Kiber sat by the edge of the bog, his toes submerged in its murky waters. Deception. Betrayal. Treachery. He should have seen it coming, he knew. It wasn’t even a good trick, but she’d managed to fool the entire Bounded Court, and now he was powerless to stop her. Well, not powerless: Kiber the Stout had never been powerless in his life and he didn’t intend to start now. But she held all the cards. He needed a way to fight back. He needed a weapon.

Kiber closed his eyes, stirred the stagnant pool with his staff, and sightlessly stared into the marsh. He spoke some arcane syllables, in case anyone was listening. The fens of Epala needed no coaxing to bend to Kiber’s will, of course: The two had a long and storied history, and were more in tune with each other than even Kiber let on. But a Fae’s power lies in their words, and it never hurts to keep up appearances.

And there she was. In the dark eddies of the bog, he saw Simi. She still looked frail. Despite it all she kept up the charade. She was alone now, away from the attendants and sycophants that had once been his. He felt the fens rising within him, whispering darkness. He could do it, he knew. She walked the Greylands, and the Greylands were Kiber’s domain. With one stroke he could wipe her out, remove the problem forever. Do it, the marshes screamed. Give the command…

No. He shook his head, forced them back down. It would be an awful misstep. Leaders can stumble, but martyrs are infallible. The worst thing in the world for Simi to be at this moment was dead.

Slowly, he eased back into the vision. Another faerie had joined her now, and the two were speaking, too quiet for the eavesdropping leprechaun to hear. He pushed closer, straining to catch anything he could use. Her companion looked young, too young to be of any consequence. Not a noble, then. A follower, more likely. A patsy, or a confidant. Kiber made a mental note to find out their identity later, in case they proved to matter.

Bits of conversation drifted past Kiber. “Too soon… Tell them to prepare… Do not trust you… He’s still…” Kiber felt his brow begin to sweat at the exertion, but he needed to hear, needed to see, needed so many things in this moment. He pushed, he pressed, he nearly pleaded with the bogs to let him closer, and in a last, desperate instant, the whole of the scene snapped into focus.

“Kiber is no longer a concern.”

The aide nodded. “Yes, Lady Simi.”

“I want to hear no more of him. He’s a relic of Epala’s history. He holds no place in its future.”

“Yes, Lady Simi.”

“That’s all for now. I shall inform you if your services are needed again.”

“Yes, Lady Simi.”

Kiber watched the scene as the younger faerie flew away. Simi seemed different in that moment. A hint of her youth, that energy, that wit and cunning she had worked so hard to conceal for so long, was shining through. The usurper surveyed the forests around her, examining every detail of the Isle she now ruled in all but name, until, with a nearly imperceptible shift, Kiber realized she was looking directly at him.

“Hello,” She said, in a voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been expecting you.”

“Lord Kiber!”

The greeting shook him from his reverie, dragging him back to the marsh’s edge. He shook his head. How had she known? How had she found him? The Greylands were his domain, how had this swordslinger bested him at his own game, in his own home? Was she right? Was he slipping? Was he destined to fade from relevance, drifting slowly into Epala’s long shadow? No, of course not, he…

“Lord Kiber!”

The call came again, and this time the leprechaun followed it, looking up into the face of a young pixie, one of the damned Canopy dwellers. He’d seen this one before. Shem? Sale? Selk? Selk sounded right.

“Ah, Selk,” He replied, forcing a friendly smile. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“It has been far too long, old friend. I heard of your troubles and came to offer my condolences. If I can help in any way, you need only...”

Kiber held up a hand. “Please, spare me your games. I'm old, but I am no fool.”

Selk shrugged. “Still, you can’t blame me for trying.”

“I very much can,” Kiber replied, looking out over the bog. “I assume you are here at Dwimmek’s behest?”

“The Queen of the Canopy sends her regards.” Kiber rolled his eyes at the title, but said nothing. Selk saw the gesture, but wisely chose to move past it. “I assume I needn’t explain why she could not be here in person?”

Kiber nodded.

“Good,” Selk continued. “The matter is urgent. Lady Dwimmek believes the two of you may have a common enemy.”

“I presume you speak of the Shadowsword?”

Selk’s face went pale. “Lord Kiber!” She exclaimed. “I would expect more caution from the likes of you!”

Kiber laughed. “If Simi doesn't already know that we plot against her, she is an even greater fool than she would have us believe. I assume Dwimmek has a plan?”

Selk nodded. “Alas, one I can’t divulge as yet. We will inform you more as it becomes necessary, but first we must know we have your support. You understand, I presume?”

“I understand.” Kiber shrugged, glancing off into the distance. “Tell your mistress that Kiber the Stout does not serve blindly.”

“...A pity. We had looked forward to your company.”

Selk turned to leave, and Kiber laughed again. “Has anyone ever told you that you are utterly transparent?” As the pixie turned back, he continued. “If you could afford to walk away, you never would have approached me. One does not involve the likes of Kiber the Stout if one has a choice. Dwimmek needs me, more than I need her. Now explain, or return to your Queen empty-handed. The choice is yours.”

A long silence hung between them. Kiber could practically hear the machinery of Selk’s thoughts, arranging themselves in search of a strategy. Finally, the pixie collapsed, defeated.

“I thought we agreed no games.”

Kiber smiled. “Ah, but I play them much better than you.”

Another pause.

“...Fine. Lady Dwimmek has allies, ready to aid her when the time is right.”

“As do I. Your point?”

“No,” Selk replied hesitantly. “You don’t. Not… Not like hers.”

Kiber leaned back, arching an eyebrow and saying nothing. The silence hung, consumed within itself. Mountains could have crumbled under the leprechaun's stare. The pixie trembled, stuttered, and finally broke.

“Her friends are… foreign. From the other Isles. Lady Dwimmek has worked with them to establish trade routes, which she can leverage for control of the Court. But she needs your voice, your support. You still have many allies among the nobles. Right now they stand divided, volatile, and that conflict impedes our work. Bring them to heel, put your influence behind Lady Dwimmek’s resources, and together you should be able to reclaim the power you once held.”

And there it was, laid out in front of him like an offering. Foreign allies, inter-Isle trade routes, all set up for him to claim. One simple betrayal, one meaningless death of an irritating upstart, and it could all be his. Dwimmek would not be missed, he knew, but before then she could at least be useful.

“Tell Dwimmek… Tell your mistress that I will consider her offer.”

Selk nodded, glad that her task seemed to finally be completed. Wordlessly, she turned and flew away, leaving the old leprechaun alone. He leaned down, ran his fingers through the black waters, and allowed himself a slight grin. The image of Simi was still burned in his mind, but where minutes before she had seemed terrifying to behold, now he saw her frail and old, a mere pretender to power. This was it. He had done it.

He had found his weapon.