Philippa Ballantine - Wrayth

He will eventually bow before me, as will all creatures of this world. The cat’s golden-flecked eyes fixed on the Fensena. Have you secured what I tasked you with?

The coyote flopped down on the ground and yawned as if the whole affair bored him. Indeed, I have taken all precautions to get you what you want, my lord. The Deacon is bound to me by way of a favor, and I have procured for you the answer to your vexing question.

The Rossin’s eyes narrowed. I can no longer dwell in the darkness of this half life. Especially with the Rossin line having been whittled down to just one heir. He did not need to point out that when the line died out there would be nothing anchoring him to this world.

Yes, and it is such a surprise considering they started off so prolifically. The Fensena ran his tongue over his muzzle. The death of the sister is most worrying for you I am sure.

The great cat flexed his claws. The coyote had not been reminded of his power for a long time. Perhaps it was nearly due again.

The Fensena must have felt the change in the air, because he whined and flopped down on his back. He presented his soft belly to show he still remembered his place. Luckily, I have found a way for you to never have to fear that again.

The Rossin’s ears swiveled about. What have you discovered?

The monks of Illus have made quite the study of you. Their library on the northern plains has unparalleled volumes on you and your history. You should be quite flattered at all the attention. The coyote wriggled from side to side, like a dog seeking flattery. He got none from the Rossin though.

Were they flattered by your meager attentions then?

The coyote’s wide smile would have frightened mortals to death. They gave me what I wanted: instructions on how you can take the Young Pretender’s life for your own. It will not be easy, it will take time, but it can be done.

The great cat lifted his head and inhaled. He smelled smoke, blood and saltpeter coming from a great distance and from all directions of the Empire. War is brewing and that will occupy the mortals’ attention to my benefit.

The Fensena rolled to his feet, his cunning eyes fixing on his fellow geistlord. The doing of this will require the help of the Deacons. Are their attentions going to be diverted as well?

The Rossin also rose to his paws and glared down on him. She loves him, and she is trying to remake what was broken. That is more than enough to keep her away from my work.

He didn’t answer for Merrick. The Sensitive Deacon was a problem, one that would have to be taken care of eventually. He was too clever by half, and saw far too deeply for the Rossin’s liking.

Follow us, the great cat commanded, as he prowled from the clearing. Observe and obey, and when I come to my full power, you may have the scraps.

As he made his way back to the sleeping Deacons, the Rossin did not check to see what the coyote did—he was already thinking how fine it would be to walk the world with impunity once more. The Empire—or what remained of it—would learn to fear and respect the will of the Rossin. Only then would everything be as it should have been from the very beginning.

Born in New Zealand, Philippa Ballantinehas always had her head in a book. A corporate librarian for thirteen years, she has a bachelor of arts in English and a bachelor of applied science in library and information science. She is New Zealand’s first podcast novelist, and she has produced four podiobooks. Many of these have been short-listed for the Parsec Award, and she has won a Sir Julius Vogel Award. She is also the coauthor of the Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences novels with Tee Morris. Philippa is currently in the United States, where her two Siberian cats, Sebastian and Viola, make sure she stays out of trouble. Visit her website at www.pjballantine.com.