In the Velvet Palace, the master had returned alone. It wasn't the usual disappointment; unlike the expeditions that had gone before them, this time, it seemed as though success was almost guaranteed when he left. The master seemed to be taking things particularly badly, sitting in darkness on the floor of the great hall, and staring up at the throne for his intended. The panicked servants followed the only protocol they knew, and looked to find the Counsel to appease him.

"There'll be more opportunities," the Counsel offered, "It's not like this is the first time you've failed."

The Warlock's eyes were unmoving.

"The Witling Woman's power may not be what it was, you could try the charm again but-"

"I found him."

Over a century of searching, and this wasn't the reaction the Counsel had expected.

"He refused to return with you?"

The Warlock scoffed. "Had that been the case, I'd have thrown him over my shoulder and dragged him back. Everything we've achieved, every man I've torn apart, every city laid to waste... all of it has been for him."

"Not him alone," the Counsel reminded.

"No, not at first," the Warlock agreed, "And that is why they paid with so much of their blood. But as to why we didn't finish this... the toll it has taken to hold this throne with unclean hands; it was all to serve for his return. For him to take his place at my side... without fear."

"There is not a subject of this isle that would dare to touch your bride."

"And yet it doesn't matter..." the Warlock said, his eyes welling with uncontrollable tears; "Nothing... nothing fucking matters anymore!"

The Counsel approached but dared not come within striking distance; the Warlock's face was contorted, the veins at his temples fit to burst, and the deep hue of his face near purple.

"The years I looked for him, the century of bloodshed, and yet time has dared to steal him from me! Why?! Why could I not find him in time? Why did I waste so many years in ignorance?! Tell me! Why..? Why did you leave me here alone..?"

On the witch's throne were sat three books the Counsel had not seen before. As the Warlock's temper waned, he followed his eyes to where they landed, on the cover of a leather-bound tome sitting atop the pile.

"Do you remember what we talked about?" asked the Warlock, his voice spent from shouting, and speaking barely a whisper; "The day we heard the news about Hofingrad... how we'd do to the world what they did to our home..?"

The Counsel nodded. "I remember..."

"Now is the time to do it. There's no reason left to hesitate; destroy it all and meet again in the next life."

The Warlock's eyes shifted from the throne to his Counsel. The mere mention of the past was enough to convince him that this world had been shown more grace than it deserved. But he still wasn't sure; if he was ready to end it all.

"What are the books?" asked the Counsel, "Your means?"

"His journals... I found them at the house in Grunterbad. All that remained of him."

"Have you read them?"

"Nothing beyond that first, telling line... 'I shouldn't have left him behind.' I couldn't bring myself to read further; the other side of the velvet water, he has lived a life without me. He told me time passed differently... I could never have known that our minutes had turned to the advancing of his years. How long must he have waited? And why? Why did he never come back?"

"Fear. The fear of his enemies. The news of your victories could not reach him; he was left to believe that the world remained against him."

"But I was not against him! He could have returned, to find me, to take me back with him!"

"And then what?" asked the Counsel, his voice rising, "You would have left me too?! Have left the work we did unfinished? Do not regret the past you could have had without me; it was a past in which our pain set right the wrongs of this world! I could not have done it alone."

The Counsel's agitation served to temper his own.

"You are right. Together we have done all that we could... Forgive me."

The Warlock's eyes stared vacantly ahead. The end he had envisaged was not so bright and wondrous after all. 

"When?" asked the Counsel; "They continue preparations for your wedding, their belief that your bride will be found has not been shaken. Should the isle be eclipsed by the ocean, none of them would think to expect it... or try in vain to stop you."

"I have his words," the Warlock replied, "And my power is depleted... until I regain my strength and read all that is left of him, let them live in ignorance of death for another day."

"You are too generous," the Counsel replied.

At the end of the hall, a maid covered her mouth, lest the shock of what she'd heard should lead to her discovery. She needed to share the intelligence with the Innate as quickly as possible. If the Warlock meant to end the world, only they may think of the means with which to stop him. 

Stealing out of her hiding place, and rushing to the kitchens, she prayed to Maphis that the herald remained in his seat by the fire.

"Mistress Hen, I'm flattered, but you damage your reputation in seeking out such a private exchange. Wouldn't it be better to wait until the others had gone to bed?"

"Now listen here," said Hen, having dragged the conceited herald to the backdoor, "I need you to send something for me, and I'd rather it kept between us."

A hastily scribbled missive was pushed into the herald's hands.

"Why trouble me with it?" he asked, "There are spells that could send your words directly to your lover's ears... you needn't make me the middle man." He was quite put out that Hen's presumed confession was not forthcoming, he was merely the messenger of her wants.

"The receiver... they are not inclined towards magic; old as they are."

"Old..?" asked the herald, "And yet they dare to court an impressionable young maid?"

"We are not courting," Hen confessed, "But I have urgent need of their assistance. Please." Her hands grasped the herald's own, her earnest eyes, full of sincerity. How could he possibly refuse her?

"Master Brecke at the Black Charnel. Deliver it only into his hands."

"You would have me go to such a place?" the herald complained, "The stench of death would stick to my clothes for a week! What's in it for me?"

Life, thought Hen.

"As much as I have in my purse," she offered. "Now hurry and be quick about it; and I'll see you've a clean change laid out to come back to."

With the herald dispatched, Hen returned to the kitchen, and the gleeful conversation that flowed amongst the servants. They hadn't seen anything of the master since the Counsel arrived to speak with him, and assumed that all would continue on as it had before.

"I've a feeling; this next time, his bride will be with him. Then just you watch, things will start to change around here!"

"You said that the last three times, Batt," the slaughterman pointed out, "And still the master's temper continues to threaten our peace. If he doesn't find the witch by the next sidereal, we'll be back to making tributes to the water again. All those fine matrimonial delicacies just thrown out into the sea... it's such a waste of the work that's gone in."

"Couldn't he just find another?" a foolish new cooklet ventured; "With everything readied, wouldn't it be easier to find another bride? There are plenty of maidens unattached and not without their charms."

"Another he says!" laughed Batt, "Do you think our master the Warlock conquered this isle and gave it his intended's name, just to go and choose another? A maiden no less..! Only the witch reserves the right to sit by the master's side... and it's only him who'll put things right."

"But... wasn't the witch said to be demon..?" the cooklet ventured in a whisper.

"You hush your mouth!" Batt warned with a smack on the cooklet's lips, "There's been ne'er a bad word spoken on the witch in close to a hundred years! At least not by those you'd find still living. Didn't you read the decree where you came up?"

"No man, woman or child shall speak against the divine. Unassailed in vindication of their virtue. There was more to it than that, but it's as far you as you need recite to understand the meaning."

"I never learned to read," the cooklet confessed.

"Then you'd best learn!" Batt advised, "It wouldn't do you any good to go against the master's word, now you've landed yourself in the palace. And if you find yourself uncertain what you should or should not say; remember this if nothing else: There is no one above the Warlock but the witch."

Mistress Hen had once thought the same as the others, that the Warlock would find his chosen bride, and finally be content. The Innate disagreed. They had knowledge, they told her, of the witch's true nature; that should the pair be reunited, it would mean destruction for them all. Reluctantly, she kept their network informed of the master's endeavors to breach the velvet water, out of fear that a great suffering would soon be upon them.

Now the witch was dead, and the Warlock intent on revenge, the Innate were all she could think of. Her master's power was beyond what any one man could contend with; if he wanted to end the world, they could all be dead by morning. 

Except for those books... it would be putting your throat to the knife's edge by trying, but if the books went missing before they were read... even one... then it would buy them all some time.

Hen took her usual spot in the kitchen, perched on a stool behind the other maids, and wondering above the sound of their idle chatter how best to steal the witch's journal when talk turned to books.

"If you're worried about the cost," the slaughterman told the cooklet, "My wife's brother-in-law's got his hands in the book trade. Can get you some copies to pore through for very little coin..."

"Copies?" challenged Batt, "Forgeries are what they are! Honest to goodness knock-offs... I wouldn't think the words were even spelled correctly."

"Perhaps not..." admitted the slaughterman, "But they're close enough."

A copy could be of help. Rather than risk the Warlock tearing the palace apart to find the book that Hen planned to pilfer, a replica residing in its place might escape notice for a while. Only once it was read would their master realize the deception.

"I'll take him," Hen offered, "Once my duties are done. Relmund can be hard to navigate for newcomers. Give me the address, and I'll help him buy some books."

The cooklet had not expected such kindness from the servants of the Warlock's palace; he was near blushing at the thought of taking a turn through the streets with Mistress Hen when Batt set him to rights.

"Hen's a generous sort," said Batt, "She'd as soon help the slaughterman if he needed a hand. Don't get it twisted."

In a further demonstration of her generosity, Mistress Hen offered to collect the Warlock's clothes to launder along with the rest, in light of her promise to the herald. Stealing into his chamber, her pretense prepared; she set to work locating the witch's tomes while the master bathed.

He'd spend long hours practising his magic in the large, stone-carved bath attached to his bedroom. In the days of The Protector it was often filled with beauties and maids, but since the Warlock took possession of the palace, he had ordered never to be disturbed by the intrusion of others. Only the Counsel was likely to visit him, and every servant came and went as quietly as they could.

Casting stealth on her shoes as she collected the garments to be washed, Hen caught sight of them; the three tomes of the witch. Stacked neatly inside a carved and open box on the Warlock's desk, only the uppermost cover lay visible, obscuring the second and third below it. He need only lift them out to determine the contents was there. 

With no other plan until an answer could be had from Master Brecke; Hen made a bold decision. Switching the lower-most book with a copy of Herring's 'Windcut', she hid the journal beneath her skirts.

A trip to the slaughterman's in-law, and a better facsimilie would soon take its place. She only hoped the master wouldn't notice too soon. Her heart fit to bursting, and in disbelief of what she'd done, Hen made haste to meet the cooklet; barely discerning the sorrowful wailing of the Warlock as she rushed out the door.