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May 12

the future flowering like a ruptured vessel

Summary: Now residing in a kingdom possessed of a future, Hornet feels the weight of that welcome burden, lost to Hallownest. Unwilling to waste this chance, she turns her attention to aiding those long crushed under the Pale Monarch's will: the caretakers, the former pilgrims, and Pharloom's wayward knight. But the knight's attention rests on Hornet, in turn, and the once-princess may find her own wishes called into question. So! This was done for the Minibang on the Lacenet Losers Discord and of course I decided to do something more challenging when deadlines were involved... But it was a lot of fun to work on/think about!! Thanks to the amazing artists: Shifty, Mokito, and Pluto!!! Go check out more of their work!!!! It was so cool to see the illustrations as they took shape and I still can't stop staring at them tbh. And thanks as well to c-rowlesdraws and thewhitefluffyhat on tumblr for beta reading and providing detailed feedback that helped shape this into something coherent <333 AO3 link

To save a kingdom was nothing at all.

To Hornet, this was a wholly new observation. She had never seen a kingdom saved before. She had known only death wrested from its own jaws, the grave becoming the peaceful thing it was meant to be. Hallownest had lost any chance of its saving when the first plan to do so was set into motion, and all it had found, in its deliverance, was rest.

A kingdom saved allowed for little rest. The work made more of itself.

There were mouths to feed, and this meant hunting, foraging, and — more recently — discussions of how agriculture might be restored. So she had hunted, and foraged, and had sat in on one or two discussions thus far, by request.

Once fed the shells attached required shelter, clothing, and all sorts of sundries. These needs had seen her all about the kingdom, constructing and collecting and recovering.

That was beside accounting for the concerns of the wounded. Medicine to be made or acquired, cloth to be found for more ever more bandages, and skills to be taught to those hale enough to treat their fellows. It had been some time since her claws had turned to any traditional healing, but she was glad now that her mentor in combat had deemed field medicine an essential part of any warrior’s education.

And at last, when all this was attended to, these fortunate living still required enough comfort to remind them why they bothered with all the rest. That had taken her, among other places, deep into the bellveins, in search of a long-neglected store of musical instruments, as it seemed that — miraculously, impossibly — enough citizenry had survived to use them.

A comforting thought, as she hefted another corpse into her arms and set it as neatly as she could onto a cart with the rest.

No. She could not call the kingdom’s salvation nothing, by the measure of all that was lost. That would have been unfair to those who had brought such a miracle about alongside her, to the strength burned away to preserve what was left. To the defenders and caretakers who had watched over the remaining population, while Hornet scoured Pharloom for power. To the old hearts she had claimed to sustain the new. To the shamans who, after bearing her harsh rebuke, born of fear, had given everything for the chance to do this work, and who would never see its fruit.

The kingdom's saving had been a mere moment, flare of anguish and determination and, yes, glory. It had not been nothing. But, as hard-won as it had come, it was already gone. In its place, there was a future to sustain.

She took a moment to nestle the corpse in its place so that it was less likely to roll, and straightened its limbs so that they rested evenly.

"I rather think that not many more will fit, at least as long as you insist on, what was it? Handling them respectfully?"

Hornet straightened, to meet her companion's languid gaze. "Yes, and I well know that you do not need to be reminded. Indeed, I believe you are correct in your assessment."

Lace, draped over the cart's pushbar, dipped her head in acknowledgment. She allowed her gaze to linger over their cargo, in their crumbling stage of decay. "It just seems like such trouble. They were gone long before they stopped moving."

"And so the care we can show them now is long overdue."

"Oh, poor dears…" Lace sighed indulgently. "I wonder if I killed any of these. It may have been the last mercy they knew. Before now, of course."

"Perhaps so. Such creatures would not have had the strength to deny what you offered."

"Why, thank you." Lace managed to flourish a half-bow from over her perch.

Hornet knelt again, to scoop up another corpse that had fallen beside the last. Companions of some sort, she supposed. Siblings, friends, mates. Merely two pilgrims, strangers to each other, who had thought themselves lucky to make it so far up, until the teeth of the Citadel’s trap closed around them.

They were cleaning the Citadel. Such work was distantly familiar to Hornet. A grim duty, but at least dry this time, smelling only of dust and metal on her claws. She remembered, as she took each one into her arms: some of Hallownest's corpses had still tasted of rot, cloying for some time even after she'd washed.

She remembered. All that dust on her claws and cloak. Unfamiliar masks, for the most part, but surely there were some that she had offered her own mercy to. She'd had nothing else to give.

Now, though. Now, we might ensure—

"Spider."

"What?" Hornet glanced at Lace sharply, then looked down at the carcass cradled in her arms. Still cradled in her arms. She stepped forward and set it into the cart.

Lace laughed. "I'd almost worried you were growing attached."

"There is nothing here to be attached to. As you say, they are long gone."

"That doesn't stop you from seeming to enjoy my company."

"It is never so tiresome with you around, pale one, while the dead remain only as a burden. A necessary one, but a burden nonetheless."

"Do you tire of it, then?"

"Of course. But it must be done."

"Someone else could do it. This hardly requires the power of the kingdom’s own savior."

Hornet agreed, "Thankfully, you are correct.”

“Then why,” Lace asked, “are you doing this?”

“As you say, someone else could do it. But it is grisly, undesirable.” And it had been worse the last time, with the smell of rot that recalled flares of burning orange behind her eyes. She had had no choice then; there had been no one else to cleanse her home. Now, it was enough solace that someone else could have done it in her absence, and so she promised this service gladly. There is enough work that others would prefer, so I will leave them to it and turn my familiarity with corpses to something useful.

“And,” Hornet concluded, “I am hardly working alone, am I?”

“I’m also something of an expert where corpses are concerned,” Lace acknowledged lightly.

It went faster, to share the task with another. Though Lace's words prickled and prodded as well as the point of her pin, her claws seemed as willing as any, and were as able as Hornet's own. Indeed, Lace was already pushing the cart further along the corridor, leaving Hornet to follow.

They had room for perhaps two more, she judged. Lace had found one, was placing it in the cart as Hornet had shown her. Hornet spotted their last soon enough, moldering against the gilded wall.

When she pulled it away, only the top half came into her arms. The shell had weakened significantly, more than she'd understood from looking at it. Now she stood in a dissipating plume of corpse-dust, showering down the front of her cloak. Her coughing echoed, as she wordlessly cursed her own carelessness and offered an apology to the dead creature.

She had known such a thing could happen. It had happened to her before. That time, the stench — at least it was not the same stench as then, that rot, sweetly stinging her setae, over her claws, down her front, in her face. This was just dust and metal. Dust and metal. Still it took some effort to hold onto the half she'd got, instead of dropping it and wiping her claws on her soiled cloak. It was more a matter of the corpse's dignity than hers; she would not see it further desecrated.

Lace brought the cart back around. Before Lace could comment, Hornet acknowledged, "I failed to heed my own advice. Now you see the consequences."

"Oh, I doubt they mind very much."

"Nonetheless it is not I with one half still upon the floor," Hornet replied, even as she set the top into the cart gently, and leaned down to retrieve what remained with greater care.

"No, but you are positively filthy." Lace's face wrinkled as she looked Hornet up and down.

Lace was theatrical in part because she had to be, if she wished to be understood, or to convey any emotion at all. With her internal mouthparts and soft face, she was difficult to read when she didn’t wish to be read. A fascinating face.

Hornet did not let her gaze dwell there, but instead looked Lace over in return. Patches of grime were smeared down her front. Hornet remarked, "Such work is never clean."

"Oh, I'd hardly noticed." Lace followed Hornet's gaze, glancing down at herself. "And having done this once before, your experience is so much vaster than mine."

"I hope not, and I hope it never becomes so.” Hornet shook out her cloak. “But it was enough."

"And all on your own, too… " Lace hummed, as she turned around again, setting off for their destination."I have little doubt hat every bug who ever sought out Hallownest must have been as much a fool as any pilgrim."

Hornet continued brushing at the front of her cloak as she walked. "I may have thought uncharitably of them, at times."

Lace remarked, just loud enough to be heard over the cart, "But you scraped them all off the ground, too, didn't you?"

"Yes."

Such was Hallownest's lot, which she had accepted as her own.

***

Having collected as many corpses as they could hold, they were bound for Songclave, where the living now had their needs met sufficiently to tend to the dead.

The trip was short; they'd worked inward, moving back toward the old shrine as they'd gathered. When they arrived, they turned over their charges to Sherma, who had added the arrangement of funerary rites to his own duties.

He helped them empty the cart, arranging the corpses on rows of old blankets and shawls and veils arrayed for that purpose. There were enough; indeed, they had two extra spots remaining once they were finished. They all knew about how much one cart would hold, by now. The three of them handled the unloading themselves, as too many bugs crowding about the cart only hindered each other, but former pilgrims had come forward to clean and prepare the husks as they were laid out.

When they had finished, Sherma addressed them solemnly, "Thank you, dear maidens. Once we've sung for them, it will be time for supper. Won't you join us?"

Hornet answered, "My thanks, but not on this occasion. It should go to those who need it, in any case."

Lace gave Hornet a sidelong look, before declining for herself. "Oh, I'm sure it's simply scrumptious. But I could hardly bear to impose."

"Oh, it would be no imposition! We have enough to share, and we owe that in no small part to your efforts. We'd love to have— Oh."

Hornet was already walking away, while the bugs of Songclave were filtering toward their caretaker. They would join in the song, and then would take these ascended back below, to be burned in the Marrow. Hornet had accompanied some of these groups, as well, to ease their load. But that grief, she had found, was not for her to share.

There were more corpses to gather. Of course there would be more grief. The land had borne pale sorrow for too long for even pale claws to clear so swiftly. In Hallownest, alone, it had taken her another age to see to the dead. Or so it had felt, when she finally finished, when she'd had so little else to do.

But Lace had reminded her — as if she could forget — there were other matters she could attend to here, in this kingdom saved. So rather than taking up the cart again, Hornet went to the wishwall. As she considered the wishes of the living, awaiting someone to promise them, the dirge to honor the dead rose behind her.

To its melody, she read:

“…Help to clear the vines choking off sections of the old Memorium…”

“…Would like flowers from Shellwood to scent soap for the spa…”

“…Need more shell shards so that we can complete…”

She read. She tried to read, to consider, to make her choices. But a melancholy gripped her, standing there; the same thick sorrow that had come over her with the corpse in her arms. She stood with a claw raised, as if tracing the words on the request for shell shards, and thought: what would they have wished for in Hallownest? To finish the tram, perhaps. To resupply the city, to have honey and silk paper again.

To be able to rest, unafraid.

Had she been able to grant that, what future could they have had? But it had not been in her power, and she knew better than to dwell on the hypothetical, and the wishwall had not been Hallownest’s tradition. So, it was all rather foolish, she concluded privately. She unclenched her claws, which had unthinkingly twisted into the lining of her cloak.

At her side, Lace skimmed the board. Her mouthparts clicked as she tsked. "I changed my mind. I think I shall be staying for dinner. And you should, too."

Hornet turned to face her. "I am sure you will be welcome, but why?"

"Must I have a reason?"

"No, but I don't doubt that you do."

"Hmm. While we're off gathering their dead, they must be occupying themselves somehow. I would see what they have to offer."

"And you wish for me to join you, pale one?"

"You have me join you often enough. Why not take a beat to eat? You are not so far removed from mortality that you don't need it."

"My needs are met," Hornet replied.

"All the more reason to spare a little time for this, then. And your little caretaker certainly wants your company. You've so rarely accepted his hospitality, and he's dreadfully hurt."

"You exaggerate. I know he would be glad for either of us to join them, but he knows as well what occupies me."

Still, Hornet joined Lace as she returned. The song had concluded, and those who had been selected to bear the dead below were embarking. For the rest of Songclave, those in charge of the meal were laying it out within the former shrine, now a hall where the community could gather.

It was simple fare. Cooked skull scuttler from the Memorium, and some foraged Shellwood vegetation brought up from a supply run. But there was enough for everyone to eat their fill. Hornet accepted a portion, offering her gratitude to the rather overawed bug who served her.

Silently, she tore off pieces of scuttler meat carefully and placed them directly into her maxillae. Lace ate next to her, taking evident delight in tearing her meat out of its shell, and shredding the crisped vegetable stalks into her mouth. On Hornet’s other side was Sherma's seat, though he had busied himself with some last-minute arrangements and would no doubt join them shortly.

Around them, bugs ate and chattered and laughed. These bugs, whom she had saved. That they could eat in relative comfort now was, to their own understanding, largely her doing. Now she was surrounded by them, by their easy joy and satisfaction. This must have been what she had fought for. She had not just been struggling for the sake of it; she had acted for a purpose, and her hope, however slim, had been realized.

She observed the former pilgrim across from her, deep in conversation with their own neighbor. Something about home villages, about family or the lack thereof, about childhood games. Similar noise was everywhere. This was peace. This was what a kingdom was meant to be, or closer to that impossible ideal.

She felt, inexplicably, that if she reached out her claws toward the bug across from her, she would touch nothing.

She returned her attention to her food, forced down another chunk of meat. It was a little burned in some places, a little underdone in others. The cook must be learning. They would have time to learn. The kingdom had been saved.

There is time now. For learning, for living.

Sherma took his place at her side, but before digging into his own food, he turned to Hornet and Lace. "Thank you for joining us. I know you prefer to keep busy, but so much of what you do, you do for us. I'm grateful for the chance to offer you some respite in return."

Hornet frowned faintly. "I appreciate your willingness to share," she acknowledged. "As long as you do not feel you owe for it. Kindness, I will accept, but there is nothing to repay."

Silence followed.

"I don't believe he said anything at all like that," Lace noted brightly, as she scraped the final shreds of meat from her scuttler with a clawtip.

"No, certainly not! We of Songclave have seen much of your strength, but little else of you." Sherma considered, and laughed apologetically. "That is, it is only your company I wanted. So, if anything, I suppose this is asking more of you, rather than offering anything. Though I hope that you are enjoying the meal?"

"I am. Thank you."

It made for a pleasant enough diversion, at least. Hornet was certainly no longer hungry, though she had hardly been hungry before. She'd felt a stirring of appetite, perhaps, the beginnings of what could be hunger. But she was skilled at staving off real hunger, and she rarely needed food, in any case.

At least it appeared that he had spoken truly before. They had enough. She may not have needed the food, but she wasn’t keeping it from anyone who did.

So Hornet ate. She listened. Lace and Sherma spoke around her, and Hornet did feel some gladness at that; it was good that Lace felt comfortable enough to engage in this manner. It was an idle, glancing conversation about hunting in the Memorium, and certainly a topic to which Hornet could have contributed if she'd had any desire.

She did not. She was as far removed from their words as she was from that conversation across from her; from any of the strangers' discussions that went on nearby; from the scraping of clawtips against prey-shell and the clicking of mandibles and all the other sounds of a normal mealtime.

When did you last know such fortune?

She swallowed. Pressed in another bite. At her side, Sherma laughed at some clever remark of Lace’s.

How long can it last?

Once she had consumed the last of her greens, she stood up. "My thanks again for supper. Perhaps I will join you again, but now I must be away."

After her, Lace and Sherma shared a glance. Lace nodded, and stood to follow Hornet from the hall.

Hornet found herself back at the wishwall, but she did not make any selections, nor even read any of the wishes on offer. At her side, Lace made a soft, scornful sound — so soft Hornet wasn't certain she'd been meant to hear it.

“What is the matter with you?”

“Nothing, I should think. It is only that there remains too much at claw for me to be idle.”

“A shame,” Lace sighed. “I was thinking that I might ask for a moment of your time, myself.”

Hornet inclined her head, listening.

"I have a wish for you."

Hornet answered at once, "Tell me, then, what you would have me do."

"I won't," Lace replied, and before Hornet could protest, went on, "It can only be granted in one place, and I will tell you there."

"Where, pale one?"

"The Cradle."

Hornet understood Lace's intentions. She agreed as readily as she had sought the task. "Very well. Let us be away."

***

No one else had been to Pharloom's crown since Hornet herself. Or, if Lace had come, she had done so on her own; given no word and left no trace.

Hornet slipped first through the new, narrow entrance, into the gloom heavy with must and its own silence. Lace did not follow, and lingered for long enough that Hornet peered back down at her.

Hornet asked, "Are you certain you wish to do this here?"

"Quite."

In one movement, Lace emerged from the pipes and leaped onto the elevator's platform. Hornet sprang clear just in time, and grabbed the ledge to pull herself up after Lace.

Lace stood waiting, facing Hornet. Her pin was stuck in the ground before her.

"Here we are," she proclaimed. "Would you like to hear my wish?"

"I would."

"I'm afraid I must ask one more thing of you, then."

"I am not in the habit of giving favors in order to promise a wish," Hornet informed her dryly. "But ask."

"Set your needle there." She gestured to the space next to her pin. "You won't need it for this."

Hornet narrowed her eyes. But she gripped her needle beneath the eye in both claws, stepped forward, and planted it beside Lace's pin. Lace took a step back from her own weapon, and Hornet mimicked the movement.

"Good little spider," Lace said. "I would like your help to clean this place."

Hornet's retort for that particular variant of spider went unspoken. She looked around them, before her gaze settled on the needle and the pin, and her thoughts settled on what she had come there expecting: a duel, their weapons’ use in earnest. She asked, "This place… The flowerbed?"

Lace followed her gaze, and hummed, as if to herself. "Yes."

"I would be glad to assist you with this."

They took a moment to consider their approach. Ultimately, Hornet produced the delver's drill, to put it to a use more in-line with its original purpose. Once the largest fragments of fossil and stone were broken, they could pick them from among the flowers drop them off the side without much effort.

They enacted this plan largely in silence, much as they often cleared away corpses and hunted down snitchflies and gathered cloth for bandages, for those bugs whose shells could use them. Any noise, the only noise, was necessary. The bursting buzz of the drill, soon giving way to shuffling steps through the flowers and the clang of fragment falling onto metal or crunching against itself.

Hornet had referred to Lace often enough as her companion, had heard it from others, had thought of her that way. And it fit, to Hornet, because in moments such as these, Lace's presence was companionable. Comfortable.

When their final armfuls of rubble had tumbled over the side of the platform, they stood together at its edge, and looked back at their work. Though torn petals and snapped stems littered the bed, the improvement was noteworthy. A soft, satisfying burn ran up Hornet's arms, down her back.

She asked, "What was this place to you?"

In answer, Lace waded out among the flowers, allowing her claws to brush their petals of those still standing. When she reached the center, she stopped and sank to her knees, still facing away, a choreographed submission.

Hornet joined her, stepping around so they could face each other.

Lace's pin was on the floor at her side. Rather than retrieving it, she had plucked a single flower, and offered it up to the spider in front of her.

Hornet settled before her in a neat movement, displacing more petals and adjusting her cloak around her crossed legs. She leaned forward, and accepted the flower. Her claws traced individuals petals, one, two, three. She plucked one. The material was exceptionally delicate.

"Did the monarch make these?"

"No, it was some weaver. I could never fathom why. Some sentiment of her own regret, or a desire to show the monarch what her creations were capable of. Regardless, I was charged with their maintenance."

"I see. Would that I could provide some insight." Hornet turned the flower in her claws. "But any who could truly say are long gone."

"Of course. But you, clearly, can tell the truth of them, fine as they are."

Hornet nodded once.

Lace extended a slender arm. "We are all the same substance, I think. The stem is a more flexible variant of what makes my armature." She gave Hornet a bitter smile. "And the petals, that admired part…"

"Silk."

"Silk," Lace repeated. "They may have been a gift for her, or a taunt, but she left them to me. And so they were mine."

She reached out to reclaim the flower from Hornet. Hornet did not offer it back.

"A moment. I wish to try something."

So Lace set her claw back in her lap. Hornet placed a claw near where the stem and blossom met. She wove, with strands so fine that they were only visible as glimmers until they joined.

It took more than a moment, in truth. It required a great deal of concentration, and this made her aware of depth of the ache in her muscles, a certain heaviness in her head, even the dryness in her throat.

But Lace waited, watching her work with an unwavering gaze. When, at last, the bloom was suitably full to Hornet’s eyes, she offered it back.

"Lovely… of course," Lace observed as she accepted it. "As beautiful as before." She sat still and was, suddenly and thoroughly, a horrible vision; herself an embodiment of a carefully-crafted, everlasting beauty that no living being should have to bear alone.

Hornet kept her claws steadfastly over her lap.

Lace asked, "What is this place to you, Hornet?"

"This place? We fought here."

"No. I mean, this place… This kingdom. What is Pharloom to you?" Lace pressed, "You are bound here no longer. So why do you stay?"

Hornet considered the question. Lace deserved an answer, if anyone did. "I suppose I will go, in time. But I had hardly realized… It is one thing to know what infrastructure is required to live, and another to establish it, or re-establish it after such degredation. And it is my hope that Pharloom will live beyond its saving."

"The fate of this place is no more your responsibility than it is mine. It never was, and it certainly isn’t now."

"If you would claim no responsibility, then why have you been assisting me?"

Lace smiled slowly, warping her face. "I've said, haven't I? I've so enjoyed watching you suffer, little spider."

"That has not been the reason for some time. You do not have to tell me, but I would ask that you do not lie."

"Poor little spider. Perhaps you have misjudged me."

Hornet snorted. "Not in this, I think. I have witnessed your efforts, just as you have mine. We have shared enough suffering, by now."

"Is that so? Have you been watching, too?" Lace mused, as if to herself. "You've given me a front row seat, that's all. You throw yourself through trial after pointless trial. How could I look away?" Then she dug her claws into the silk and shredded the new petals from the stem; the soft tearing a violation in the quiet. "I hated this place. I hated these flowers — I could not have despised a thing more." She glanced up at Hornet coyly. "So I'm afraid I've made you waste your time here."

Hornet watched the petals fall. "What is the meaning of this, Lace? What did you want, truly?"

"Truly? To see if you'd be foolish enough to come to this cursed place, or if you might think to stop for a moment. To question why something is asked of you before you throw your whole being into the task."

"As if there would be any benefit to undertaking some half-measure."

"And so it is that you suffer."

Hornet answered coldly, "I would name inaction as far greater suffering. What would you have done, had I not pressed you?"

"I would have left it all to rot, obviously."

Hornet’s gaze found her claws in her lap. She remembered the taste of rot on them, cloying, clinging. "Again, you lie. I told you: you do not have to answer me, but I will not accept falsehoods."

"No? Good. I tire of your falsehoods, as well. You say it's hope that keeps you here, but I know better. So tell me truly. What is it that you fear will happen, if you set down these burdens you clutch?"

"It is no burden. I thought of it that way, once, but I see now the opportunity that has been granted to me."

"And what opportunity is that? I've only seen you seek to further martyr yourself."

"You presume. I do what I must, and know well the limits of my strength."

"Oh! Yes, you know your limits, and make such clever use of them doing far more than what you must. What exactly are these obligations you speak of?"

"I need not defend my conduct to you, but since you are so concerned—" Lace laughed, too loudly. Hornet ignored her. "I will tell you this: the greatest suffering I have ever known was to be unable to pay what I owed. Saving this kingdom, and doing what I might to restore it afterward… Whatever it seems, I do not suffer for it."

Lace laughed. "And you berate me for falsehoods. I'll let you dodge the question of your suffering; you expect me to believe you ever left a debt unpaid?"

"I had no means to repay it before I lost the chance."

"What was this debt?"

"One of blood. For the life I was granted," Hornet answered simply.

"I'm afraid I don't follow."

"I have told you how I came to be, to ensure you were not at too much of a disadvantage."

"And I'm sure you regret it now. But I still don't follow — if anything, I'd rather think you'd deserve some recompense for your circumstances, as well."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Hallownest hardly seems like it was a kinder place than Pharloom. You suffered enough there, did you not? What debt could you possibly have owed for such an existence?"

"Whatever came before, I am here now, I live—"

"As currency. I see," Lace murmured. "Yes. You mustn't spend your life away all at once. You must be thrifty, cautious—"

"You do not understand!"

"No… I couldn't, could I? An ungrateful brat like me." Lace snatched up her pin, and leveled it at Hornet. "And I won't abide your prattling any longer. Leave this place. Leave me to what is mine."

"As you wish."

Hornet stood, reclaimed her needle, and slipped out of the Cradle, before she said something she might regret.

***

The toll was late. Hornet had the Citadel to herself, with both the dead and living at rest. She had moved quietly, reclaiming a cart from Songclave and drawing it deeper into the gilded halls. She had again considered the wishwall, but — no. No more wishes, not that cycle. So she had taken the cart, instead, to a place she had marked on her map as needing attention. If anyone saw her, they wisely left her undisturbed.

Now she had half-filled the cart on her own, and was presently laying another corpse among its fellows. Nothing was fated to last forever, but these bodies had lasted long enough to be granted peace — for her to give them that, or at least help them part of the way. Rhe former pilgrims would do the rest when they woke. But she could do this much, and this time it might matter.

She caught that thought, or it caught her. Why did you ever do it, then, if it did not matter?

The ache the fine weaving had awakened in her had not faded. The dust coated her claws, dry and dulling. Still better than rot, than that remnant virulence, than the empty age she had spent, without even the burden she had hoped to take on—

Already she had achieved more than she could have ever hoped to, and she would do more still. She had no intention of stopping, no matter what anyone said. Certainly not she would not heed the bitter advise of that pale creature. Let Lace be content to idle, if she would. Perhaps Lace was right about her own responsibilities, or lack thereof. This land had offered her little enough, and taken much more. So Hornet would not begrudge Lace the choice she made, any more than she would be swayed.

Nothing was fated to last forever. Hallownest had not, and Pharloom would not. Not even she would, no matter that it felt that way, at times, and no matter how she felt about that, in turn. Some things merely endured longer than others.

In failing to fulfill Lace’s wish, Hornet understood that their companionship was unlikely to endure. Perhaps the failure had not been hers alone, and yet – the loss of it struck her, acute, unexpected. Had one success, however grand, so easily blinded her to what she understood above all else?

Nothing will last, and that is as it should be.

Another corpse went into the cart. It was slower, working alone. This was not a task that could be rushed, as she had been reminded earlier. But she had worked alone before, and would do so again without complaint. She squared her shoulders against the burn in them, and pushed the cart on.

***

Bellhart was still quiet when she returned there, almost reminiscent of its state immediately after the strings were loosed. It made her wary, though she could recognize that some of this was her weariness. She had not lied; she knew her limits. Now her bellhome awaited her at last.

She did not make it that far.

“Miss Hornet! Come, come, please!” Pill, one half of the town’s courier pair, peered down over the edge of their platform and waved frantically to her.

She took a breath, and noted that she could only smell Pill, though Tipp’s scent yet lingered. When she reached the top, she asked, “What has happened to Tipp?”

“I don’t know, but I fear much-much! He went many tolls ago to scavenge for material, goodly metals, from the Underworks, and has not returned.”

Hornet weighed her options, along with her condition. She was tired, but otherwise hale and whole, and she had eaten recently. Still that soreness lingered in her limbs. Somehow her throat still felt dusty and dry. The bellhome, a short climb away, did appeal.

But it was simple, in the end. An easy choice, a choice she had never thought she’d be able to make. She could not build a future alone. No one could: bug, fungus, root, or beyond. Especially not that higher caste. A future would need as many bugs as could survive to sustain it. And what was asked of her now was so little, but of such great importance to the one asking – and well within her power.

She knew her limits.

“Thankfully I have nothing to attend to now, certainly nothing more pressing than your brother’s wellbeing. I will endeavor to find him,” she promised.

***

Tipp's trail through the Underworks was plain to follow. Hornet knelt beside the scattered sundries, caught her quarry's scent, and set out into the gloom and grinding. She darted past the bite of the churning machines and ancient gears, their teeth as sharp as malice.

It was often a simple matter of counting. Hornet sprinted toward the crushing metal. It slammed between the points on its track: one, two, three; three, two, one.

She had a steady count going. She knew when to jump, she knew the distance that would bring her clear, she knew better than to move when she did. Still she left the ground too late.

The momentum of the hunt, the charge of rescue, whatever it was that drove her, drove her now into that weight and its velocity and the cruel metal that at once tore through cloak and shell to make a ragged mess of her carapace, her cry came out strangled as she thrashed to free herself—

"Fool spider!"

Claws caught in her cloak and pulled her back, steadied her. For an instant there was blood pouring to slick the floor and a trembling she could not hope to control, the throbbing of her wounds rendered distant by shock. She gave it no time to wear off. With a strained word, she bound the worst of her injuries.

Cessation of pain. Then return of breath and motion. Through her cloak, that touch stayed fixed, on her shoulder and against her waist, well-positioned to have kept her standing before she addressed her injuries. Lace's claws on her were light, but firm. Lace had not allowed her to fall.

Some damage remained; when the wounds were so extreme, it could be unwise to do more than was necessary, else something might need to be split and rebound to correct any error. But she felt her battered shell less than those claws against it, gentle, resolutely gentle.

Hornet straightened and stepped away. "My thanks.”

“You’re very welcome.” Lace smiled serenely.

“Why have you come here?”

“I’ve come after you, obviously. Once again reduced to following at your hindclaws.” Lace sighed prettily. “Clearly I was right to do so.”

"I could have managed. I have before." Hornet kept her voice even. “Now that you have revealed yourself, what do you intend?”

“What do you intend, after sharing an embrace with industrial equipment?”

“I have come here in search of a waylaid courier. I intend to find him as quickly as possible and depart.”

“Ah. Naturally,” Lace agreed. She decided for both of them, “I shall accompany you the rest of the way, then.”

Hornet met Lace's gaze. It was vaguely troubling to Hornet that she could not now read Lace’s expression. Even something so plain as anger, disdain, or irritation would have been — not a relief, but useful. But Lace's silken shell was smooth, showing at most calculated placidity.

Hornet replied, “You may go where you will. As I said, I aim to find him quickly, so I will not quarrel with you.”

With that established, she set out again, falling back into her familiar pace. Lace kept up with her easily. “Oh, dear. I’ve angered you, haven’t I?”

Hornet acknowledged in turn, "I offended you."

“Now wherever did you get that idea?"

Hornet held her thoughts in favor of more carefully timing her leap over a pit of spinning metal barbs. Once they’d landed on the other side, she said, "I dislike having hurt you. But I am unsure of what I said that wounded you so, and I will not apologize when I only partly understand the fault."

"I certainly wasn't expecting an apology."

"I might offer one, but I would need to know your grievance first." Hornet gestured them to a stop, and knelt to examine a torn scrap from Tipp’s pack. The scent was stronger.

Lace scoffed, “Do you truly—”

A crash cut her off, and was followed by a cry. Tipp’s voice. They both darted in the direction of the sound.

The scene in the next room was grim: there was Tipp, cowering across from where they stood. At his feet was a broken lever, snapped off from its place by the opposite exit. Something in the mechanisms had been damaged, and the gears in the room spun wildly, spewing compacted metal from the ceiling at an alarming rate. Sparks flew.

"Oh, dear." Lace giggled.

Hornet glanced at her, then over the pit of exposed gears. She agreed, "Indeed."

Then she leaped. The next cube clipped her as it fell, but she merely grunted from the pain. She had expected it this time, judging it more important to retrieve Tipp swiftly than to have her timing exact. She felt through the silk of her cloak to work the faydown and propelled herself higher, out of reach of the gears and onto the ledge by Tipp.

The little courier greeted her with a gasp. "Miss Hornet! Are you alright?"

"Yes, you need not concern yourself. We've come for you. Now, I must—"

The room shuddered, the mechanisms groaned terribly. Everything ground to a halt. Tipp squeaked and dropped to the floor, covering his head. Hornet spun.

On the other side of the pit, Lace offered a cheery wave as she withdrew her pin from the gears. The weapon was unharmed by some miracle or — more likely — by the wisdom of Lace's chosen placement. She said, "So hasty, spider dear. That's better, isn't it?"

Without the hazard from above, it was an easy jump even for Tipp, much as how he had made it across in the first place. He thanked them both heartily for coming to his aid, and hurried on his way.

Once he was out of sight, Hornet turned to Lace, and asked, "Again you appear to object to my conduct. Tell me why, and plainly this time."

"Hmm. I suppose I might object to you shredding your own carapace to pulp and acting like it’s a splinter."

"The result is much the same."

"And the pain?"

"As easily dealt with."

"Oh, and so that makes it nothing. I see. I suppose it was foolish of me to be… concerned."

"No," Hornet acknowledged. "Certainly it looks alarming. I am grateful for your consideration. I will take greater care."

"Can you?"

"Why would you doubt it?"

"Because of your conduct, as you say. You hardly eat. You seem to rest as little as you can get away with. You, with your capable body, do as little for it as possible. And it's made you sloppy, hasn't it?"

"Would you care to test this, pale one? We could do so right here."

Lace sneered, as if at an insult. "What? Certainly not. No. No, if anything I was being too generous… For all that you've beaten me handily, I've come to understand. I may not need food or sleep, but I know what it is to require maintenance. And what a form neglected looks like… You've never done me the courtesy of facing me at your full strength, and I won't fight you again until you can."

"Bold words from one who has, indeed, lost to me more than once. You have proven yourself a worthy opponent, but do not insult me."

"I would not have thought your pride so fragile that you would call the truth an insult. Indeed," Lace needled, "I thought you wanted the truth from me."

"I did not mean to suggest you were lying, only that you were incorrect," Hornet replied. "You know what I am, Lace. Such affairs as this carry little serious risk."

"Oh! And so you will risk anything unserious. No injury too severe, because you can bind it away. Just as you take no food, because you won't starve, like some poor mortal might if you blink." Lace lilted, her disgust plain. "No rest because the work must be done, and at once. You would have done very well for yourself down here, working yourself away to dust."

“And you sometimes talk like you would have been well at home in the High Halls, had you the chance, content to watch others uplift you.”

Lace laughed, a brilliant jangle over the whine and rumble of the machinery.

Hornet’s claw clenched in the lining of her cloak. What a thing to allow from your fool fangs. “Forgive me, pale one. That was an untruth, and a cruel one.”

“Oh, no, spider. I think it was quite true—”

“It was not. Indeed, I suppose I had no right to scold you as I did."

Nor, in that moment, did she have much right to be in another's presence. Lace had trodden on her pride, and Hornet knew better than to have responded in kind. That she had done so was worse for that pride than any of Lace's remarks, and the shame of it all prickled hot beneath her shell.

"Thank you for your assistance in aiding Tipp. I do appreciate it, truly."

With that to serve as a farewell, she darted past Lace, only for Lace to spring over her and land blocking the door.

"Do you think I'll let you off with that?"

Hornet readied her needle. "If you seek to trap me, you must be prepared to fight. I will respect your dismissal, but not wait upon it."

"I refuse to fight you in your weakened state, as I said. So I suppose if you truly wish to go, then I'll allow it. But," Lace said, "I'll be taking my own time before I go… Perhaps hunting down some goodly metals. So watch your step on your way out."

"As if I would do otherwise. Stand aside."

Lace did so. She said nothing else, but curtsied elaborately as Hornet passed.

***

Hornet closed the Bellhome’s door quietly behind herself, and crossed to her bed. She set the needle beside it. She lay down, still in her cloak, on top of the blankets.

From where she lay, she could see her mementos; those marks of her journey – exploits or adventures, trials or tribulations, however one wished to define them. None of it had felt very grand. Certainly no more grand than helping Tipp had been, and though she had no treasure to store for the effort, it had felt in some ways more rewarding.

She closed her eyes. It had been worth it, in spite of the pain she had borne. Brief but fierce, etched into her shell as memory, the searing, the blood, the breathlessness. She had faced worse, time and again. None of it remained to scar her. She knew what she was doing. What had to be done.

It had been worth it.

But she did know her limits, and she had been planning to rest, with that in mind. So she lay still, with her back to her weapon. She slowed her breathing. She allowed herself to appreciate what she had: the dim and quiet of her own bellhome, the cool, clean taste of the fabric against her claws, even as it gave was beneath her to mouldering rot, the orange glint just catching behind her lids—

She started up with a gasp, her needle already in claw.

She would find no rest, not now. She rolled out of bed and took her place before the desk, instead. It would do her good to busy her claws, she decided. She badly needed to clear her head. She set out her crafting kit out on the desk and, with the luxury of space available for this purpose, she removed and laid out the particular tools she would need.

Reflexively she withdrew the drill. It was in need of cleaning and repair before she could use it again. But something in her revolted to look at it.

She was generally well-stocked, but there were other options — she could tinker with the cogflies or even her silkshot. There were always improvements to be made in range, in power, in endurance, and it never failed to insight a thrill when her adjustments were successful.

She placed the drill down on the desk. This was what needed maintenance. This is what she would maintain.

Cleaning first. Removing the black rock dust and polishing the blade. Sanding the edge where it had chipped. Her head began to throb, the pressure from before making good on its promise, worsened by the slight sound of rough paper over metal. Her throat still felt as if it were coated with something foul, dust from rock or corpse or worse. She swallowed heavily, and all it did was highlight the sensation.

She caught herself with still claws. But she wasn't done. Where was she? Yes, sanding the edge of the blade to restore it. Then she could open the casing and examine the mechanism to be sure it was all in good order for whenever she needed to use it again. It had seen no small amount of use lately, even before that cycle, and very little of it had been on enemy shells.

Would that I had the chance. A threat such as that would be preferable to—

To what? To peace? To her companions' safety, to the chance to see a kingdom beyond its saving? To a future she could grasp, no matter how unlike it was to any that her mother would have expected, or her mentors planned? But perhaps that only made her more fortunate, and her dallying more foolish.

Preferable at least to the way she looked at me. To that perfection, that beauty, which Lace drew over herself like a shield so Hornet could see nothing real of her in that moment.

Now was no time to lose her concentration. She would finish what she had set out to do: repair the drill and rest and then resume the work that was to be done. Even if Lace no longer cared to help her, there were others she could seek for assistance. But she had to focus now, or else what had it all been for? All that waiting in Hallownest, all that effort here, indeed the pain of her shell breaking spliting failing again and again and again, if she failed at these simple tasks, when she had achieved so much, what did that make her, what was she truly—

She forced the casing off of the motor too roughly, and hissed to herself as it clanged onto the desk. But she leaned close, beginning her examination. She knew what to do. She would not stop now, nor be stopped.

Her claws traced over the drill’s inner workings, and she followed the turns of the motor; drawing her attention expertly away from her headache, her concerns, and the traces of her nightmare, until the soft thmp of someone landing on her porch drew her back to her surroundings. She ignored it. A knock at her bellhome door. At this, her claws stilled again and she turned, and saw the suggestion of Lace’s silhouette behind the frosted glass.

Hornet considered not answering. Then she dismissed this as cowardice; she had faced Lace as a foe before, and surely whatever purpose brought Lace here now — as she had been quite firm on not challenging Hornet — was something she could face with dignity.

So it was that she opened the door, and asked at once, "Why have you come here?"

Had she not prepared the words in advance, they would have failed her. As soon as she opened the door, the scent of blood spilled in, bringing a tempting burn into her throat.

Lace lifted her pin. A pond skipper was skewered along its length. One of its legs twitched, so fresh it was. Hornet swallowed hard, pressing the acid that would turn the thing to liquid in her claws back into her gut.

Lace heard, and smiled. "I thought, after our little adventure earlier, you might want some lunch."

"I ate only last cycle."

"Oh, dear. I suppose it will go waste, then."

Hornet's fangs flicked out, but she pulled them back, curled them tight against her mask. She asked again, "Why have you come here?"

"Perhaps I thought I had better apologize, lest I find myself fallen from your favor."

"You owe me no such thing, pale one, and if that is a token of contrition, I will certainly not accept."

Lace tilted her cheek onto one claw. The pond skipper's blood dripped from the end of her pin, onto the porch. She asked, "And under what conditions would you accept? What if it was merely a gift?"

"Why?"

"Tiresome beast. Have I truly caught you unawares?" Lace's tone cooled. "I remember… Oh, what my mother fed her captured Weavers, when she wanted their strength. Raw prey. A cooked meal will serve you well enough, if you are well, but you are not."

"Do I truly appear to be in such a sorry state, that you would make such a comparison?"

"Oh, yes. Very much so."

"I know you would not do so lightly." Hornet said slowly, "I am not unaware of — I understand that you spoke out of concern before. And now."

“Oh, yes, now you’ve got me pinned. I’m ever a tenderhearted creature.”

"Regardless, I should not have spoken so to you. It is I who should apologize."

"Then do so," Lace gestured with her pin, and so with the pond skipper, waving both at Hornet. "Don't try to placate me with mere words. Take this, spider, and eat it, and show me that you understand what you've done."

"It is only what I have always done. I have pushed myself to extremes before, and this is nothing alike to that. I have gone far longer between meals than one cycle, and indeed pushed my limits when I had no other choice. This bounty is… I assure you, it is not something I intend to take for granted."

"Oh, I wish you would."

Something inside of Hornet gave way at that, like a bright seal at last undone. Such callous disregard for this circumstance — for this fortune — was more than she could abide.

She reached out and plucked the skipper off of Lace's pin, tucking it under one arm. She said, quietly, "Come in, then," and turned back through the door. Lace followed her, thoughtfully shutting the door behind them.

Hornet was being foolish. Pouting like a spoiled child; she was reasonably sure, in fact, that she had only rarely been so foul-tempered in her youth. And yet — the smell of blood, the threat of exhaustion, this very argument —

If Lace was so eager to see a spider's true hungers, let her.

Lace knows. Hornet knew she had to. But for her to see Hornet truly hungering, the way the monarch's prisoners must have without any real hope of relief, the way she had been expected to master once she had stepped forth from Deepnest, the way a spider did. Perhaps that would settle the matter. Perhaps Hornet needed to remind herself — nothing endures forever.

She spun the gifted prey into a package of silk, and held it. The smell of blood coated her throat, the taste now lingered on her claws even under its wrappings, far stronger than dust or the memory of rot. Venom stirred in her fangs, her own stomach acid rose back into her throat.

Perhaps it would be a relief to break something herself, just once.

She tore into the package she'd made, finally letting the acid rise from her mouth to melt everything within the shell into a savory slurry, the organs and muscle thickening the blood. She spilled it all back down her throat, and it was delicious, almost sickeningly rich, how long since she'd tasted this, since she'd had a real meal—

She wondered how she looked to Lace. Like one of those pathetic caged beasts the monarch had kept, or simply like — the words returned to her unbidden, a whisper nearly forgotten — a foul monster from the deep?

She drained the prey, regardless. That had been a long time ago. Better if she had forgotten that, perhaps, but she hardly got to choose. She could accept that she had been a foul monster to them, and she'd learned what they thought was better, and she had stood in their stead long after they'd dreamed themselves to death.

She stood there, blood mixed with acid spilled down her mouth, along her fangs. Rather than folding them away again, she flared them wide and demanded, "Does this satisfy you?"

"Oh, no." Lace was plainly enthralled. "I believe it delights me. You look marvelous." She finally, lazily flicked the blood from her pin, heedlessly spilling more of it onto the floor of the bellhome.

Hornet snapped, "What is marvelous, precisely? All that stands before you is an indulgent beast."

"And is that beast satisfied? Are you, perhaps, satiated?"

Hornet was, she realized. The food was settling well in her, far better than the previous cycle's scraps of burnt meat and vegetation. She felt a drowsy weight creeping over her limbs. She wiped her fangs on the collar of her cloak and tucked them away at last, to suppress a yawn. She knew her limits, she felt them, but she could hardly claim her respite now. Ignoring her own siren awareness of the bed, she turned to her desk, returned to the drill she'd left open upon it. She only needed something, anything, to fix her senses upon.

Lace drifted after her, watching openly now as Hornet picked up her implements. When Lace lingered, Hornet replied, "And what is your price for this, Lace? It is no reward, as your wish was not — was nothing you wanted."

"My price." Lace giggled. "As though I care about such things. No, such is your business. You can parcel your strength out, expend yourself in pieces until you feel your debt is paid. I will accept nothing from you."

"Then what do you care about, pale one? How have I offended? I did not wish to drive you away, but nothing I say seems to bring repair — tell me plainly, or go."

"Is that what you want? For me to go?"

"No!” Too sharp. Too loud. She held her breath, buried the echo of her own voice under the workings of a small wrench, and then sighed out. “But it is inevitable that you will, so better to have it done."

"Oh. Do tell, little spider. What makes it inevitable that I will go? Do you know me so well?"

"Why would you stay?"

"None of that. You'll answer me plainly: why will I leave you? Tell me, or I will go."

"It has never been otherwise. And I can think of no reason for you to stay, if there is nothing you would accept from me." Hornet laughed suddenly, a bitter bark. "It seems you no longer even desire my suffering, were I inclined to offer that."

“Oh! Suffering! For so long, what joy for me was there but others' suffering? So I took it, I reveled in it…” Lace trailed off.

Hornet glanced at her, though without pausing her work. “And now?”

“And now there's so much else to do. Oh, I can pester anyone I wish, or I can take their concerns into my claws and untangle them in exchange for uncomplicated praise and meaningless rosaries. I can end suffering and it does not mean death, and every cycle, every toll, I see less and less suffering, and more and more of what true joy is, and though I can hardly grasp it, I know it is there.”

“I am glad for this,” Hornet said softly.

Lace sneered at her. “And then I see you, and how you insist on suffering. Alone, in your ancient stubbornness. It is," Lace declared, "infuriating. I’m sick of it."

When Hornet made no reply, only continuing to fidget in the guts of the drill, Lace demanded, "Is that plain enough for you?"

"I suppose it is."

"Good." Lace huffed. "Do you truly think I'm so fickle? That I would leave you, even if you truly offered me nothing?"

"Ah. I would never deny you silk, even if that was all you wanted. There are no conditions upon that."

"Of course. Yes. Thank you." Lace's smile turned brittle. She straightened, plucking up her pin. "You still don't understand. I can't make you. You're right; I should go."

"Wait, just— A moment. One moment." She turned sharply, as Lace stepped away. The wrench fell from her claw. Clanged down onto the drill, slid onto the desk, the sound lingering as Lace regarded her warily.

You know better. You know better than to fight against what is inevitable. But something had come undone in her. That seal, crafted not of silk, but of the lessons of an age, twined tighter and tighter. So she called Lace back to her.

"What? What is it? I tire of this, I truly do."

"You came after me. You brought me food and it — truly, it did satisfy. I have not hunted properly in some time, and I suppose it was remiss of me. So you have my gratitude." Hornet concluded, “And I do not believe that you are fickle.”

Lace regarded her frostily. "I don't want your gratitude. Not if you're going to treat it like you owe me for it, too." Lace huffed. "Of course I came. You came into the dark for me. You brought me into this world, where I can pretend at a life that I desire to live." She repeated, softly, "Do you really think I would let you go?"

Hornet weighed the sentiment. She tried to hold it.

She could not.

"I think that in the end, it will not be our choice. One of us will go before the other. If nothing else, I would not have that loss place an undue burden on you."

"Stubborn spider. That is not a choice you get to make, either. Not on your own."

"Well I know this! Always, that choice has been made on my behalf—" She bit back the rest, and then decided there was no point. She spat, the words as acidic as her enzymes, “Always I have been the one to remain.”

Lace smiled mirthlessly. "Oh, yes. The child everyone wanted, but no one would choose. Always some duty greater than you. Always something more pressing or precious. But they'd never hesitate to call upon your service."

"And it was my choice to offer it when asked. Whether or not it was wise, no one bore the responsibility but me. As it is now."

"You did not choose to be born under that yoke, any more than I chose mine. But you've embraced yours more than I ever did. Rather pathetic, I think."

Hornet protested, "You… do not understand. I think you cannot."

But she had developed a suspicion that Lace’s lack of understanding granted her more even footing where they now tread.

"Indeed." This time Lace answered quietly. "But I won't let you go so easily now, as I said. So, explain yourself."

"I know that… The only certainty I have is that it will fade, one day. I and you and all Pharloom — it was all I could do, all that so many could do, to sustain it this long. All I wish is to make sure that it fades in its time, not before."

"You can't, and you know that."

"Of course. Of course I know. But I must try, I cannot — I cannot let Pharloom slip away, as Hallownest did. I watched it fall. I saw, too, every moment of its suffering and it brought me no pleasure.”

“Oh. Poor spider. To find joy in suffering… Nothing numbs you more completely. It would have been easier for you, had you learned this.” Now Lace’s smile took on a crooked cast. “But I suppose it is to Pharloom’s advantage that you did not, and perhaps to mine most of all.” She tilted her head to one side, considerate. “I think only my mother would have felt differently.”

“Yes. And now the monarch is gone, by your claw and mine.” Hornet took a clawful of the inside of her cloak. “As dead as my father, my mentor, my own mother, and all they sought to protect and everything that they would have granted me. So though I know that I can ensure nothing but my own actions — not even my fate — I will not waste this chance. I will not take it for granted. I refuse… I…"

She did not weep, but her breath failed her. She felt ill, swallowing down the sensation so as to not risk wasting the food Lace had brought. She closed her eyes, claws tight in her cloak, seeking to master herself once again, but she was more aware of her own exhaustion than she had been in eons, now that she'd allowed it to intrude.

And then claws brushed her shoulder, and her eyes shot open to find Lace much closer to her. Nearly leaning over her, such that Hornet should have been aware, and she understood the depths of her own distraction terribly well. And Lace was touching her, as gently and as firmly as when she'd been torn open before her.

"You need not… I did not mean to…"

But she didn't move away, this time, remaining hunched over on her stool.

Lace pressed, quietly. "Go on. What is it you would refuse?"

"I refuse to do other than everything I might, while I have the chance. This peace, so fragile and so precious… How can you expect me to stand idle, no matter how weary I may grow? No matter how I hunger? How can you bear it, yourself?"

"Oh. Poor spider," Lace repeated softly. She let her claw fall. Hornet followed the motion, hating the hunger that her mask was surely insufficient to conceal.

How long since anyone last touched you like that? Like they wanted to, like they wanted you—

Hornet squared her shoulders against an impulse to sag. "I would not have your pity, any more than you would mine. Nonetheless, I should not have burdened you so. Such is mine to contend with, when you have quite enough."

“And why should I pity you? You've done this to yourself."

"Indeed."

"I thought you quite wise, once. Wise, unfaltering, unfailing. Refusing to be beaten. But it seems you've met your match in this land after all." Lace tsked. "I won't help you spend yourself anymore."

"I did not expect further aid." Hornet hesitated. "Though I will miss your company, it is understandable—"

"Now, I know you're tired, but do try to keep up. That doesn't mean I'm abandoning you."

"What are you scheming, then?"

Lace laughed, but low and soft. "That's better. Heed me, and I'll tell you."

Hornet inclined her head, but Lace wanted more. "Would you place yourself at my command?"

"I will consider your suggestion."

"That will do." Lace clasped her claws before herself. "I suggest that you make a wish, Hornet."

"…Your pardon?"

Lace held forth her claws, still joined, a balletic gesture. “Yes… I, with my tender heart and willing claws, will promise whatever you ask. So what is your wish? Yours, for the good of no other. My heart is not so tender for everyone, after all.”

Hornet considered this. The offer itself, and its source: Lace, who was prickly and prideful, but not half as fickle or careless as she took pains to appear. So the least Hornet could offer, in return for this earnest display, was her consideration. But in the end, she had to shake her head. "I have nothing in mind."

"Hmm. It's unlike you to give up so readily, you must be faring even more poorly than I thought."

"I did not say I was giving up. Only… I will need time to determine something suitable."

Lace narrowed her eyes. "No. Make your wish now, before you can think too hard and spoil it somehow. Come." She made an inviting flourish with her pin. "Tell me your wish, and I will see it granted."

"There is little I require that I cannot see to myself."

"Oh, yes, yes, you can take care of yourself. Whether or not you do. Never mind what you need, then. What is it you want? You, Hornet, and you alone. I will not act for any other. Such is my choice."

"I will oblige you, and you may wait while I consider it. But if you would ask this of me, then wait you must. I have not thought of it in some time, and much of what comes to mind is impossible."

"Oh?"

"Once… I wished to see my mother once more.”

Lace regarded her silently. Hornet continued.

“To be able to go back, to that time before my own birth, before I was deemed a fair trade for her sacrifice, and — not to take the choice from her, but tell her the consequences, and know if it was still worth it to her."

"To know if she would be cruel enough to condemn you to your fate?"

"No!” Hornet snapped. “To know if she still thought there was enough good that it would matter."

It was a conversation she had woven alone in her head, twitching its threads, twisting its colors to see what picture would form. Long she had tormented herself at her mother's bedside, and later perched by the empty surface of her shrine. Hornet had decided to leave such imaginings behind; they should have stayed in Hallownest, at least, but of late they had returned to her with a new end.

"If she could know all of it… If she could know I would live to meet her own maker and see her vanquished." Hornet closed her eyes, shook her head again as if this could clear it or relieve the pressure, and then met Lace’s gaze again. "It is beyond anyone's power, and I would not ask it of you, even if you could achieve it."

“Nor would I offer it, even if I could.” Lace leaned in again, and asked softly, "I wonder. When did you last sleep?"

"Seven cycles ago."

"And do refresh my memory, how often do real bugs sleep, usually?"

"That can vary, as I know you do not need to sleep at all."

"Even now, you — You're disgusting. But very well, I said I wouldn't fight you. How often do most bugs sleep, then?"

"For some duration each cycle."

"Mhm. Yes, that sounds right."

"I came back here to rest, Lace. But you see, I received a caller."

"And yet somehow, I don't think I woke you."

"No. I was not able — I had not yet slept."

“What kept you, then?”

Hornet had no answer, at first. Nothing that would make sense, or at least nothing that didn't sound wholly pathetic. At length, she tried. "Where I hail from, it was long dangerous to dream."

"But you're a long way from there."

"Yes. I suppose… Foolish as it may be, the feeling has never abated." Never entirely. It might come or go, as if it had a will, but it always returned, and never was the occasion convenient.

"How unfortunate. There's no guarding against that." Lace flicked the tip of her pin lightly, to dismiss the idea of stabbing the problem. "But you're here. Clearly, you never succumbed to the danger."

"I knew well how to withstand it."

"Hm… As well as you know your limits, I wonder? How about this…" Lace mused aloud. "I shall leave you to your rest, but I'll come to check on you. I won't fight you, but I'd gladly skewer anything that rose in your stead."

"I know, truly, that there is no risk. But… I will accept this, yes."

Hornet saw Lace out, and returned to the bed. Her bed, in her bellhome, in this kingdom she had saved, so far away from fallen Hallownest. She would never leave it behind - would never seek to - but she had survived it. And wishes were never Hallownest's tradition, but if they had been, and if she had allowed herself to partake, perhaps she would have wished for that: simply someone to come and see to her, to draw her out of the plague-dream, or end her if she was lost to it.

What would she wish for now? The question remained. But it was a comforting thought, and it kept the space behind her eyes a calm black.

***

This time, a single, firm rap on the door woke her, but she did not open her eyes at once. She turned her face into the pillow, instead, and clutched it closer to herself. Under her claws, its fabric was cool and yielded only as far as she pressed its downy surface.

Perhaps she could have just a moment longer.

The knock came again. She remembered herself. Though she had needed the rest, she was also expecting company, as agreed. It would not do to be discourteous. She called out, "Hold there. I will be with you shortly."

She levered herself out of bed and took stock of her condition: much improved. She had slept well and long enough to be rid of her headache, along with the soreness that had dragged at her limbs. She adjusted her cloak, and went to greet her guest properly. With her wits about her this time, she caught the scent that awaited her before she opened the door.

When she saw Lace in the threshold, this time bearing the skipper tucked under one arm, Hornet said simply, "Greetings, Lace."

"Greetings, spider dear! I thought I'd spare you the trouble of hunting to break your fast."

"How kind of you. Precisely how voracious do you think I am?"

"More than you wish to let on, certainly. Anyhow, it's for me, too. You were such a charming sight last time, dripping blood and venom." Lace offered out the skipper, along with a dazzling smile.

Hornet answered, "I cannot fathom that such a sight would appeal so heartily, and regardless, I am certain I did not rest long enough to necessitate such favor."

"So you can fathom the failings of gods, but not that? How strange. Regardless. Aren't you hungry?"

"That is not the same as needing to eat."

Lace drew the skipper back toward herself with a sigh, tilting the carcass back and forth in her claws. "Is that so? I think you're mistaken, but oh, surely you understand a true bug's needs more than I would."

"The matter is more that neither of us have the same needs as an ordinary bug."

"Does it harm you, somehow, to eat more than you precisely need to?"

"No, I am merely accustomed to—"

Lace shoved her prey out under Hornet's mask.

Clear and cool and rich, so terribly achingly rich—

Better prepared though she was, the scent of blood overtook her senses, and her fangs sprang free. Lace hummed, satisfied, and Hornet snatched the skipper so that she could hold it away from her mouth, though the scent in her claws was just as strong.

"There, you want it," Lace murmured. "Don't worry about accepting it. I still have every intent of granting your wish."

"I had no such concerns," Hornet said, pushing through the strain in her own voice. "I do feel refreshed; this I will grant you. However, I was intending to hunt myself after cleaning."

At this, Lace nodded absently. "Oh, the cleaning… Yes, about that."

"What of it?" Hornet asked suspiciously.

"There’s no need, that's all. I spoke to Sherma, he’s sending out more of his bugs to handle it,” Lace informed her airily. “And I'm afraid, between myself and Shakra and the old Sentinel, the wishwalls are rather picked over at the moment. You’re quite free, as it happens."

"I cannot say I appreciate this, Lace."

"What? Someone coming to your aid? Is it not a refreshing change?"

"Being forced to inaction."

"You saved this land, Hornet. Have you not earned some inaction?"

"Whatever I may have earned does not change what needs to be done."

"Nor does it change that fact that, indeed, someone else can do it. The bugs of Pharloom will handle their own affairs," Lace told her. "Certainly they can wait until you finish breakfast."

Hornet's fangs flexed. "I am unused to this… treatment."

"You'll learn," Lace admonished mildly. "Quite frankly, spider dear, you ought to live in this world you've made. It's… not so terrible, I suppose. And I think, somehow, that I have been learning to live in it better than you have. Do hurry and catch up.”

Hornet examined the skipper in her claws. The stiff shell, with one perfect puncture wound. Some blood leaked around the edge of the wound, but the prey had been transported with care; much remained within.

She returned to me with it.

Perhaps their companionship would not endure forever. No. It would not. But, if nothing else, Hornet had not managed to break it herself. Lace was too strong for that, herself.

"Come in, then." Hornet's fangs twitched, and then she drew them back against her mask. No one would have a clear view of her at this angle, with Lace there, but she'd still prefer to slip inside if she was going to eat. As it seemed she was. As she wanted to, judging by the soft roil of acid in her gut, no matter her needs.

So Hornet stepped back, and Lace came forward, and they stood together again in the dim warmth of the bellhome. Again, Hornet spun the prey's cocoon; again, she opened it to flood it full of her own juices and complete its transformation into her meal. She raised it to her mouth and took a slow sip.

"There. Surely that's better than starving yourself."

Hornet lowered the shrouded carcass. "I cannot starve, Lace."

"Neither can I. But… Oh. I was hoping to avoid this, but—"

"Then do so, I would make no demands of you."

Lace placed a still-bloody claw dramatically over her chest. "As it happens, I can also function for some time without any infusion at all. Shall I begin waiting until my threads threaten to split before I accept… nourishment?"

"I take your point."

"Do you? Really?"

"Yes." Hornet allowed herself another sip. "I have done what I needed to survive. As have you."

"Indeed. Perhaps against my better judgement. But here we are… In this Pharloom you have made, which I am sure is as different from where you were born as where I was."

"And yet as alike…" Hornet held the carcass of blood like a mug of tea, tilting it in her claws and watching the liquid swirl. "A precarious thing. We are still building it. And certainly I am not building it alone — this, I would refuse, as well."

"Do you trust in it, Hornet?"

"No. But… indeed, here we are." Another sip. "I will endeavor to live where I am."

"Good." Lace accepted this, and added primly, "Then I'll have your wish now."

"I have yet to decide."

"Fine. Do think about it, then. I will, indeed, wait."

"I am still amenable to this. Your persistence has always been admirable."

"Even when it's a nuisance for you?"

"Certainly." Hornet raised the melted prey. "And I cannot always say it is a nuisance. Sometimes it is delicious indeed."

"Your stubbornness, as well," Lace chirped back.

"Is that so?"

"Indeed. Your silk… I do not ingest it, I do not think taste is a suitable word, nor touch. But it does have a sensation. A flavor, if you will."

"Can you describe this?"

"Hm." Lace examined her bloody claw. "I'm afraid not. It's rather not something there's language for."

"Consider it, then. I would like to know, should you find the words."

Lace merely nodded, but her smile was not displeased, and seemed as genuine as Hornet could judge.

She considered the other being for a moment. Another being, another entity, one of her own unique and semi-divine nature. Lace was not the only one she had found here, but Lace was the one who had come out of the dark with her, into this future that still felt so fragile and yet, so far, had insisted upon enduring.

What in this world had tempted Lace?

"Ah. Lace. Child of Pharloom, truer than any other. I believe I have a wish for you."

"Oh? Out with it, then."

“You told me that you hated the flowers in the Cradle. Certainly I cannot fault you for that. But then… I wish to see something that you cared for. Some joy that you must have guarded jealously.” Hornet met her gaze. “I had such things once. They are lost to me now.”

"And this is what you wish, for yourself?"

"It is. It will benefit no one but me." She drained the skipper's shell at last. "Perhaps not even you, though no one else can give it."

Lace nodded. “Come, then, Hornet of Hallownest. I will show you parts of this kingdom you have saved that no one else has seen.”

They ventured out through Bellhart, in the direction of Shellwood. Though some wishes appeared to have been added since Lace had orchestrated its clearing, neither of them stopped to look.

x215

GUYSS READ THIS PEAK FICC!!!!!!

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