Priscilla could remember, The Starving One preferred relying upon the powers she ingested instead of weapons, so those knives were likely meant to torture Illnyea with. She flexed her fingers as she imagined ripping those knives away from The Starving One and driving them into the woman's chest, but Priscilla resisted the temptation.

Almost ten minutes passed before Beowulf's head snapped towards the same entrance that Hyacinth had come through.

Stiffening her back, hands clasped at the small of her back, Priscilla forced a neutral expression onto her face as the first cultist came into the camp. They trickled in, interspersed with downtrodden prisoners who were quickly shuffled into the makeshift prison near Sulaiman and Kavil. Kavil was shifting nervously, glancing at Sulaiman frequently as he started to prepare more of that drink to disperse amongst the newly arrived cultists, but Priscilla only had eyes for Illnyea when she came into view.

Priscilla bit her tongue to hold back a slew of curses from leaving her mouth.

Illnyea looked wretched, her arm held tightly by a woman in a gaudy cape made of feathers that could only be the Raven. The Raven looked triumphant as she dragged Illnyea forward towards where Beowulf was stranding, twirling a golden shepherd's hook in her other hand.

Illnyea's hair was so dirty and mud-stained that it was hard to tell it was meant to be silver, though it was still barely in a loose, messy braid, and her shirt and pants were ripped in various places that indicated she had run into the monsters in the fens, the leather armor on her chest looked like it was barely hanging on. There was a warped shield that looked like it had melted to mold itself around Illnyea's arm. Illnyea's shoulders were hunched as if she was trying to make herself smaller, and each step she took forward was hesitant.

Beneath the blindfold covering Illnyea's eyes there were clear tear tracks through the grime on her cheeks and worst of all was the yellow scar that snaked up Illnyea's arm that had haunted Priscilla's nightmares, the signs of an incoming magical overload.

Priscilla dug her nails into her palm to keep from doing anything stupid.

But gods was it hard to stay still when the Raven let go of Illnyea, sending her stumbling into Beowulf.

Beowulf grinned nastily, grabbing Illnyea's braid and taunted, "Got you now, little fox."

Illnyea flinched but did nothing else, just standing limply.

Priscilla wanted to tear the stupid wolf's pelt off Beowulf and wrap it around the large man's neck, pulling tighter as he choked until he stopped twitching.

Distantly, Priscilla saw that a child that was probably the missing Holly was shuffled into the prisoners and Sulaiman had been edging towards Illnyea, but she couldn't focus on that as the Raven stalked forward.

The woman was focused on Priscilla, pushing up her bird mask to glare at Priscilla.

"Who is this?" the Raven asked, crossing her arms while looking Priscilla up and down with a disapproving look.

"A colleague from afar," The Starving One said. "She's here to let us know that your summoning circle didn't work as intended."

The Raven drew herself up with a huff, offended incredulity in her voice as she said, "I did everything perfectly – this woman doesn't know what she's talking about!"

"It's okay to fail on occasion," The Starving One said, stepping forward to cup the Raven's face. It was almost comical with how much taller the Raven was, but like Beowulf, the Raven bent so that The Starving One could have easier access. Her fingernails left light pink lines on the Raven's face as they trailed down before The Starving One gently squeezed the other woman's shoulders. "You know this was just the trial run. Be happy that Scylla has come to us with this problem, as this way, we can assure that we don't fail the Apostle when he truly needs us. View it as a learning opportunity, my clever little Raven."

The Raven swallowed whatever protest she had formulated, her face going through a series of complicated emotions before settling into something unhappy.

"Where's the stone?" the Raven asked archly as she crossed her arms, glaring at Priscilla. "You aren't so stupid as to not bring it with you, are you?"

It was difficult to not rise to the bait when Illnyea was at Beowulf's mercy, but Priscilla imagined using said stone like a brick to bludgeon the pompous cannibals and it was enough to help her keep a straight face.

"It's by the fire," Priscilla said. But since her mouth didn't always listen, she said, "Sure hope you can figure out what you did wrong quickly, little Raven."

The Raven bristled like a cat as she stalked forward, deliberately shoulder checking Priscilla so hard it left a few feathers on Priscilla's sleeve.

One of the prisoners began laughing when he entered the clearing and a cultist smacked him, telling him to shut up, but Priscilla ignored that, unable to look away from Illnyea. Beowulf had let go of her hair and grabbed the shield instead, whispering something cruel based on his expression. Illnyea crumpled with a soft whimper of pain and Beowulf let her fall to her knees. Illnyea was shaking and Priscilla hated the sight.

"Hey," called the prisoner who had just been laughing, sounding as if he had a fat lip, "hey you."

Priscilla wanted to smack her bat into the back of Beowulf's head so hard it cracked open like a watermelon.

The Raven had marched to the empty area of the camp, sticking her shepherd's hook into the ground as she stared at it, mumbling under her breath as she walked around the edge. Priscilla finally realized that was probably the summoning circle the cannibals had lured the toads into.

"Don't ignore me Priscilla," the prisoner hissed, his voice harsh as he pitched it to be heard by the whole camp. Priscilla stilled but gave no outward reaction when Illnyea jerked, looking towards the prisoner.

Who the fuck was that prisoner and why the hell did he think it was a good idea to call her out? Was he trying to get her killed?

Priscilla examined the man from the edge of her vision, not looking directly at him, but she didn't recognize the dirty man with a nasty cut on his face that looked infected. She saw that Sulaiman's head had snapped up from where he too had been watching Beowulf make Illnyea suffer, zeroing in on the unfamiliar man like a panther did when something annoying entered its vision. Sulaiman began to stalk toward the prisoner with a darkly determined expression.

Priscilla trusted that Sulaiman would deal with the unknown variable and turned to The Starving One, who was smiling apologetically and saying, "Oh, don't mind my little Raven. She takes a while to warm up to strangers. Once she realizes that you're here to help, I'm sure she'll apologize."

The Starving One's tone implied that she'd make the Raven apologize if the woman didn't take the initiative.

"I take no offense," Priscilla said as her mind raced, wondering just when would be the perfect moment to strike as she stepped forward so the cannibal was within easy reach. The jig would be up any second now, but still Priscilla hesitated, hating how close Beowulf's club was to Illnyea's head. She wanted Illnyea to be further away before she struck.

"Don't ignore me you red-headed bitch," the prisoner spat. "Are you really just going to stand there and watch your sister die?"

The Starving One frowned at the prisoner before glancing at Priscilla, who was the only red-head within the camp.

"I have no idea who that man is," Priscilla said loud enough so everyone could hear and it wasn't even a lie.

At Beowulf's feet, Illnyea turned her head in Priscilla's direction, mouth dropping open.

Sulaiman had made it to the prisoner and he grabbed him roughly by the jaw. The prisoner's eyes went wide before a crunch of a bone breaking went through the air as Sulaiman squeezed. Beowulf was watching Sulaiman with interest, taking a step forward, leaving Illnyea momentarily forgotten.

The Starving One's smile was slowly fading as she cocked her head at Sulaiman's sudden violence, before turning those twinkling lavender eyes back to Priscilla, a question in her eyes as she opened her red lips.

The cultist dressed in a coyote's pelt near Kavil began to groan, stumbling as he fell to his knees. His nearby compatriots patted his back, though they didn't look very concerned. But then the man in the coyote pelt gasped and clutched at his heart, slumping over.

At the same time, the Raven had stomped back to the fire, the summoning stone clutched in her gloved hand as she gestured wildly.

"There is nothing wrong with the stone nor the runes used within my circle," the Raven said, nose snarled in frustration as she glared at Priscilla. "How exactly did this stone fail again?"

Behind her, another one of the cultists stumbled, clutching at their heart as Kavil slowly inched away from the fallen man, and then another, and another.

"I'm sorry that our chat has to be cut short because the Raven showed her spiky personality," Priscilla said, loud enough that the boys could hear her and hoped they got the message. As Priscilla said spiky, she pushed focused intent into her bond with Asha, who was still tucked behind Priscilla's back as Priscilla shifted her weight forward.

The Starving One narrowed her eyes at Priscilla, but there was still confusion mixing with the suspicion, as if she wasn't quite sure what was going on, and she opened her mouth to speak again.

That was when Priscilla lunged forward, aiming a spiked punch right at The Starving One's unprotected face.

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