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Anything?

Sir.

Yeah, that's the place.

Leave the wagons! We're going up!

Hold the wagons!

Show the colors.

Show the colors.

We're Burguishmen.

We mean you no harm.

Per the terms of the Tain Treaty between your proud kingdom

and the Republic of the Burgue,

these premises are hereby commandeered

by the 13th Light Dragoons

for use in defense of these lands.

The telegraph line that crosses not far from here

connects High Bresail with the front

and is crucial to the war effort.

We've been tasked with its protection.

This is a holy place.

Conduct yourselves accordingly.

Sergeant Philostrate.

I don't like this.

This whole place is riddled with corners and shadows.

Search the buildings and the grounds.

Check for hiding places, for traps, for weapons.

Weapons, sir?

We need to be certain

that this Mimasery has not been infiltrated

by faerish guerrillas.

These are refugees, sir, not guerrillas.

We don't know what they are, Sergeant.

Pact fae look exactly the same as our fae,

do they not?

I don't want a repeat of what happened at Fort Tarlington.

I lost a lot of good men that day.

Usual drill?

Deploy detachment, work in pairs?

No.

Better to keep it discreet.

Why don't you take a look around the dwellings?

I'll sweep the grounds.

Be friendly, eh?

Easy.

Easy, now.

And who might you be?

I'm a sworn steward of this sacred library,

and you are trespassing.

Well, that was not my intention, miss.

If you'll kindly stay your blade, I'll be on my way.

Oh, so you can scurry back to your commander

and report this place?

I assure you the commander has no interest in books.

There are books in this room that are older

than the first words your oafish species ever uttered.

And I will gladly spend all day

mopping your blood off this floor

before I see them crated up to be gawked at

in some fucking Burguish museum.

Well, you needn't worry, miss. I won't tell anyone.

You have my word.

And why should I trust you?

It's either that...

or kill me...

and risk my commanders finding this place

when they come looking for the body.

What's your name?

Rycroft Philostrate.

And you are?

The last face you'll see if you break your word.

Now get the fuck out.

You can feel them staring at us.

This fucking place.

God's noose, I never thought I'd miss High Bresail.

- That whole city stank like a piskie's armpit. Yeah.

- At least they had whores. - Bligh,

is there any sort of animal you wouldn't fuck?

Sure, Crabbe. Your mum.

Find anything to worry about?

Me neither.

Do you think he'll keep his word?

He's faan-troigh.

You never know with them.

Keep a close eye on him.

Yes, Mima.

What happened?

The line's gone down.

I rode out to check.

It's snapped over the ravine.

- Snapped or cut? - What,

you think it's a trap?

I don't know that it isn't.

Let's put together a repair detachment.

That ravine's a furlong wide.

We don't have the equipment to run a new line across.

A fae could do it.

You got someone in mind?

As it happens...

I do.

All clear.

Go on. I don't want

to be here any longer than you do.

You know, you can go ahead.

Leave if you want to.

Leave?

You've done what we asked. Why not?

Flit on home. You don't have to worry.

I do have to worry.

It's my job to worry about that place.

I'm not gonna tell anyone.

I like books.

Is it for children?

It's a scientific romance.

Stiver novel.

Kingdoms of the Moon.

What's the premise?

A rogue inventor

journeys to the Moon

and falls in love with the princess of a lunar tribe.

That is, without a doubt,

the maddest thing I've ever heard.

It's actually quite well-reasoned.

How is it well-reasoned?

How would one even get to the Moon?

- Would you like to borrow it? - No.

I'm just curious.

Well... he constructs a sealed capsule

and a massive cannon

to fire it beyond the stratosphere.

That is preposterous.

And he just finds people up there?

Living on the Moon?

Go on, take it.

I've read it.

Many times.

It's far more enjoyable than listening

to me try to explain it.

Vignette.

I'm sorry?

My name.

I'm Vignette.

- Are there wolves around here? - No.

Whoa, easy, easy.

Stay here.

That's an order.

Darius!

Darius!

You okay?

I'm fine.

That's a lot of blood.

- It's not mine. - You sure?

I'm fine.

I ran one down.

It's dead.

Fuck.

We found these up on the ridge.

I'd heard rumors going around the men.

It's hard to believe

that the Pact were infecting their soldiers

with the wolf's curse,

turning them into monsters.

But the Moon isn't full.

Some kind of catalyst.

Induces the change.

Was anyone bitten?

No one who survived.

Is there nothing

the Pact won't stoop to

to take this land and its riches?

Very good, you're dismissed.

Yes!

Hello.

Careful. It's a long way down.

It is, isn't it?

How are you liking it? The book?

I finished it.

And?

It's extraordinary.

At first, it seemed to be a droll

little colonialist fantasy.

A valiant human explorer romances some native princess...

But then he leaves and it's 20 years later.

And you find out that the narrator is actually...

The daughter telling the story.

And she spends the whole second half looking for her father.

Hmm. Brilliant, right?

And the ending.

Gods.

I was sobbing.

I'm so pleased you liked it.

I loved it. I really did.

Keep it.

No, I can't. It's your favorite book.

I can just get another copy back in the Burgue.

Where are you gonna find one?

I insist.

For your library.

I can't thank you enough.

Would you like to see it?

- See what? - The library.

Properly, I mean.

This is the largest library in the Kingdom of Anoun.

Right.

Is there another room?

You know, where the books are kept.

You're so peculiar, you faan-troigh.

You only think in two dimensions.

How many books are in this place?

I couldn't tell you.

Don't know that anyone's ever counted.

Holy texts, maps.

Scientific research.

Histories going all the way back to the Queen of Crows.

There's one I wanted to show you.

I saw you looking at it before.

Oh, yeah.

What was that?

It's a 700-year-old illuminated manuscript.

It tells the tale of the first human in Tirnanoc.

Ah.

Here it is.

He was an explorer called Isen

who'd washed ashore after a storm,

and was taken to Queen Aradis,

who became utterly fascinated by him.

He stayed as a guest of her court for quite a while, and...

Well, they fell desperately in love.

- So I see. - This is nothing.

Some of these books have pages that would make

a faerish sailor blush.

What's this? He just left her?

Yes.

Sadly, Isen yearned for home,

so he built a ship and left.

No one knows if he returned,

but he did leave something of himself behind.

They had a child.

A son.

A half-blood.

He was a mysterious figure.

Spent his life searching for his father.

It all sounds... rather like my book.

I thought so, too.

It could be a coincidence,

but maybe Isen did find his way home

and brought the story with him.

Or maybe the writer of my book

heard the tale as a child from his faerish nanny.

Exactly.

I like to think there's a connection, at least.

Why?

I like the idea that a story like this might cross the world

and somehow find its way back centuries later,

changed by constant retellings,

but familiar.

As if to tell us something.

That maybe...

we're not so different in the end.

It's Fort Sovereign.

They were shelled.

The Pact, that far north?

They've been advancing further every day.

Scores wounded.

They need blood.

All types.

They're asking all units for donations.

Fort Sovereign's over a hundred leagues away.

It's a pity we can't help.

Our blood may be of no use to your wounded,

but our wings can be.

We could have relief there within hours.

All right.

Listen in!

I need every able-bodied man here now.

We need to get blood to the front.

Aye, sir.

Call Mayweather.

- Yes, sir. - Set up the first aid post.

That represents my surname.

- Stonemoss? - Mm-hmm.

And this one?

The year I was born.

Which is?

Oh, that would be telling.

What about this one?

That is the one a lass gives away when she gives her heart.

It's a childhood injury.

- How? - I don't know.

I was too young to remember.

All I know is the headmaster said

it was how I turned up at the Foundling Home.

I have one, too.

A scar?

Where?

From what?

Find it, and I'll tell you.

It's cold.

You all right, mate?

I know it sounds mad,

but I swear sometimes I think I can still feel it.

It's not mad.

Just don't try standing on it, eh?

So, Sergeant...

I saw you talking to that chap.

What do you think of the fae?

They're an interesting people.

Are they?

In what sense?

Well, they've been around

so much longer than we have, for a start.

And yet, their industry lags far behind ours.

Why do you think that is?

I really couldn't say, sir.

Perhaps they've pursued different ends to ours.

Indeed they have.

Idolatry, intemperance, fornication.

Their ways have built the very empire

that now crumbles around us.

And we must be careful not to be seduced.

Fucking... wait.

All right.

I'm all yours.

It's not what it looks like.

How the hell could it possibly be anything else?

I've got it under control.

It's only once a month.

And I've got a whole forest to get myself lost in.

What are you gonna do when we get back to the Burgue?

Nowhere to run there.

I'll hand myself in.

And they can do whatever they do.

They'll take care of you is what.

You're their soldier.

Not anymore.

Not to them.

To them, I'm-I'm this.

A bloody Critch.

Except worse,

because I'm a Critch that could turn them Critch.

They'll put a bullet in my head on the spot.

They won't.

I'll take care of it.

Anyway...

I'm not the only one with a secret, am I?

I can smell it all over you.

The wolf fades slowly.

It's that pix you been doting on, isn't it?

Don't change the subject.

You're really in deep.

Aren't you?

I get it.

I look forward to the change.

I'll be shitting bones and leather for a week.

But in the moment...

when the wolf comes out,

it's freedom.

It's like the wolf

was what you were all along, underneath it all,

and the bite was just permission to stop pretending.

And that's what this whole fucking place is.

Tourmaline.

Oh, Vignette! Oh!

What happened?

We were attacked.

Kish...

It's fallen.

It was awful.

They waited to start shelling

until they could surround the city with sharpshooters.

Once it began

and we tried to get away,

they started picking us right out of the air.

Fecking Pact.

Like the Burguish are any better?

- They're our allies, aren't they? - Please.

They're Imperialist shites, same as the Pact.

They play the fae against each other

so they can take home the spoils.

So you flew all night?

It's, um...

it's funny how a crisis brings all your regrets into focus.

I saw my whole life go up in flames,

and all I could think was that I had to get to you.

What?

I've met someone.

You know I regret how it ended between us.

- I do. I really do. - I know.

It never ended.

It just changed.

You're still my closest friend.

Is it someone you met here?

He's a soldier.

Oh.

The wing brigade.

He's a Burguish soldier.

He's a good man.

Oh, I-I'm sure he is.

I'm sure he's a right proper gentleman.

Now. Come on, Vignette.

It's the oldest story there is, and it never ends well.

Soon as the war's over, he's gonna go home,

find himself a fat Burguish lady,

and have a big brood of fat Burguish kids.

You don't know that.

You haven't even thought about what happens

when the war ends, have you?

I'm exhausted.

Let's not talk about this anymore.

You're wrong about him.

Your wings, they didn't brighten this time.

It's not supposed to happen with faan-troigh anyway.

You all right?

What's gonna happen to us when the war is over?

I don't know.

Hadn't really... thought it through yet.

Right.

- Vignette. - What am I to you, Philo?

- Where's this coming from? - Because if I'm just

some exotic fuck, then...

No. How can you say that? You're...

You're like coming home.

I lost a part of myself a long time ago.

I tried to forget,

tried to ignore it, but it was always there.

There's a soldier here,

one who lost a leg...

- Ivos. - Ivos.

He told me he could still feel it,

as mad as that sounds.

But it didn't sound mad.

Not to me.

Your scars.

It must have happened when I was a baby.

I can't remember it.

But I know what was taken from me.

Because you still feel them.

I always have.

I've felt them my whole life.

You're half fae.

I can imagine how that must look to you,

a lifetime burying all the parts of me

- that are like you... - Stop.

You didn't do this.

It was done to you.

Now I know why that book made such an impression on you.

A child who's half fae,

searching for their parents...

I always wondered what their story was.

An affair.

A single drunken collision.

I wonder whether they loved each other,

whether they loved me,

if love would've made a difference.

I'm sorry.

They must have had a reason to give you away,

but to shear you like that...

To understand, you have to know the Burgue.

Life's hard enough for the fae.

Half-bloods don't belong anywhere.

To the humans, you're just another Critch.

To the fae...

just a reminder of the boot on their throats.

They thought that if they could pass you off,

you'd have a chance at a better life.

Didn't anyone at the boys' home know you'd been shorn?

The headmaster knew.

Maybe he was paid for his silence.

Maybe he just took pity on me.

He kept your secret, though?

He did.

He taught me to hide it.

Told me to steer clear of doctors, no matter what.

If anyone knew I had one drop of fae blood in me,

I'd have been on the street.

Certainly never would have been able to join the Army.

So you never told anyone?

No. Not in the Burgue.

But then it never felt so much like home.

Not like this.

Not like you.

Where will you go?

Oh. Down the coast to Mag Mor.

It's the biggest shithole in Tirnanoc.

There's nothing much to fight over,

so maybe we'll be safe there.

Good luck.

You could come with us.

Good-bye, Tourmaline.

I love you.

We will see each other again.

I don't know how or where, but... we will.

Do you love her?

Do you know what, it doesn't matter.

She loves you.

And it's gonna get her killed.

I've seen what's coming,

and your two legs can't outrun it.

The Burgue is losing the war.

This will all be Pact territory soon.

And she will stay by your side, even when you beg her

to fly away and save herself because...

because that's who she is.

She'll die for you.

If you love her,

you won't give her the choice to.

The Pact has taken the capital.

Whole bloody front's collapsed.

We've evacuating.

To where?

Home, Sergeant.

We're to rendezvous with the fleet at Port Moradoon.

How long have we got?

They'll be here by morning.

Philo!

Vignette.

It's time.

Go seal the library.

Yes, Mima.

You should go with them.

- You should leave now. - Without you? No.

Get yourself to Port Moradoon, I'll evacuate with my men,

- we'll meet there. - Unless we don't.

Unless the Pact catches up with your troops

and I never see you again.

Vignette, listen to me.

- We go together, Philo. - Where?

It doesn't matter where, as long as we have each other.

A Burguish soldier won't last long in Pact-occupied territory.

Then we go east, over the mountains,

across the Gulf to Ignota.

All right. All right.

We go together.

I'm going to seal the library.

Meet me in the Garden of Stones.

I'll see you there.

- I love you. - I love you.

Pact airships! Pact airships!

Take cover!

Don't let the cipher logs fall into enemy hands!

Yah!

Let 'em go.

Mima Roosan.

I need you to do something for me.

Hup! Hup! Give over!

Philo!

Your men are halfway down the hill.

Come on! It's time to ride.

I'll tell him I don't know where you are.

No. I'll talk to him.

- What are you doing here, Philo? - The flag you took was...

We both know you don't give a shit about that flag.

- You threatened to tell them. - I was angry.

- You know I wouldn't. - Do I?

You should. We were close once.

Or was any of that even real to you?

How can you even ask me that?

Because you left me, Philo!

You left and had Mima Roosan tell me you'd died.

You think that was easy?

It nearly ripped my bloody heart out.

Then why?

I didn't want you to die for me.

You think I haven't spent the last seven years wishing I had?

I was a liability to you. I was your weakness.

You were my hope, Philo.

And you survived.

We would've done more than survive.

We would've had a reason to.

We would've worked it out.

It could never have worked. I'm a broken thing.

Not to me.

I accepted you.

All of you.

Can this world say the same?

Have you told anyone the secrets that you told me?

Oh, gods, Philo.

You're so lost.

I will say a prayer for you tonight

that you find where you belong, but I know now

- that it's not with me. - Vignette.

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