Grub walked back toward the inn with a little pep in his step that he couldn't quite suppress.
The enchanted notebook sat in his hands. He kept glancing down at it as he walked, turning it over, running his thumb along the spine where the symbols caught the fading light. It was a beautiful thing. Practical and beautiful. His two favorite qualities in anything. Normally receiving a gift would not have affected him much. But he supposed that this had really been great gift. Luthiel really was amazing.
But beneath the warmth in his chest sat something heavier.
He was stumped.
There was no way he could betray them now. No way. Absolutely not. Grub had always been firm on his resolves. Once he decided something, he stuck to it. Between Orobas's lessons, Luthiel's stammering gift, and that big stupid smile he hadn't been able to stop from spreading across his face. Somewhere along the way, without realizing it, protecting this village had become one of those decisions.
He couldn't do it. Turning this village over to the Lacerts didn't sit right anymore.
But now what?
Because as little as he wanted to betray them, death was way less appealing. The Mgbaaka Maara was still on his wrist. The button was still in a Lacert's pocket while the countdown continued to tick.
Maybe he could rely on his backup plan of, jamming the bracelet first, then betting it all on the gamble of, fighting the messenger, grabbing the trigger, rewiring it, and ripping the bracelet off before it killed him.
But that was cutting it dangerously close. One mistake and he would be dead before he could scream. He hated plans that relied on luck. Unfortunately, it was currently the best option he had.
Grub sighed as he pushed through the door of the inn and headed up to his room. He didn't have an answer yet. But he had work to do in the meantime.
He pulled out his old notebook and set it beside the enchanted one on the bed. Then he opened both and started writing.
He copied everything. Every word, every diagram, every observation, every scribbled margin note. Page after page, entry after entry, transferring every piece of knowledge from the battered pressed-leaf journal into the clean cream pages of the enchanted book. The new notebook accepted it all without complaint. Every time he filled a page and turned it, a fresh one was waiting behind it, as if the book was growing alongside him.
He wrote through the evening. Through the night and the hours when the village went quiet and the candle on the table burned low and had to be replaced.
By the time morning light crept through the window, Grub was yawning so wide his jaw cracked. He had finally finished. Every word from the old notebook now lived inside the new one. Grub closed both books and laid back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
Now he officially had only four days left. Four days before the Lacerts expected answers. Just four days until his possible execution.
His body screamed for sleep. Maybe he should just spend today resting. Recover from the all-nighter and face whatever came next with a clear head. But then he thought of Luthiel's face. The fire in her crimson eyes. How tight her grip was on his wrist.
Tomorrow, we have a lot to talk about.
That was today now.
Grub stared at the ceiling for a long time. He was nervous, though he would never admit it out loud. He didn't know what she wanted to talk about. He didn't know how much she already knew. And he didn't know what he would say if she asked the wrong questions.
He sighed, rolled onto his side, and closed his eyes.
Sleep first. He would deal with it when he woke up.
***
Earlier.
Luthiel had watched Grub walk away.
She stood in the middle of the road long after he had agreed to talk, her crimson eyes following his white coat until it disappeared around a corner. She let out a long breath through her nose.
Inside her head, the argument had already started.
Dammit. The voice in control crossed her metaphorical arms. We didn't get shit done today. We are no closer to knowing what his deal is than we were before.
The monotone voice replied slowly. Well, we agreed to talk tomorrow. We will question him then.
The joyful one broke out in laughter. Yep! And we got to give him our gift! Did you see his face? He really liked it!
The angry one scowled. Yeah, about that. Why the fuck did I have to be the one to give it to him? That's bullshit.
The flat voice answered calmly. We don't always have control of who is in charge. It just happens sometimes.
The happy one agreed instantly. Yeah, don't blame us! You were all stammering there, huh? Getting flustered or something? Her tone turned teasing. I know you're an idiot who can't use a hundred percent of our brain, but I thought you would at least know how to speak properly. Now Mister Grub totally thinks we're a stammering mess.
The angry one screamed back. SHUT THE FUCK UP, LU! You're such a pushover. Quit sucking up to him! I did fucking fine. He seemed happy enough, so shut it!
The monotone voice cut through. Enough, you two.
Both went quiet.
We need to head home. We have our mission tomorrow and we were successful in giving Scribe his gift. He even seemed to genuinely like it.
The angry one grumbled. Dammit, El, I hate how you make sense most of the time. It pisses me off.
The happy one giggled.
And Thi, El continued flatly, stop antagonizing Lu. And Lu, stop provoking Thi. We have more important things to focus on.
A huff came from Thi and a hardy laugh from Lu. While El remained silent.
Luthiel simply walked home.
***
The chief's house was warm and smelled like alcohol. That was its default state.
When Luthiel opened the door, Morrigan was sprawled across the couch in her usual position, one leg thrown over the armrest, a large wooden jug in her hand. Empty bottles lined the floor beside her like fallen soldiers. The basin of water on her head hadn't spilled a drop despite the angle she was lying at.
She finished another drink before noticing Luthiel in the doorway.
Morrigan pointed lazily. "There's my adorable little menace."
"I have returned, Master."
"Still calling me that, huh?" Replied Morrigan with a frown.
"Of course."
Morrigan snorted, "whatever."
She pointed her bottle toward Luthiel.
"Oh, yah." She said lazily. "Where were ya? Did ya hang out with the Sky-Fallen cutie today?"
Luthiel stepped inside and bowed. "Yes, Master. We went to the library with Teacher Orobas."
Morrigan took another swig, her eyes half-closed.
"Ah, the library?"
Luthiel nodded slowly. Morrigan lowered the jug and looked at her. The casual haze in her eyes sharpened just slightly.
"Hey. Did that fucker mention anything about the Mgbaaka Maara he's got on?"
Luthiel shook her head.
"No, Master. He has said nothing about it. Not once this whole time." She paused. "Though I told him we were going to have a talk tomorrow. I plan to question him then."
Morrigan kept drinking, but her eyes didn't leave Luthiel.
"Really?" She lowered the jug. "And if he tells ya he's a spy for the Lacerts, what will ya do?"
The question landed heavily. Inside Luthiel's head, three voices stirred at once, arguing over each other in rapid overlapping bursts. But the answer that came out was simpler than any of them.
"I don't know."
Morrigan sighed and let out a dry chuckle. "Yeah. That's the problem, ain't it?"
She shifted on the couch, sitting up slightly. The jug rested on her knee.
"The Guardians have been poking at me to execute him, ya know. Pazuzu especially. That stubborn bastard has been real adamant about the boy needin' to die." She took another drink. "But ya know? I ain't really want to kill the kid."
She wiped her beak with the back of her hand.
"He's quite the looker, but that ain't really it." She grabbed another bottle from beside the couch and uncorked it with her teeth. "I just feel like he's quite interesting indeed. I can't say I trust him. But I don't sense mal intent from him neither."
Luthiel nodded. Her crimson eyes stared at the floor.
"As much as I hate to say it," she muttered, "that Bug doesn't strike me as bad either."
Morrigan nodded slowly. Then her expression shifted into something more serious.
"But that's the problem, Luthiel. If he tells us directly that he's a spy, then as chief I'll have no choice but to execute him. I've been able to hold off because I want to give him a chance and because there ain't technically any direct evidence against him." She stroked her chin. "I haven't even told the Guardians about the Mgbaaka Maara. If they knew about that, they'd have his head on a pike by morning."
She took a long drink. "I'm basically cheating to keep him alive."
Luthiel moved quietly through the room, tidying as she went. She picked up empty bottles, straightened cushions, and grabbed a fresh drink to hand to Morrigan, who accepted it without looking.
"I know," Luthiel said quietly. "I don't know what to do either."
Morrigan drank. Then she looked at Luthiel again.
"Also. Ya said you went to the library with him, yes?"
Luthiel nodded. Morrigan watched her carefully.
"Do ya think he somehow figured out the location of the Dundun Ile?"
Luthiel's eyes widened. "N-no way! That idiot Bug wouldn't be able to—"
"Don't underestimate him," Morrigan said flatly. "That boy is sharper than he lets on. I've seen the way he watches things. He ain't the type to miss details." She stroked her chin. "If he told the Lacerts about the Dundun Ile's location, we'd have a real big problem on our hands. We already got security on it—ya need either a Guardian's hand, or mine, or yours to open it—but if they figured out a way past that…"
She trailed off and took another drink.
Luthiel stammered slightly. "But the Dundun Ile has to choose its owner, right? There's no way any of those Lacert fuckers would be able to use it!"
Morrigan stroked her chin slowly.
"I don't know. But if even a single one of 'em could…"
The sentence hung unfinished. The implication was enough. Luthiel shook her head firmly.
"It'll be fine. We've always faced people wanting to conquer us or take the weapon, and we've shooed them all off! Just from your might and the Guardians' strength alone!"
Morrigan sighed and leaned back into the couch.
"I suppose. Though we may just be lucky that we ain't considered high priority by any of the real nations. If one of them ever decided to send their true best after us instead of these little scouting parties…" She didn't finish that sentence either.
Luthiel's expression tightened beneath her gruff exterior. Morrigan shook her head and waved her jug dismissively.
"Look. If that Sky-Fallen fucker tells ya anything tomorrow, let me know. I'm hopin' he's on our side. If worse comes to worst, we'll need every bit of help we can get."
She paused and tilted her head.
"Oh yeah. I'm free the day after tomorrow if ya actually want me to train ya again." She pointed the jug at Luthiel. "But ya can't quit this time!"
Luthiel smiled. It was small, but genuine.
"Thank you, Master."
"And I'll train that hottie too. It'll be a fun day, huh?"
Luthiel nodded, her smile widening just slightly. Then she bowed and headed for the stairs. As she climbed, the smile faded. Her mind filled with worry. What would tomorrow bring? What answers would she get? How much of what he told her would confirm things she was hoping weren't true?
And if her worst fears turned out to be real—if the boy she had defended, fed, guided, and given a gift to was exactly what the Guardians believed he was—what would she do then?
Luthiel reached her room, stepped inside, and closed the door behind her. She didn't have an answer. None of her selves did.