Work Text:
Morning :
The noise of dozens of lower fae hard at work swirled around the Winter woman like an incoming tide. The third kitchen of the Midday Court was busy, and the pink-haired woman was making delicate open-faced sandwiches that could fit in the palm of the hand. A piece of crustless milk bread, and then a smear of butter, two slivers of white chicken meat, and a garnish with a few leaves of savoury and tart glowberry preserve. She had almost a hundred of the small pieces of finger-food done, with another hundred still to go. The Upper fae were having an afternoon party of some kind, as per usual, and she’d been assigned to refreshments.
“Leaf!” The head chef’s voice was impatient.
Heads went up all over the kitchen, conversation abruptly dying away to leave only the machine-sounds of the room. One of the spits a harried Summer teen was turning squeaked as it rotated, and a rolling pin scuffed against a table. The woman’s hand went to her heart, fingers touching the enamel token there. No, today she’d been assigned Web, that was not her nickname being called. She was lucky right now. She bent back over her segment of the table, keeping an eye on the chef.
He wasn’t an Upper fae–he didn’t have control over the very web of reality that underpinned their lives–but it was still a bad idea to get on the bad side of the Spring man.
The head chef pointed accusingly at a tall Winter fae with two-toned hair. The teen was holding a tub full of dirty crockery, and had stopped to talk to a short Autumn teen with horns curling in his brown hair.
“Pay attention, Leaf,” the chef rapped out. He pointed at the table in front of him. “Do you think these dishes are here because they’re decorative?”
“Of course, you’re so right,” the fae with two-toned hair said, hurrying over. “You’re so right. I’ll just get those.”
The chef hit them in the head with the back of his hand, and the fae bent lower over the table, collecting dishes as fast as they could. The chef looked out over the room, a displeased twist to his mouth. “Stop slacking, get back to work.”
The Winter woman directed her attention back to her sandwiches. She was almost out of herbs, they would need to be topped up. She wiped her hands on her apron as she headed for the cold room, stepping around other people bent over their stations.
The cold room was built under the steep ramp that led down into the kitchen. Chilled air met her like a wave as she stepped over the frost-patterned threshold, the sound of the room behind muffled by the commands written into the floor here. The herbs were on a shelf to the back, rows of sprigs sitting upright in little glass jars. Sage, rosemary, some delicate only-good-for-one-day basil, mint, and there was the savoury she needed. She scooped it off the shelf, and then took a moment in the cool quiet to breathe.
It wasn’t too far into the day, but she’d been up before dawn. Her muscles ached, and it was good to have a second of peace before heading back out there. The woman stretched her arms out in front of her, feeling her back lengthen. The skin on her back itched, too tight over the spot where her wings could emerge. The heat of the kitchen wasn’t good for her. She smiled ruefully to herself, chin resting against her chest as she breathed out slowly. Maybe she’d be lucky enough to be assigned something in the basements tomorrow. That was always better.
But that was tomorrow, this was today, and she had to get back to work before someone noticed she was missing. She held up the savoury to her face, sniffing the fresh greenness as she stepped back out into the kitchen.
For a moment, she thought the charmed hush of the cold room had followed her. The room in front of her was silent. But no, everyone was looking in her direction, which meant–
She was standing right next to a pair of Upper fae, ornate clothing out of place in the busy kitchen. The Summer man closest to her was wearing dark purple-black, decadent folds of heavy fabric embroidered with tiny silk stitches to make flames that licked upwards from their hems. She could feel the heat coming off the enchanted garment from here.
The Winter woman froze in place, her back against the cold room door, scarcely daring to breathe. Interacting with any Upper fae was always, always a danger, but she knew this pair. The one in flame-embroidered clothing was high-ranking, he was vindictive and petty, and he liked to spectate people.
“Moss,” the Summer in purple-black said, tone dangerously mocking. “I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but it is, in fact, my birthday. Were you aware?”
She could see the chef’s fingers go to his nickname token. A hope that he wasn’t the one being referred to, quickly dashed. The Spring man swallowed, paler than usual. “Yes, Administrator.”
The Summer man smiled, a flash of his teeth with far too much cruel amusement to it. “Oh, so you know! Fantastic. So the absolute travesty you caused with the menu was intentional, was it?” He tipped his head to the side. “The insult was on purpose?”
“No, Administrator,” the chef stammered out, even paler. His green facial hair stood out against his skin like a growth. “I would never. A mistake, I assure you.”
“A mistake,” he repeated, pronouncing the words like he enjoyed the shape of them. “Haven’t we talked about those, Moss?”
“I apologise,” the Spring man said. “It won’t happen again.” He opened his mouth as though to continue, and then snapped it shut with an audible click of teeth.
That was wise. The Winter woman had seen this Upper fae in action before, and he only wanted to be begged once he told you to do it.
“So, Moss,” the Summer man in flame-bedecked robes said. He had his blond hair in an elaborate series of small braids, and he reached up and captured one hanging down by his face, rolling it between thumb and forefinger. “You know there must be punishment for this insult to my honour.” He glanced around the room. It became even more silent, the workers frozen like small mammals in the view of a hawk.
His gaze travelled from person to person, considering and discarding them. The Winter woman saw his eyes linger overlong on a tall Winter man with pink hair and tusks at the back of the room. She’d seen that man be spectated before, frequently. He’d been used to injure or kill people who displeased the Upper fae more times than she could quickly call to mind. Aware he was being looked at, she saw the pink-haired Winter man’s chin come up, jaw set.
A complicated mixture of pity and relief climbed into her throat as the man looked back at the Upper fae, a crooked smile appearing on his face. She felt sorry for anyone who was selected to be spectated, of course, but the reprieve offered was incredible.
She breathed out, near-silent.
A hand grabbed her arm.
The Winter woman looked up in frantic horror, locking eyes with the Summer in purple-black. With the heat coming off his robes, she felt like her skin was starting to scorch. The Upper fae smiled at her. “ You ,” he said, the words somehow arriving in her mind soundlessly. The man pulled on his right to administrate this small universe, the so-precious knowledge he had about all the subjects in his realm. “ Niki Nihachu.”
Her name, her name , her true name . It hit her mind like a lightning strike. Everything about her was illuminated, all the small directions and actions and decisions that made up a person, from the branch to the root in a single incandescent flare. And it was all under his control.
Her luck had just run out.
“I need you to hurt someone for me,” his voice said in her mind, and her body moved without her input. The Winter woman’s body stepped forward into a near-silent room, the only sounds footsteps clicking against the floor, the crackle of flame, and someone’s strangled sob.
It was like being pinned behind greased glass, like being bound down by inescapable dough, like having blades jabbed into each of her joints to manipulate them. She could feel his mind atop hers, a burning weight that reduced her thoughts to a panicked no no no in the far recesses of her mind. Being spectated hurt , and she hated it.
“So, Moss,” the Upper fae said behind her back, his voice reverberating through her body like a bell’s toll. “Do you want to ask for my forgiveness?”
The Spring man’s knees hit the floor. “I’m so sorry,” he started. “I beg your forgiveness, please, I’ll never do it again.” He was hardly breathing between sentence fragments, a constant string of pleas and promises tripping over themselves on their way out of his mouth. “I apologise, please, I do good work except for this. I’ll never do it again I’m so sorry, please, Administrator.”
“ Weapon ,” the voice said in her mind, and her body scooped a small knife from the table, the blade barely the length of her hand. Her arm was a line of agony from fingertip to shoulder, as the muscle and bone protested against these commands. Her back felt like spikes of hot metal were being forced between her ribs. The chef was still on his knees as she approached.
“ Heh ,” the voice said in her brain, amusement leaking over her mind like oil spreading on water. The woman felt herself take a step forward, bringing the hand with the knife up by her side. The blades in all her joints moved her, and her body lunged, blade slamming into her target.
She’d stabbed a random kitchen worker, an ordinary Autumn woman with red hair.
She’d cleaned floors alongside her before.
The woman’s gaze met hers, mouth forming an agonised “oh,” and her hands came up to close on the knife sticking out of her chest.
The Winter woman wanted to recoil backwards in horror, apologising. Her body twisted the blade, and blood streamed out of the wound.
The Autumn woman collapsed, air exiting her lungs in a gasp.
“See that you don’t do it again,” the Summer man said, smugly self-satisfied with his punishment. He turned to leave, tucking the braid he’d kept in his fingers behind his ear. Wings of flame stretched behind him, patterns of shifting heat manifested on the use of Administrator powers. They dispersed into ripples in the air as he dismissed control. The Winter woman felt life flood back into her limbs, and she gasped for breath, shaking.
“Administrator,” the chef said, still on his knees. His voice was ragged. “May I know what the insult was, as it was mistakenly offered, so that I do not do it again?”
“Oh,” the Summer man in purple-black said. He sniffed. “I wanted herbed potato cakes, and there were only the grated potato pancakes. Don’t do it again.”
“Of course,” the chef said, voice shaky. “Thank you.”
There was silence as the Upper fae left. The chef pushed himself to his feet. “Well,” he said, gesturing angrily. “What are you all staring at? Get back to work.” He pointed. “Petal and Stamen, you get rid of this.” He waved a hand at the body on the floor.
The Winter woman looked down in horror, but the Autumn woman’s eyes were open, sightlessly staring into the distance. Her chest didn’t move. The Winter woman clasped a hand over her mouth in horror, then recoiled something wet smeared on her face. There was blood on her hands and now, on her face.
The chef glanced at her. “You can take fifteen minutes,” he said, dismissively.
The Winter woman stumbled towards the back of the kitchen, where the pumps were. There was an unoccupied sink with standing water in it. Someone was soaking potatoes. She needed the blood off her hands, but she couldn’t get it on the food. She froze in place, horrified.
“Here,” a voice said beside her.
She glanced up. It was the pink-haired Winter man, who was reaching into the sink with a cup.
“If you hold out your hand,” he said, nodding to the drain on the floor, and the Winter woman got it.
“Oh right,” she said, holding out her hands. She was still shaking, though there was an edge to it now.
She hated being spectated, she hated it. She usually tried to push down the feelings about things that were inevitable, like most things in her life, but right now there was blood on her face and she was so, so angry. How dare they make her hurt someone. How dare they use her to act out their petty revenges, and then wander away, probably to hurt more people? How dare they make her be involved, when she didn’t want any of this? Her bones still hurt, and she had just killed someone, and she was so angry. The pink-haired man poured water over her hands and the red washed off her skin.
She opened and closed her hand, turning it under the water. One of her nails was broken. “I appreciate it,” she said. Her voice was wobbly. The tears that were trying to rise in her throat were equal parts horror and rage.
The pink-haired Winter man glanced at her. “That your first time killing someone?”
It startled a laugh out of her. “No,” she said, hand going to her mouth. “No, it isn’t.” There was still something on her lips, and she tasted copper as she pulled her hand away.
“Dang,” the pink-haired man said, tone dry. “That means you already know it doesn’t get better. Sucks to be you, I guess?” He had a cloth tucked into the belt of his apron, and he dunked it in the sink. He held it out to her, nodding at her face.
She took it and wiped it over her mouth. “Well,” she said. “It could be worse. I could be one of them and have to live with myself.” She was focusing on levelling out her breathing. Breaking down into tears wasn’t going to work when she had to go back to work, but she could stoke the fire inside herself and just live with that, like a hearth at her core. Less horror, more anger. A cold anger. She could live with cold fury.
His expressions weren’t very big, but the pink-haired man’s eyes caught at that, amused. “True, true. Could you imagine havin’ to wear those clothes, and then havin’ to go around talkin’ to people all the time? Plus the tyranny? I’d probably have trouble sleepin’ at night, and I need my beauty sleep.”
She raised her eyebrows at him. “You’re talking to me right now.” She wiped her face again with the cloth, the rasp of rough fabric over skin, and then handed it back to him.
“Eh.” He waved a hand. “‘S different, you’re good to talk to. They have to talk to each other, so really, we’re probably better off.” He leaned against the sink edge for a moment, that same crooked grin that he’d worn when the duo of Upper fae had looked at him appearing on his face. “Plus snacks.”
Her breathing was under control now, and she didn’t have blood on her. She could still feel the sense-memory of how it had felt when her hand around a knife had hit someone’s chest, but she couldn’t do anything about that. She had to move forward. The Winter woman shook out her apron. There was blood splatter on it. She couldn’t do anything about that. “Yes, we get so many snacks,” she said tartly at him. “The chef is known for allowing snacks, I think I’ve seen that.”
The pink-haired man leaned forward conspiratorially. “If you go out there right when everybody saw you get spectated, you absolutely max out the pity points. People won’t just let you take food, they’ll offer it to you.” He nodded. “Try it, you’ll see.”
She looked at him, a slight smile growing pulling at her lips. “Well, with all these perks, how can I even be sad about the administrators?” She nodded back, trying for mock-serious. “And I got an extra break, too.” She gestured to herself, standing off to the side of the kitchen, not working.
“There you go,” he said. He re-folded the cloth so the stain was on the inside. “Well, I gotta get this to the laundry. If you get to eat somethin’ salty, it helps. Salty and sweet.” He reached out and squeezed her shoulder very briefly. “An’ stay hydrated.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” the Winter woman said. She rubbed her shoulder where he had touched. Her hands weren’t shaking any more. “I appreciate it.”
“Eh, I was just tryin’ to get out of work,” the pink-haired man said. “Have a good day.” He stepped back into the hustle and bustle of the kitchen, going to stand next to a blond Winter man. She saw the shorter man look at her and say something to the pink-haired man, who shrugged.
She took a deep breath. Okay, she was going to get something to eat, and then she was going to go back to work. That was the only thing to do, so she was going to do it. She was still angry, but it was a banked flame in her chest. It could keep her warm while she worked.
Afternoon :
Being up in the formal part of the house was nerve-wracking, but at least being put on cleaning duty was cooler than the kitchen. The Winter woman switched hands, the bucket of soapy water and scrubbing brush tugging her off-balance, then pushed through the hidden door that connected servant’s corridors to the parts of the court the Upper fae moved through.
She emerged into a hallway with floors polished smooth as glass, cloth-of-gold walls, and a vaulted ceiling frescoed in the shifting colours of a stormy sky. There was another lower fae standing across from her, tabard of a guard on and spear in hand. He nodded to her. She nodded back, shifting hands on the bucket again. She really did not want to spill water on the floor.
The Winter woman started down the corridor, well-worn shoes moving over the ground with a small shushing noise. Enchantments woven into the carpets that ran down the centre of the hallway muffled sound. It would be gauche to actually hear people moving through the spaces the Upper fae lived in, especially servants.
The next guard was clearly playing a counting game with her fingers on the heft of her spear. The Spring woman looked up as the Winter woman approached, then tilted her head further down the corridor, jerking her chin significantly at the next door. Guards were supposed to be posted by the entrance to every room, but the entrance up ahead was missing its minders. The Winter woman nodded back and sped up slightly, careful not to spill the cleaning water.
The floor where a guard should have stood had a series of scuffs in the wax of the floor. That would need to be buffed out. And there was the remains of a pool of blood here, hurriedly wiped up. She would need to clean that properly. The Winter woman put down the bucket of water, looking around.
There was a bloody footprint a few strides down the corridor, still on the polished floor at the edges of the space. She pulled a rag out of her apron, dunking it in the cleaning water. Wet swipe, then a dry rag after it rendered the floor mirror-bright again.
There was another footprint a few more steps away. She cleaned that one too. The second mark left on the floor wasn’t any smaller than the first one. Had someone walked away injured? And there was another footprint just ahead. Got to get that one too.
The Winter woman was crouched low over the floor, cleaning up the marks. She looked up. The trail had led her directly to a window that looked out over the gardens, and specifically to a set of curtains that stretched from floor to ceiling. There was a set of bloody fingerprints on the window sill, right next to the curtain. She glanced from side to side, then twitched the embroidered fabric aside.
As she suspected, there was a figure hidden behind it. The pink-haired Winter man who’d washed her hands earlier was leaning against the wall, skin pale and waxy with pain, and his right pant leg was soaked with blood from the knee down.
“Hey,” he said, grinning horribly at her. “How’s your day goin’?”
“You’re hurt,” she said, a little stupidly.
“Mmm, yep,” he agreed. “Lost a fight. Well.” He wobbled a bloody hand in the air. “Was with an Upper dude showin’ off. Won the fight, they didn’t like that. So they made me stand still while one of ‘em got a mace out. Good day, really.”
She glanced around, up and down the quiet corridor. Safely out of earshot, one of the other guards was looking in their direction, expression pained.
Servants unable to do their jobs didn’t live long, but– he’d helped her earlier. “We need to get you downstairs before an Administrator comes through here,” she said. She stepped forward, ready to slide her shoulder under his arm.
“Nah,” he said quickly, putting his hand out. She froze, and he gestured towards her. “Gonna get in trouble if I’m not at my post anyways, and it’s a bad break.” The pink-haired man gave her another smile that was clearly intended to be reassuring, but looked a bit ghastly with the pain on his face. “You get back to your job.”
She wasn’t just going to walk away . Frustration at the helplessness of their situation flared in her chest, at the increasingly narrow bounds of their world between various disasters orchestrated by the Upper fae. She frowned at him. “It can’t be that bad.” She dropped to her knees, reaching for his leg in the tiny pocket hidden behind the curtain. “We’ll just have you sit on a chair or something. You’re a good worker, I’m sure they’ll cover for you while you heal.”
She put a certainty born of anger into her voice, even while part of her mind pointed out that being allowed the time to heal was a tall order. It was honestly 50/50 if those in charge of them would tolerate someone who wasn’t able to work at full capacity. Workers who weren’t useful died. She grabbed the bloodsoaked fabric and peeled it upwards as she spoke, but then her voice died in her throat.
“I was thinking I’d set it,” the pink-haired man said above her, a painful smile in his voice. “S’why I got out of the way, get to where I could brace m’self. But—yeah.”
The wound on his shin was actively seeping blood, the flesh swollen and slick. But where she had hoped to find bruising, shards of yellow-white bone poked out of the wound. A break was bad, but this was no simple break. This wasn’t going to heal quickly. It might never heal, without intense medical care. Workers didn’t get medical care.
Workers who weren’t useful died.
“You’d better go,” he said, nudging her shoulder with his hand. “I’ll just hang out here. My name’s Technoblade, by the way.”
Niki stared up at him, eyes wide. Why– why would he tell her his name ? That was far too much power to give anyone. That was the power to destroy him, placed in her hands.
He smiled down at her, still leaning against the wall, paler than usual. “Ring a bell for me or somethin’, will you?” The pink-haired man nudged her with his hand, hard enough that she rocked back on her heels. “Get.”
Oh.
He just wanted to be remembered when he was gone.
Because he was going to die.
Niki was very angry. Once again, she was very angry. But this time, possibly, she could do something about it. She’d heard someone say something, once, about what you could do if you had someone’s name. She made a split-second decision, then reached out and grabbed his leg, one hand above and one below the break. “No,” she said, and then she reached inside herself. “Hold still, Technoblade .”
She saw his eyes widen in tired betrayal as she said his name, and then the Winter man was strung out before her, a complicated array of knots and gates in space. She could see how to take over his body, how to kill him with a word, how to dig down to the roots of his mind and tear things out. She focused, narrowing herself to a point. Behind her, she could hear ice crackling as her wings formed.
If she got caught doing this she was dead, but she was angry, and she was tired of destruction. She was tired of being used, of being powerless. She wanted to make something better. She reached down to the underpinnings of the universe, and collected some of it into a hand covered in frost. “ Heal ,” she said, pushing the power into the man in front of her. “ Revert . Slow .”
The task tugged on her. It needed someone’s life force to complete this order. Hers or the user whose name she had?
She set her teeth and grabbed a line from the core of her chest, paying it out as slowly as she could. Time spun backwards, the dent in the man’s shin closing up again. A web of cold needles was spreading out through her flesh, her body slowly freezing under the magic. The bone shards disappeared back under the man’s skin, swelling reducing.
The task threatened to destroy her, the universe behind the order trying to dissolve her into the network of pure elements that ran under the world. She held on as long as she could, but she had to break it off.
Niki slumped forward till her forehead hit the back of her hand, gasping.
“ Bruh ,” the pink-haired man said. His leg was still bloody and bruised, but it looked whole.
The Winter woman grinned up at him, triumph running through her. She felt wobbly.
She’d only ever heard whispered rumours of healing, but the people talking about it had completely skipped over how draining it was. Possibly because they hadn’t done it themselves. They’d focused on how you could use control over someone's body to unravel it, opening up a person’s old wounds until they were overcome. But it stood to reason that the power that opened old cuts could close new ones too, she’d figured. And she had been right. “You can ring a bell yourself,” she told the man, and then had to take a deep breath. She’d done something good, and the joy of that thrilled her, but boy it had taken it out of her.
“Why’d you do that?” the pink-haired man said, shocked. He shifted his weight experimentally, and hope broke over his face as his leg supported him. There was clearly still pain, but the break was repaired.
There was a whisper of fabric shifting behind the Winter woman’s back, and the pink-haired man looked up. Someone had opened the curtain. They’d been discovered, but by who?
“What the fuck,” a voice said. The accent of a lower fae, and not someone in power. The Winter woman relaxed fractionally. “The fuck?” A hand came down on her shoulder, and she realised abruptly that she still had delicate frost wings sketched out behind her. The clear sign that she’d been employing Administrator power, something that required a horrific level of control over another person to use. She froze in place, stricken.
“It’s fine,” the pink-haired man said. His hand came down and swept behind her back, breaking shards of melting ice away. “She was helpin’. Y’know, I might actually not die today.”
“Of course you’re not fuckin’ dying’ today,” the voice said, tight with frustration and focus. The Winter woman pushed herself to her feet, looking around. The blond Winter man she’d seen earlier was there, wearing a guard’s tabard and with a set of rags and piece of wood in his hand. The material for a split. He’d come to help his friend?
“Good afternoon,” she said, swaying in place.
The pink-haired man caught her by the shoulder. “If you’d been here thirty seconds ago, did look pretty bad I have to say, but Web did some first aid.”
“First—“ The blonde man looked at her, taking in the blood on the pink-haired man’s leg, the ice now melting on the floor, and the way that his friend was standing upright. “Alright,” he said after a pause. His tone was very dry. “Afternoon, I guess. Most people wouldn’t have fuckin’ done that.”
The Winter woman waved a hand. “It’s fine.” She took a deep breath. “I have to go back to cleaning.”
“And I got to go back to guard work,” the pink haired man said, deadpan. “Cause I get to do that. Big excitement for me. Feather, you got any emergency snacks?”
“Do I have any fuckin’—“ the blond man scoffed. He tucked the pieces of wood he had under one arm and dug in his apron pockets. He emerged with candied fruit clearly stolen from the kitchens.
“You like following the rules, don’t you,” the WInter woman said, looking at the fruit.
The blond man grinned. He handed a small handful to his friend, then held a few pieces out to her. “I’m really fuckin’ agreeable to work with, everybody says so.” He glanced up and down the hall. “We gotta get out of the curtain.”
“Right.” The pink-haired man pushed himself off the wall. “Back to work.” He stuck a few pieces of fruit in his mouth. “Thrill a minute.”
She felt a little better with the sugar in her system. She took a step forward, identifying the spots of blood that she would have to clean up. She had to wash her hands, she could dunk them in the bucket. And she still had to clean the scuffs on the floor. She could feel the blond man looking at her.
“How’d you get away from work anyways, Feather?” the pink-haired man said.
“Wha?” the blond man started. He huffed out a breath. “Snuck away when I heard you’d gotten yourself fucked up, I’m not supposed to fuckin’ be here.”
“That’s what I love about you, Feather,” the pink-haired man said dryly. “Your avid adherence to the law and hierarchy.”
She knew someone’s true name, and they didn’t know hers. She didn’t like that.
There was another person here, but he’d been trying to help someone hurt, that made him trustworthy, didn’t it? He’d broken the rules for a friend?
It was a risk, but she didn’t want to live with that much power over another person. “My name’s Niki Nihachu,” she said suddenly.
There was a pause. They were back to the spot on the floor where she’d left her bucket of water. She knelt next to it, picking the scrub brush out of the soap suds.
“Thanks,” Technoblade said.
To thank someone was to acknowledge that you were in their debt, in their power. She’d only ever heard people thank the Upper fae before, aside from hazy memories of her childhood before Court. Niki glanced up at him. “You’re welcome,” she said, and then focused on cleaning.
Evening :
Only another hour and a half left before she could collapse into bed. It wasn’t like the lumpy mattress on her cot was anything special, but right now it sounded heavenly. She was going to wrap the blanket around her head like a cocoon until only her face was poking out, and she was going to be cosy. Soon. The Winter woman leaned against the wall of a servant’s corridor, lifting her aching feet one by one to give them a moment’s break. It had been a long day.
She’d had a brief break to eat evening meal, but that was long enough ago that the rejuvenation of it had left her. She was tired.
But only another hour and a half before she could go to bed. She was going to sleep like the dead. The Winter woman shook herself slightly, re-tying her apron around her waist, and then headed again down the hallway. The lamp on the wall was burnt out ahead, and a section of the wall was cast in shadow. Just where the corridor met another staircase. There was a hunched figure there, crouched against the wall.
Niki slowed down as she approached. “Are you alright?”
The person looked up, and it was the Winter fae with the two-toned hair she’d seen in the kitchen earlier today. Tearstains scored down their cheeks. “I don’t know where I’m going,” they said miserably.
That was a very bad sign. The code for locations within the Midday Court– written on the walls of the servant’s corridors– was one of the first things that a person learned when they arrived on this plane. Were they that new? “Well, you’re in the dark,” she said, holding out her hand to the fae with two-toned hair. “Come out into the light, you can see better. Where was the last place you were?”
The Winter fae scrambled to their feet, scrubbing a hand over their face. “I don’t know,” they said. “Maybe—the Upper fae’s rooms?” Their two-toned eyebrows drew together. “Serving?”
There was no way that they’d put someone new to Court on the task of serving in rooms Administrators walked casually into. There was a horrible certainty about this fae growing in the pit of her stomach, and oh, she was so tired. “Okay,” she said, keeping her hand out towards the young fae. “You’re up on the fourth floor, near the library, and you’re going to want to go downstairs. Do you remember how?”
“No,” the Winter fae said. “Can you show me?” They put their hand in hers, then looked at her. “Where am I?”
She was so tired, and she was so angry. She didn’t want to do this again. The Winter woman squeezed their hand, focusing on keeping her voice level. “Let’s get you downstairs.” The fae with two-toned hair was already dead, they just didn’t know it yet.
Sometimes when an Administrator wanted to cover up something they didn’t want other Upper fae to know, or as a punishment, or just because they wanted to– they would wipe someone’s memory. The mind of this teenager had been broken like an eggshell. And a worker who couldn’t remember their tasks would live about as long as it would take for someone in power to notice them.
She glanced at their shoulder. The enamel token for their nickname had been torn off them. “Do you remember your name?” She could remember them by that, at least.
The fae with two-toned hair nodded. “I’m Ranboo, what’s your name?”
Niki stumbled, almost tripping over her feet. Oh, whoever had broken this fae had done a thorough job, if they would just tell their true name to her, as trusting as a child who’d never been betrayed. Her heart hurt. “You can call me Web today,” she told him. She tapped the emblem on her chest. “It all depends on which one of these you get, see.”
“Oh, that’s fun,” the fae said. “Can you pick which name you want?”
A thought hit the Winter woman and she felt her eyes widen. She glanced up and down the corridor. There was another person walking towards them, a Spring woman with red hair. She was carrying cleaning supplies. The red-haired woman regarded them with the exhausted curiosity of someone turning to look at movement. Niki needed desperately for this Spring woman to not notice anything amiss, because she had had an idea that was setting her alight.
“ Ranboo ,” She said under her breath, trying to find some way to make it not a command. The universe tried to show her this fae as an object to be controlled and manipulated, but she pushed it down. “I need you to not say anything, and act normal, while this person passes. Okay?”
“Sure,” the fae with two-toned hair said back, straightening up. They nodded to the Spring woman as they passed, the Winter woman trying fervently to keep her expression clear. She wasn’t sure how well she’d done it, but the red-haired Spring woman was too tired to be concerned. They were past, and then walking onwards.
“Was that normal?” The fae said. Their tone was uncertain. “I don’t think I’m very good at normal.”
“You were fine,” Niki said, squeezing their hand. “New plan.” She tugged the fae with two-toned hair towards a staircase. She had their name, which meant she could help them. “I’m bringing you upstairs.”
She didn’t have the energy to heal this person tonight, but she could come back tomorrow! She could stand up to the violence, she could do something good. She didn’t know if it would work, but at least she could try. By all the moons and blizzards, at least she could try.
“Okay,” the fae said. They followed her, brow furrowing as they walked. The staircase was narrow and it twisted, and they had to stay behind her like the fold in an envelope. “I don’t remember– is something bad upstairs?”
She would lie to them if there was no hope, let them die in lack of fear, but she needed this lanky fae to live through the next day. That meant as much awareness as possible. She took a deep breath. “You are– in danger because of your memory,” she said.
“Oh,” they said. They swallowed, voice a little tremulous. “Bad danger?”
“Yes,” she told him. She squeezed their hand as they climbed. “But don’t give up yet, I have a plan that might fix it.”
There was a pause. “What sort of a plan? If it’s very complicated, I don’t know if I could do it.” Their voice wobbled, but they were clearly trying for a joke. “Because I don’t remember anything,” they said.
Niki smiled back over her shoulder at him. “Not that complicated. We’re going up to the attics, and I just need you to hide.” She squeezed their hand again. “Can you hide overnight?”
“Alright,” the fae with two-toned hair said. From looking down at them, she could see that there were errant strands of their hair that fell over to the wrong side of their head. Like their head had been shaken violently, or someone had struck them hard enough to throw them backwards. “Pandora said he’d deal with me later,” the fae said. They looked up at her, eyes worried. “He won’t be able to find me, right?”
For a moment she felt like her heart had stopped in her chest. A name– a name of the Upper fae who’d done this to them?
He must have broken the teen’s memory to try and remove that information, she realised. And the Upper fae had failed .
She wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh or scream. “Ran,” Niki said, trying and failing to keep her voice level. “What does Pandora look like?”
“Blond,” they said. “Summer. He was wearing robes like obsidian? Like a shiny black and then flames.”
That absolute motherfucker, and she had him, she had his name, she could pin him to the fucking wall. She could stop him from hurting more people. Niki Nihachu turned forward and started walking again, up the stairs, one foot after another. “Was that his full name?” She could unravel him like flawed knitting. She could shatter him like ice hit by a meteor. She could make him stand in place while she ran a knife through his chest, like he’d made her do, except she could choose it this time. “Do you know his full name?”
“It was on a charm he got for his– something,” the Winter fae behind her said. “Something that let him put up shields? Or a knife? It’s all kind of– “ They made a pained noise. “It hurts to think.”
And that was reality, dropping on her like an almost physical weight. Exhaustion returned to her limbs. “Don’t push it if it hurts you,” the Winter woman said, words numb on her tongue.
If she could say the Summer man’s name where he could hear it, she could catch him like a bug in a net, but once past the moment of euphoria, she had to think in terms of practicalities. She had to get close enough for him to hear her, and that– that was no easy task. Most of the rooms the Upper fae moved in had sound-suppression on the carpets, and the Summer man would have guards around him. He could order any one of them to kill her, and even if she blocked her hearing somehow so he couldn’t take her over, she was no fighter. They never put her on guard duty. She barely knew which end of a spear to hold. She’d never even been assigned to his rooms, so she didn’t know how to sneak in. She’d never get within arm’s reach of him.
If only she had known his name when he locked eyes with her this morning, but no. That was not how her luck ran.
“Pandora’s Vault,” the fae with two-toned hair said, below her on the stairs. “That’s what was written on the charm.”
His full true name, and it was useless to her. “Right,” she heard herself say. If only– but no. She had to focus on the task at hand, at helping this injured teen. They were almost where they were going. Helping was also good, that was also something she wanted to do. She would focus on that, and not pie in the sky plans of getting revenge, overthrowing Administrators, or making a substantial change in the world. Her life was about endurance, and what she knew what to do was keep going, despite setbacks or dashed hopes. The Winter woman took a deep breath, making herself smile reassuringly. “It’s very important that you not let anyone know that you know that, okay? And don’t let them know your name either.” She squeezed their hand. “If anyone asks, you’re Ice, but the plan is no one asks. You just stay hidden.”
“Alright,” they said.
She got to the floor she’d aimed for, stepping out into the attic.
It was only dimly lit here, late evening sunlight streaming through tiny windows speckled over the roof like half-closed eyes. Long shadows stretched across the floor, collecting in the corners of the room in dark pools. All the furniture and decor that the lower fae used to change the rooms when the Court changed from Midday to Dawn or Midnight, or back, was stacked in piles. Tall towers were covered with sheets enchanted to repel dust. “This way,” she said.
She headed through the pale shapes, hulking stacks looming over her head. “Nobody comes up here,” she said. “So you can just stay hidden, and–” the Winter woman drew back, stuffing the fae with two-coloured hair behind her back. She’d just seen movement ahead.
“Hey, Web,” someone said, stepping out of a shadow. A familiar voice, a familiar shape. The pink-haired Winter man from earlier in the day. The man whose name she knew. He smiled slightly at her, mouth curving around his tusks. “Looks like you had the same idea we did.”
There was more movement behind him. She would guess that that was the blond man who was his friend. Niki’s eyes were wider than usual as she nodded politely at them. “Wanted somewhere out of the way?”
“Like you said, nobody comes up here.” She was right, that was the blonde Winter man. He didn’t step out of the shadow. “Don’t mind us, just plannin’ a little murder.”
Nikii raised her eyebrows at the two of them. “You know I could turn you two in for that and get you executed and get me—“ she didn’t know. “—a better bed,” she said, a little lamely. She’d never really looked into what the rewards of reporting people were. She’d never considered it as an option.
“Dang,” the pink-haired man said, dry. “You’d get people killed for a joke? That’s not the person I met earlier. Talk about people changin’ fast.”
“I’m Ice,” the fae teen behind her offered.
The Winter woman closed her eyes for a moment. “I was looking for somewhere out of the way to put my friend,” she managed. Both of the other men’s eyes were on the person behind her, undoubtedly taking in the tearstains on their face, the ripped shoulder where their nickname token should have been, and her reaction. “We’ll get out of your way.”
“Sure sure,” the blond man said. He still hadn’t emerged from the shadows, but she saw movement as he leaned on something.
She led the teen with the two-toned hair further into the attic. “You stay here, okay?” She twitched aside a dust sheet, looking under it. “See, there’s a couch under there, you can sleep on that.” She made herself smile at them. “Probably better than your cot, anyways.”
The teen crawled into the space she’d revealed, turning themself over in a tangle of long limbs. “It is comfy,” they said, looking back at her. “But I can’t remember how I normally sleep, so I’m sure it’s better.” They gestured. “Fancy furniture.”
She huffed a breath at the attempted joke, gesturing wordlessly at them.
They tried a smile at her, a nervous edge to it. “The people we met, are they dangerous?”
Niki paused for a moment. “Not to us, I don’t think,” she said after a pause. She patted the edge of the couch. “You stay there, and I’ll be back for you tomorrow, okay?”
The fae with two-toned hair nodded, turning over and over on the couch as though to find a comfortable position. Their shoes were leaving marks on the fabric. She considered mentioning that, and then let it go. Let that be someone’s problem later. The Winter teen looked down at themself, and then started scrambling forward with a look of horror on their face. “I’m not supposed to be on the furniture.”
“Wait wait wait,” Niki said, catching their shoulders. “It’s okay, you’re hiding.”
The Winter fae looked around, panicked. “Where am I?”
“You’re okay,” she told him. “You’re in the attic. You’re going to sleep.” That was going to be a problem, if they kept forgetting where they were and trying to leave. And she had to get back to work, she couldn’t even stay with them. She rummaged through her apron, and came out with a rag. “Give me your wrist.”
The fae extended their wrist, and Niki held it against the arm of the couch. “I’m going to tie you on here, so you remember that you stay in place, okay? Stay hidden on the couch. Don’t tell anyone your name, or anybody else’s name. Alright?”
The teen with two-toned hair nodded at her. They tugged at their wrist and then laid down on the couch, curling up long limbs. “Alright,” they said. “Thank you.”
Another person thanking her, though this one didn’t know what they were doing. A lump grew in her throat. “It’s fine,” she said, pulling the dust cloth over them again. “You stay quiet. I’ll be back.”
“Alright,” they said through the fabric, and she dusted her hands off on her apron. She had some questions to ask.
There were no sound-suppression enchantments in the attic, and voices carried. As she rounded the corner back towards the exit, she heard the blond man’s voice.
“—him out before he fuckin’ kills us.”
Her footfall tapped on the floor, and both men fell silent. They watched as she approached. The pink-haired man raised a hand, smiling faintly. “Hope your evenin’s goin’ well.”
“Could be better, could be worse,” she said. She folded her arms, looking at them. She knew Technoblade’s name, and he knew hers. His friend knew hers too. They were tied together in a little array of being able to destroy each other and not doing it. “Tomorrow should be good.” She tipped her head to the side. She was tired all the way down to her bones, and there was still a flame of anger burning in her chest. “Who are you talking about murdering?”
“Well, murder’s a big word, y’know,” the pink-haired man said, wobbling a hand in the air. “We just thought maybe we’d have a little talk with a guy.” There was a pause. “After he’s dead.”
“I’m sure that’ll solve our problems,” she said tartly, caught between frustration and amusement. “Violence solves all the problems, that’s what I’ve learned as a member of this Court.”
“Eh, Violence solves a lot of problems,” the pink-haired man said, raising his eyebrows significantly. “When the problem is someone’s in charge who shouldn’t be.”
“Might help solve this fuckin’ problem,” his blond friend chimed in. “Killin’s somebody who keeps fuckin’ killin’ and spectatin’ shit, when he’s not causin’ other problems.”
Niki stared at them. There was no way. “Who keeps killing and spectating?”
“Well, lots of people, technically.” The pink-haired man smiled slightly. There was no way. Not after everything that had happened today. “Blond guy, took you over earlier, broke my leg.”
“He’s in charge of the fuckin’ East wing of the Court,” the blond man said. “Take him out, maybe people think twice about just fuckin’ killin’ people for nothin’.”
This didn’t even feel like luck, this was something she’d done by trusting people. Made her own luck. She was so tired, but hope was breaking over her like water after too long in the sun. A reprieve from endless things where the only thing to do was keep going. Maybe something was going to change. Niki covered her face with her hands. “What was your plan?” Her voice was slightly muffled.
There was a pause. “Speed,” the pink-haired man said eventually. “We’re both pretty good fighters, and we’re fast. You don’t have to worry about it involvin’ anyone else, we’re goin’ in late at night.”
“That’s not what I was worried about,” Niki said into her hands. She looked up, locking eyes with Technoblade in the half-shadow. Did they even need her? “Do you think it’ll work?”
“Well.” His shoulders moved in a shrug. “It’s worth a shot, isn’t it?”
“We were just discussing tonight or tomorrow, is all,” the blond man cut in. He leaned on a piece of furniture for a moment, then adjusted himself when it moved. “We’re not at our best today, but if we leave it longer he’s just gonna hurt more people tomorrow. Delayin’ puts us in danger too.” He elbowed his pink-haired friend. “You almost died today.”
“And I didn’t,” Technoblade said with dignity. “So we don’t have to worry about that, do we. What’re the odds that happens two days runnin’? So low.”
Two guard-trained fighters against an Upper fae and guards he could compel. In unfamiliar rooms. “Do you think you’ll survive it?” Niki said. She wanted them to survive it, she wanted everyone to survive it. She wanted them all to be able to go home in peace. She wanted these strange folks who she’d traded kindness with to live successfully.
“Pretty sure,” the pink-haired man said, at the same time as his friend said “Probably not, but it’s got a chance of fuckin’ working, right?”
“Wow, and I thought I was the one making the depressin’ jokes,” Technoblade said, poking his friend in the shoulder. “You know you don’t have to be involved if you think it’s not gonna work, this is kinda my revenge assassination plot.”
“Shut,” his friend said, swatting him back. “It’ll be fun.”
“Alright,” Niki said, taking a deep breath. They were just throwing themselves at danger and high odds. She could be the difference between their only hope being luck and being able to be tactical. “Is it better if you have the true name of the guy you want to kill?”
Both Winter men’s heads snapped around, staring at her. “You what ?” Technoblade said.
Niki smiled. “Does it help?” She tipped her head to the side, raising her chin in challenge.
“I’d say,” Technoblade said, eyes wide. “How did you?”
“We might actually make it, if we can lock him the fuck down,” his blond friend said, tone wondering. “Moons fuckin’ know that if we get him gone the guard’s not gonna be that fuckin’ fast to defend a body. Holy shit, we could actually pull this off.”
“How?” Technoblade said again, eyes intent. “Are you sure?”
“I helped the right person,” Niki told them. “Or maybe the wrong person, but still.” She shrugged. “The man tried to destroy someone’s mind to get rid of the info, but he left them alive to suffer, and I found them.” Niki tipped her head to the side. “I’m not a fighter, but I know his name, and if you give me till tomorrow, I can arrange for you to talk to someone who worked in his rooms. Would that help?”
“Holy fuckin’ shit,” the blond Winter man said. “We could fuckin’ make it out again . Yeah, that would fuckin’ help.”
Technoblade’s attention was on her, an intense stare. “You don’t have to be involved, this is going to be dangerous.” He smiled crookedly, mouth quirking around his tusks. “Kind of the opposite of what we want is for anyone to be forced into this.”
“Oh, I want this,” Niki told him. She squared her shoulders. “I want to help people, and this helps a lot of people, and Ice who I just met, and you.” She clasped her hands together, then let go. “He needs to be gone.” She raised her eyebrows. “So I come back tomorrow?”
“Comin’ back tomorrow’ll be good,” Technoblade said, smiling slightly. He elbowed the blond man. “Won’t it be?”
“Oh, come on,” the blond man said, throwing up his hands. “Fine. We’ll go tomorrow.”
She was so tired, but she had something to look forward to tomorrow. Risking her life, but she would be choosing it, this time. And possibly bring about some change. Niki smiled. “Tomorrow. We take down Pandora’s Vault.”