A/N: Rapis-Razuri: Akio is Hana's dad, yep. She hadn't been born yet last chapter, so I didn't have time to slip a reference to her in, but she'll be getting a mention here, too.

Cirex-Review: You can certainly make suggestions! I definitely plan to pair them up, and Mikoto is definitely going to have something to say about it. She won't have a problem with it, but that's all I'll say on the matter for now.

I realized I made a slight error in dates—my original timeline had Kamui three years older than Takumi, but I ended up changing it so that he's only two years older. I forgot to change the ages/years that already existed in my drafts, so I went back and dropped everyone's ages a year last chapter. Ryoma, Hinoka and Kamui are eight, five and three now, and Takumi's one. Really sorry for any confusion! Mikoto was still in Hoshido for three years and still attended three new year's festivals, though—one when Kamui was a newborn, the second when he was one, and the third (from last chapter) when he was two.

In this chapter we get even more Fates cameos, including some royals everybody loves!

Finally, as a warning: I'm going to be taking a two week break from this fic. I will not abandon it! But my final exams are closing in on me, and I need to take the time off to study for them. The Invisible Princess will resume May 13th, so until then, see you~

The funeral of Queen Ikona took place on a sunny day in spring, a week after her death. She was to be laid to rest in the fields outside Shirasagi, in a location reserved for the burial mounds of royalty. The citizens had lined up as far as they could, standing silently, while the nobles, retainers and royal family were at the front of the gathering, watching as the gravediggers began piling earth and stone atop her body. Mikoto found the beautiful weather morbidly ironic; wasn't it supposed to rain at funerals?

She closed her eyes, remembering the last time she'd seen the queen alive.

There was so much blood, too much blood, and Ikona was screaming, screaming, screaming. When she'd birthed Takumi, she'd been completely silent, save the occasional wince—the pain had to be agonizing to drive her to actually make noise. Her forehead was beaded with sweat and burning hot with fever, and her eyes wide, unfocused, the pupils dilated. The healers hovered nearby, useless—festals and staves could only treat wounds, not illness or childbirth. With their immune systems weakened, the patients' bodies took in too much magic, and would be permanently damaged if not outright killed by the very spells intended to heal them. There was nothing they could do for Ikona until the baby was born.

"Almost there," Mikoto croaked, hovering at her friend's side. "Your child's almost here, and then the healers will be able patch you up, and you'll both be fine…"

She knew the words were lies as she was saying them. The amount of blood on the bed was a testimony to that. Ikona had only been in labor for a few hours, but her child was being born in the breach position, feet first. The midwife was trying her best to ease the babe out, but her face was grim. The odds of either mother or child surviving the birth were low, and everyone there knew it.

After another half hour, Ikona let out one last yell and then collapsed. Mikoto peered over to see the midwife cradling a small, silent baby, its face blue, and her heart plummeted.

But then wailing filled the room and the baby began to thrash, miraculously alive. The midwife called out that it was a girl. The healers rushed over, immediately trying to save Ikona now that the baby had been delivered.

"She's alive," Mikoto hissed to Ikona, who seemed dangerously close to fainting. "Your daughter, she's alive."

Ikona craned her neck, probably wanting to get a look at her. One of the servants brought her over, still cleaning the blood off. The queen smiled weakly, catching sight of her daughter's face, but didn't speak. Her breathing was heavy, and in the green light of the healing magic, Mikoto could see that her eyes were glazed; desperate, she tried to encourage her.

"You don't want to leave her without a mother, do you? She's alive against all odds, you can survive too, Ikona, you can…"

"Not likely," she rasped, face twisted in pain. "Mikoto. My children…"

Mikoto clasped her hand, blinking back tears. "I'll look after them," she promised.

Ikona smiled again, a bittersweet thing, "Good. Good…"

Her eyes rolled back into her head and her form slumped. Mikoto checked her pulse—she was just unconscious, but she didn't have long. Frantic, the healers began working faster.

But her fever was far too high, and she'd lost far too much blood, and within ten minutes, Queen Ikona of Hoshido was pronounced dead from hemorrhaging.

The sound of stone clashing startled her out of the memory. Mikoto looked up; Ikona's burial mound had been completed. As their mother disappeared beneath the earth forever, to her right, Ryoma and Hinoka began crying louder. Her heart went out to them—Ryoma was almost nine, so he might remember Ikona, but it was doubtful that five-year-old Hinoka would. Takumi, who was only one, definitely wouldn't. The toddler was in his father's arms, looking confused and upset. Kamui hung at Mikoto's side, unusually quiet, clutching her hand tightly. Her son was three, close to four, and while he didn't really understand what was going on, he could tell that something was very wrong.

On the other end of the group, Mikoto could see the nobles and their children. The royal retainers were present, but they were guarding the perimeter, ever vigilant. Saizo's sons, Saizo the fifth and Suzukaze—or Kaze, as he was commonly called—stood with Kagero and Orochi, close to their mothers. The boys were ten and the girls eleven, so it was no surprise they'd become a tight group of friends. While they were in training to be retainers themselves, they were still considered children, and thus nobody judged them for crying.

"Damn Nohrians," Akio muttered next to Mikoto, sounding choked. Ikona's death had hit a particular chord with him—his wife had given birth to their daughter Hana, short for Kazahana, only a few weeks earlier. Both she and their baby were fine, but it had to have been unnerving, to know what happened to Ikona could have easily happened to his wife.

"The Nohrians aren't responsible for this, Akio," Mikoto said tiredly, watching Sumeragi bend down and hug his weeping children. His face was drawn and tired, and she longed to comfort him. But she was just the royal concubine, and it would have been improper to do so.

He was quiet. "I know," he finally said. "I know this was nothing more than a tragic accident. But I just…I just need someone to blame."

There was nothing she could say to that, so Mikoto kept silent, watching as the priest finished reciting the rites and the attendants slowly began to trickle away.

That evening, Mikoto went to the nursery. Sumeragi was standing there, holding his newborn daughter gently. It was always a sight to watch him with babies—his hands were the size of their entire bodies, he was so tall, but he was always so careful with them. Mikoto lingered in the doorway, watching him.

Loving Sumeragi was different from loving Anankos. Mikoto would never say it was better or worse; it would be wrong to compare them to each other. It was just different. Anankos had been almost shy in his courtship of her, painfully aware of the difference in social classes, but very sweet and quietly passionate. Theirs had been a romance of stolen glances, secret meetings and smiles over books.

Sumeragi was loud and outgoing in contrast. He liked to take her out when he could, and somehow found a way to make even the introverted Mikoto enjoy their public jaunts. He was a bit prone to showing off, especially when fighting, but he was dedicated to making her laugh at least once a day, often surprising her with love letters scrawled during a meeting or telling bad jokes. And without her noticing, she fell in love with him.

Yes, she could say she loved Sumeragi. It didn't mean she'd stopped loving Anankos, just like loving Anankos didn't mean she spent every day longing for him. It just meant that now she could look back on her time with her first husband fondly, without pain, taking the memories out of their box and examining them with the nostalgia of pulling out a well-worn kimono from storage.

"Does she have a name yet?" Mikoto asked, standing at Sumeragi's side. The new princess was even smaller than most, so small the healers had thought she wouldn't survive the night of her birth. But survive she had, proving herself to be an unexpected fighter. Mikoto was glad—Ikona's death was tragedy enough without her daughter dying as well.

"Sakura," he responded. Mikoto nodded thoughtfully, looking down at the tiny girl. Her eyes were open, though in the darkness of the room it was impossible to tell their color, and her face was getting scrunched up for a good cry.

Almost as it magically summoned, the wet nurse stepped in with a quiet greeting of "Your Majesty", arms out expectantly. Sumeragi handed Sakura to her as she began to wail and, waving Mikoto along, departed.

They made their way to his room in silence. While they had been courting for over a year now, Mikoto still insisted on sleeping in the concubine's quarters. It would have been rude to her friend to blatantly spend time in the king's suite, so she was a little confused at why they were heading there now.

Her question was answered when Sumeragi went straight to a cabinet and pulled out a bottle of sake.

"I didn't love Ikona," he started, as he began pouring sake into cups. "But I respected her. She was a good queen, a good mother, and a good woman. The world is worse off without her."

"It is," Mikoto agreed, sitting at the low kotatsu and taking the cup her offered her.

He raised his cup. "To Ikona."

"To Ikona." Mikoto echoed, and threw her drink back.

Six months after Ikona's death, Mikoto married Sumeragi and became queen of Hoshido. He'd actually wanted to marry her earlier, but they'd both agreed it would have been incredibly disrespectful to Ikona to get married before the appropriate mourning period was over, and so they'd waited.

It was held at a shrine in Shirasagi at sunset, and it was just the royal family, their retainers, and a few close friends in attendance—Hoshidans were rather private when it came to weddings. Kamui had exclaimed "you look pretty, Mama!" when he saw her in her white shiromukukimono, and she'd glowed. Sumeragi had been utterly dashing in his red haori, and she hadn't been able to take her eyes off him, the ceremony flying by. Once it was over the revelry began—sake was passed out to all the guests, dancers and singers were brought up to perform, and a feast was spread out. The people cheered for her when she was presented to them as their new queen the next day; while they had been saddened by Ikona's death, Mikoto had earned herself a place in her hearts during her time there, and so they were happy.

Now that she was queen, Mikoto was given a retainer, a fierce twenty-three-year-old woman named Reina. She was supposed to have two, but, remembering her promise to Orochi, had requested that the second position be left empty until Orochi was fourteen and old enough to sign on. Her duties were also more time-consuming than when she'd been just a concubine or even princess—while she had been an advisor, she'd never been required to attend anything important, and usually had a few hours a day to herself. Now she found her schedule suddenly incredibly busy with entertaining official guests, attending numerous events and ceremonies, and managing charity work around the city.

One month after her wedding to Sumeragi, in the onset of winter, Mikoto entered their quarters in the evening to find her husband in his evening clothes, glowering at a piece of paper in his hands.

"What's that?"

He turned it over so she could see it for herself. Gods, Mikoto thought, that is the gaudiest invitation I've ever seen. The ink was a fine gold, the calligraphy so swirly as to nearly be unreadable, and intricately-detailed artwork of animals decorated most of the surface. It was the kind of fancy work you would expect for a monumental occasion like a royal wedding.

"It's a request from Izumo," Sumeragi explained, sounding tired, "Duchess Hiromi is throwing a week-long banquet for…I don't know what it's for, Hiromi throws banquets for the slightest of things. But she's asked us to attend."

"I don't see what's so bad about that."

"They've also invited Nohr."

Mikoto paused. "Ah."

Hoshido and Nohr weren't the only countries in the land, of course, just the major ones. There was the coastal, artistic country of Nestra; the philosophical land of Notre Sagesse; and the principality of Izumo, to name a few. Izumo was a highly spiritual land, dedicated to worshipping the gods and remaining neutral in all conflicts. But the residents could be somewhat…flamboyant. They loved celebrations and threw them as frequently as they could. If Nohr thought Hoshido was shallow, then they thought Izumo was downright frivolous.

Izumo was also home to the most prodigious medical schools and the source of nearly all medicinal and first aid exports, so it was generally a good idea to not annoy them lest they cut you off. So if they asked you to attend a banquet with your worst enemy, you attended that banquet with your worst enemy.

Sumeragi groaned and dropped his head to his desk. Mikoto patted his back sympathetically. "You know we don't have any choice, love."

"I know," came his muffled reply. "That's the worst part. Hiromi's a perfectly lovely woman, don't get me wrong, but she's so damned eccentric I can't spend more than an hour in her company before wanting to hang myself. And Garon is going to show up with all twenty of his concubines, who will doubtless try to undermine each other the whole time, and all his bastards, who will be running amok and following their mothers' leads. And he and I will probably trade insults all week, and everyone will be watching each other like hawks, and I'm going to have to try to keep Akio or someone from starting a fight, and it's just a political disaster waiting to happen."

She started rubbing circles, feeling the tight muscles under her hand loosen slightly. "Well, think of it like this—we're already at war with them, the situation can't get much worse, now can it?"

She was exaggerating a bit. Nohr and Hoshido were really in a cold war of sorts, their troops all stationed at the borders, doing nothing more than staring at each other, waiting for one side to so much as sneeze wrong. Hoshido was still raided for food and supplies, but King Garon claimed the men and women doing so were just bandits, and as none of them were wearing the regalia of Nohrian soldiers there wasn't anything Hoshido could do to disprove him.

One wrong move would spark the inferno, so Sumeragi was right to be worried.

They set out at the end of the week. Takumi and Sakura were left back in Shirasagi, too young to attend, but the three older children came along, excited. They were accompanied by just their retainers—Izumo had a no-weapons policy when you visited, so there wasn't much point in bringing a squad of soldiers. At least with a smaller group they could leave quickly if something went wrong.

Hoshido arrived in Izumo first, giving Mikoto some time to explore. Izumo's architecture was similar to Hoshido's, but the interiors were similar to Valla, in that they preferred tables and cushioned chairs. Despite it being winter—it was snowy back in Hoshido—Izumo looked as though it were still spring, the sky clear and the trees full of leaves, with white snowflowers in full bloom. The air was sharply crisp, and Mikoto enjoyed the peaceful atmosphere.

But finally, they received word that Nohr had arrived, and so, swallowing her dread, Mikoto joined her husband and their retainers in receiving them. The king himself was at the head of the convoy, a sour look on his face as he took in the Hoshidans. His trueborn son and the crown prince, Alexander, hovered at his side. At ten the blonde boy was only a year older than Ryoma, but already looked to be shaping up to be a stern sort. Garon's retainers stood at each of his shoulders, and behind them was a sea of women and children.

Sumeragi took a deep breath. "Remember, diplomacy!" Mikoto hissed in his ear. He gave her an absent nod, then, forcing a pinched smile to his face, stepped forward to greet Garon.

"King Garon, a pleasure to see you."

"King Sumeragi," Garon replied coolly. He was a tall and muscular man, handsome, with wavy blonde hair and an impressive beard. "I see you're still profiting from my people starving in the streets."

"And I see you're still attending to your personal desires, rather than your people."

Mikoto groaned and closed her eyes. It hasn't even been a minute!

Garon's eyes flashed, and he stepped forward, putting a hand on his axe, but then a sing-song voice cut in. "Now, now, let's not sour the party before it even starts!" Mikoto turned to see the ruler of Izumo descending the stairs. Duchess Hiromi was a tall beauty, with stunning green eyes and hair so pale blonde it was almost white, piled in an elaborate hairdo. Her thirteen-year-old son, Izana, followed her, also smiling brilliantly.

"I know you may be enemies back home, but here in Izumo, we're all friends! And friends don't insult each other! So get along."

The last two words had the barest hint of a warning in them. Abashed, Garon and Sumeragi backed off, grudgingly muttering apologies. Hiromi smiled and stuck her hand out for them to kiss, which they did, and when that was done turned to Sumeragi with a smile. "Is that a new coat, Sumeragi? I must say it does wonderful things for your figure."

"It is," he said, already looking strained. Hiromi beamed and turned to Garon.

"And King Garon—that fur cape looks fantastic. Is it mink? I don't think I've seen you wearing it before."

"It was a gift from my late wife," he responded gruffly.

Hiromi, to her credit, didn't falter, though her expression became sympathetic. "Yes, I'd heard about Katerina's death. I am so sorry for your loss, she was a fine, fine woman, utterly delightful—and a great fashionista, no woman could compare to her sense of style, not even myself! Though word on the grapevine is you've remarried?"

"Indeed. I brought my new queen with me today." A light smile crossed Garon's face, practically transforming it into something incredibly handsome. He turned and waved one of the gaggle of women over. "I really thought I wouldn't love again after Katerina's death, but Arete is…something else."

Hiromi started to respond, but Mikoto didn't hear it, the blood rushing out of her ears and the world swaying as the name registered and the graceful figure stepped out of the crowd, catching her eyes immediately.

For her sister stood before her in black Nohrian garb, her blue hair coifed expertly and a crown on her head, golden eyes almost as wide as Mikoto's own.

The banquet wasn't due to start for a few hours, so as soon as the Nohrians had been settled in Mikoto shot off in search of her sister, waving off Reina when she tried to follow her. She paused only to fetch Kamui, not wanting to leave him alone with the Nohrian concubines about—she'd heard horror stories about how they treated each other, and while she didn't think they'd attack the prince of an enemy country, she wasn't about to take that chance.

She knew, instinctively, where Arete would be. Izumo's grounds had a lake—back when Valla was still in contact with the other kingdoms, it had been deemed diplomatic for all the countries to have a lake near their palace, so envoys from Valla could arrive in ease. They were close enough that the envoys would have a short journey, but far enough that the opposite kingdom would have time to see them and prepare a defense if they felt threatened. The memories of Valla may have been lost, but the lakes remained.

Sure enough, Arete was standing by Izumo's lake, a stark black figure against the crystal blue water. Her face turned white as a sheet when she saw Mikoto drawing near. "Oh my gods," she said. "Oh my gods. Mikoto."

"Arete," she whispered, and then she rushed forward, and suddenly she and her sister were embracing, half-laughing and half-crying, trying to speak, their words as tangled as their limbs, and her sister was alive, alive and here, and—

"I thought you were dead," Mikoto choked, finally pulling away. She was crying and her makeup was probably ruined, but she didn't care, how could she care about something like keeping up appearances when her sister was alive?

"I thought you were dead! You weren't with me—I thought—" Arete glanced down by chance. A hand ghosted over her mouth when she saw the small boy at Mikoto's side. "By the gods," she breathed. "Is that…? That can't be Kamui."

Kamui tugged on Mikoto's hand, looking uncertain. "Mama? Who's she?"

"She's…" Mikoto hesitated, remembering the promise she'd made to Anankos. "And old friend," she finally settled on, smiling. "One I thought I'd never see again."

Arete gave her a questioning look, but kneeled down, blinking back tears. "It's nice to see you again, Kamui. I met you once before, but you were just a little baby at the time. You wouldn't remember me."

He looked a little wary, but his natural friendliness won out, and he offered her a hesitant smile. A thought struck Mikoto like lightning. "Arete—is Azura alive? Is she—"

"She is," Arete said, rising. "She—Azura! Azura, come up here."

Mikoto started as a little girl rose up from the water's edge and approached. She hadn't seen her niece over there, she'd been so quiet. She was so big—she'd be, what, five now? Five. Gods. Her long blue hair was tied back with a ribbon, and she was wearing a navy dress of Nohrian make. She went immediately to Arete's side, clutching at her cloak and peering up at Mikoto from beneath her bangs.

Mikoto crouched down to be on eye-level with Azura, causing the girl to shrink backwards—she clearly didn't recognize her, which wasn't surprising. "Hello," she whispered, scarcely able to believe her eyes.

A pause, and then Azura murmured a timid "Hello," back.

Her niece was alive and well. Her sister was alive and well. And they were part of the Nohrian royal family. Mikoto rose, putting a hand over her heart, almost dizzy from the revelations taking place.

She needed—she needed time. She needed time to talk to her sister, her alive sister.

Mikoto glanced at her son. "Kamui, why don't you go play with Princess Azura, let Mama catch up with an old friend?"

Azura eyed Kamui uncertainly and clung a little closer to her mother. But he offered her a friendly smile, which seemed to make her relax, and with a final glance at Arete—who nodded encouragingly—she stepped out. Kamui brightened and, grabbing her hand, dragged her off to the shallows.

"Don't go near the water!" she called after them. Kamui slowed, the only acknowledgment he'd heard her, and began to drag Azura in a different direction. She didn't like Kamui being near water—she was always afraid Anankos would somehow know and send soldiers to grab him. Sumeragi sometimes teased her about being so overprotective, claiming Kamui would grow up to be a total mama's boy.

With a final glance to make sure the cousins were remaining within sight, Mikoto turned back to Arete, only to find herself grabbed and hugged again.

"Gods, I'm so glad you're alive, Mikoto." Arete breathed. "I thought you were dead. I thought you were both dead. You weren't with me—"

"You weren't with me! I—" Mikoto took a deep breath and rested her head on her sister's shoulder, closing her eyes, letting the relief wash over her. "What happened?"

"I panicked," Arete admitted. "I wasn't thinking about going to Hoshido, I just wanted to get away. I didn't have a destination in mind, so I suppose that's why I was sent to a random location. Azura and I emerged from the harbor of a city in Nohr called Port Dia..."

In the end, they spent two hours talking, carefully side-stepping any mention of Valla. Mikoto learned that Arete and Azura had wandered Nohr for a few years, Arete singing to earn money, until word of her considerable talent reached the courts. King Garon had invited her to court to sing for his wife's funeral last year, and been so impressed he asked her to stay. Not willing to go back to the streets, Arete had accepted a position as a concubine, only for her and Garon to gradually fall in love. She'd married him a few months ago.

Mikoto's mind boggled at the thought that she and her sister had both somehow ended up as queens of opposing countries. While the possibilities for tragedy were there—they were on opposing sides, after all—she couldn't help but think of the potential for good. They were the only known survivors of Valla, and they were both in a position where they could unite the countries and rally against Anankos.

She had to pin that thought as a cough came from behind her. Turning from her deep discussion with Arete, Mikoto saw an Izumite steward standing there, standing straight in his crisp, richly-colored outfit. The steward bowed. "Queen Arete, Queen Mikoto. Dinner is ready. If you would?"

Immediately Mikoto's heart dropped. She wasn't ready to go to the banquet. She didn't want to go to the banquet, where she'd have to pretend her sister was nothing more than the queen of an enemy country. She'd just gotten her back, how could she do that?

But it was her duty as queen—it was their duties—to attend Hiromi's banquet, and so, with one final, regretful look, they called their children over and departed.

Hiromi's banquet, as it turned out, wasn't just a silly frivolity; it was her attempt to mend the bridge between Hoshido and Nohr. When they weren't feasting, she was taking the royal families on tours of her capital or "politely requesting" they spend time discussing a peace treaty. Mikoto and Arete did their best to keep things peaceful and open up serious talks, but Garon and Sumeragi were both stubborn and antagonistic. Still, they at least kept the situation from getting worse, and by the end of the week the kings were at least open to the idea of further discussion.

King Garon was a harsh man, with an obvious enmity for Hoshido. But it was also obvious how much he loved his children, his stern face softening whenever they came over and his tone growing affectionate when he spoke to them. He would pat their heads or indulge their silliness, and Mikoto even spotted him letting Azura—who wasn't even his real daughter—play with his crown.

To Mikoto's relief, Kamui and Azura became fast friends, constantly seeking out each other's company. This meant, as their mothers and chaperones, she and Arete had an excuse to spend time with each other. Even though their retainers hung nearby—there'd been an incident where Reina nearly came to blows with a Nohrian knight named Gunter, and ever since she'd been loath to leave Mikoto alone—and they had to treat the other as little more than an acquaintance, it was still wonderful. Sipping tea with her sister and talking about inane things, while Kamui and Azura played together in the background, was such a normal thing, something she never thought she'd experience again, and she relished it.

Unfortunately, Kamui and Azura were the only royal children who got along. The Nohrian children could barely stand to be among each other, and they were worse with the Hoshidans. The younger ones deliberately excluded the Hoshidan children from their activities, and the older ones, picking up on the tense moods of their parents, would gang up to verbally bully Kamui or Hinoka if they were around. Ryoma would of course then leap to their defense, which brought Prince Alexander, who was just as protective of his younger siblings as Ryoma, into the fray. Things almost escalated into a fistfight between the two more than once.

But the concubines, oh gods, the concubines, they were the worst. The children at least were simply acting their age and would grow out of their behavior, but the concubines were adults who couldn't seem to act it. They spoke politely and wore large smiles, but they were laced with poison. The way they treated each other and their children was simply disgusting, simpering words veiling hidden insults. And they encouraged the rift between the children, seeming to find it amusing. They created misery so they could profit off it, and even in a land of neutrality and peace tried to find ways to sabotage the others' positions. They appalled Mikoto.

But finally, finally, the week was over, and nobody had been killed, and as that last dinner ended they were escorted off to their rooms for the final night of sleep before departing.

In the morning, Mikoto opened her door to find Hiromi standing at the threshold, smiling. "Queen Mikoto, how lovely you look this morning! Your hair really is beautiful; those dark tresses are so shiny, they rival my own! I meant to say something earlier, but I kept forgetting—you know how taxing the life of rulership is!"

"Oh," was all she could think to say, awkwardly. "Thank you."

"You must tell me how you do it—" And then she had the audacity to push her way into the room, slamming the door shut. Mikoto opened her mouth to berate her—ruler or not, that was simply discourteous—but pulled up short as the light-hearted expression on Hiromi's face was wiped away and replaced with an utterly serious look.

"I have a message for you," was all she said.

Mikoto blinked. "Beg pardon?"

Hiromi rubbed her forehead and took a seat. Her skin was pale and clammy, Mikoto only now noticed, her face lacking its usual exuberate makeup. Her fingers trembled against the armchair; she looked old and tired, nothing like the vibrant duchess that had been their hostess all week.

"My family can communicate with the gods," Hiromi finally said, voice shaking a little, still unnaturally stone-faced. "Usually they don't say much, just deliver warnings or decrees, and it's almost always the same ones who talk to me. But last night, while I was meditating, a new one spoke to me, one I'd never heard from before.

"That wasn't as unnerving as the vibe I picked up from him, though. Everyone, even deities, has an…aura about them, I suppose you could say. His was very old, very powerful, and very much insane. He demanded I give you a message."

Hiromi stopped, swallowing, looking shaken. After taking a moment to compose herself, she fixed her eyes on Mikoto, the pale green of her irises looking luminescent in the dim light.

The next words out of her mouth froze the blood in Mikoto's veins. "He told me to tell you, 'Anankos knows where you are.'"