It had been known to happen before; when the Warlock continued his search for the witch accompanied by the Counsel, the Velvet Palace was often dark in the absence of its masters. But despite the spontaneity of their trips, there had, until now, been a degree of protocol in place as to how staff might contact them should matters of state demand their return to the capital.

On this occasion, it was almost as if the Happenstance had spirited them away. The Counsel had left without his attendant, and the Warlock's usual post-expedition recovery period had been cut short. Gris the Chamber Head was almost thankful that their sudden departure coincided with Hen's illness, as she was already fretting about how things would run without her.

The one remaining constant, of course, regardless of all eventualities; was that preparations for the wedding of the witch and the Warlock would continue. Not just in the capital, but all across the Madning Isle, the business of their overlord's marriage was single-handedly sustaining the economy.

"Are you sure we're heading in the right direction?" asked Delph, "I don't remember seeing those woodsmen on the way to the house."

"The road we followed can flood this time of year," lied Ursa, "We need to loop around before we can head back towards the theater."

"Oh."

Delph pulled his robe a little tighter to his chin, and rested his head on his hands. He had no reason to doubt him; after their unexpected meeting in the cart, Ursa had taken him home and turned the cart around again as promised. He would certainly know better than a stranger which roads to take.

In a field beside them, a row of tree stumps met the edge of a forest. Half of the men were engaged in felling more of the tall and leafy giants, while others wrestled to strip their weighty corpses of their bark and branches.  

"Are they building houses here?" asked Delph, "Perhaps something could be done to make improvements to Merit Fox's home."

"The timber is not for the people," Ursa told him, "Those are Witling Oaks, which means they've been earmarked by the Warlock."

"To build his palace?" asked Delph.

Ursa's disbelief broke out into a throaty laugh. "He has a palace already," he assured, "And carriages, boats, not to mention, more furniture than one man could possibly use in this life and the next."

"Then, what does he use it for?"

"It's for his bride of course. Oak barrels to age the wine, and its bark to make medicines should he chance to need them. Everything done here is solely to serve the Warlock's demon bride."

Delph stared out at the busy masters of industry. He thought how rough their hands must be, how many splinters they had suffered, and if the Warlock paid them well. The bride... the witch. Delph wasn't sure how to ask him, but the words he'd caught on Ursa's lips had left him confused.

"The witch," Delph began, "Was he a man or a woman..? I know that Cuttle played his part, but it wouldn't be unheard of for an actor play as either. If the Warlock means to make the witch his bride, shouldn't he be a woman..?"

"There were rumors, long ago, as to what it really was. It's hard to discern now which of them were true, but Pi- ...the Warlock, he always said the witch was a man. A man he intended to marry as soon as he found where he was hiding."

Delph's cheeks blushed pink.

"Don't they have that kind of romance in Grunterbad?" asked Ursa.

"I often thought, maybe my father..." Delph confessed. "In the years he was alone, I wondered if there was a reason he never found a mate. I even joked with Fiepet when the man... The man who came to our house... that we followed here through the water. Was that man the Warlock? Did the Warlock come looking for our father..?!"

Delphin Strahl had only seen his figure in the distance; but from Fiepet's account, his splendidly gaudy appearance had not gone unnoticed. If the Warlock was looking for his bride, and the bride was said to be in Grunterbad... Then it was possible he'd mistaken their father for the fabled witch. And that Ursa had done the same.

"Is that why?" he asked.

Ursa had the strength to overpower him if he needed to. He didn't see the point in maintaining a charade for the sake of his comfort. A derisive look devoid of pretense, and Delph was given to understand the level of hatred he harbored.

"You have no intention of helping me," Delph asserted, "Because you think my father was a demon. A witch? My father was a Printmaker! Hekse Strahl was an old man who lived out his life helping everyone he could. No magic, no evil; only a quiet existence printing books and papers for his clients and neighbors. You would make him a villain..? For what purpose?"

 "You're louder than I gave you credit for," said Ursa, "I hadn't thought you the type to argue."

"Only when it comes to my family," said Delph, "There's nothing else I have in the world but them. And though Father and I may have had our differences, he was still the only parent I knew. You think because he died in Grunterbad that he must have been this witch you speak of?! How can you be so sure?"

The seed of doubt was taking root in Ursa's mind.

"The Counsel. He told me... the Warlock discovered the witch was dead. That he found him at last in Grunterbad."

"And you believed him so easily?" asked Delph, "Even if this Counsel thought he was speaking the truth; how was the Warlock so certain my father was the witch he was looking for?"

Ursa tried to recall the Counsel's words outside the theater. He regretted how much wine he'd had to drink that night, and how blurred the memory had become. He told him clearly the witch was dead... and he knew that Grunterbad was where it ran to a century before. Could there really be so great a coincidence? He should have stayed and asked more questions. How did it die? Where did it die? He shouldn't have left without the facts of the matter.

"My father's body was burned," Delph told Ursa, "Long before the mourner came to our house and jumped into our lake. How could he have known with absolute certainty, that those ashes belonged to his bride?"

Ursa had no knowledge of the witch's journals, or the charm that had led the Warlock through the velvet water to the house beside the Printworks. And so, what Delph suggested was frustratingly feasible. Had the Warlock made a mistake..? He trusted his findings to the point of destroying the world because of them. It wasn't likely he'd have got things wrong.

But it wasn't impossible either.

"Are you really taking me to meet my brother?" asked Delph, "It's clear what you think of our family. What is it you're planning to do?"

Delph was not supposed to second guess his plan or his motive. Not until they were standing in the ruins of Hofingrad, and he was forced to face his father's crimes, should Delph have learned the truth. He thought of reaching for the nearest rope and tying the spawn securely to the cart, but he lacked the courage of his conviction. He was the witch's spawn, wasn't he?

"Your father..."

"Hekse Strahl was his name," said Delph.

"The witch."

"Suspected witch," corrected Delph.

"He never paid for what happened to my family! Our people were massacred while he escaped to freedom; to a life my own father never got to live! My mother, my unborn sibling, my brother... all of them lost! Do you understand? What that means? How that feels..?! The bitter injustice done to innocent people. Those that you loved, that even now, you cannot bear to be parted from!"

"This witch killed them?" asked Delph, "I cannot attest to it being my father, but I offer you my deepest sympathy."

It was not by the witch's hand. And yet, had the witch never come to Hofingrad, no such fate would have ever met its residents. The responsibility laid with no other but the one who brought misfortune with every step he burned into the earth.

"Fiepet is like him the least, if resemblance is the measure of our guilt. If you mean to push the witch's blame on anyone, then let it be me, rather than my brother. It was always said I looked like him, even though-"

Delph stopped himself. Denying it now, that there was no blood relation between them, would he even be believed? At least he could speak in defense of Fiepet, and hope it was enough to spare him from Ursa's misgivings.

"My brother may be the eldest between us, but we do not look alike. He was adopted before I came along. Even if by some cursed design of fate, my father was the witch, Fiepet has nothing to do with him. What you hoped to gain by keeping us apart I do not understand. If I know him at all, he'll be foolishly looking to find me. If that day comes, and you try to hurt him, I will not hold back."

Ursa wasn't sure. What did he hope to gain? Did he suspect the witch's spawn would feel remorse? Anguish? Some trace of the sorrow and regret he desperately wished the witch himself to suffer? Was Hekse Strahl really the demon from his nightmares? The pounding questions and the lack of wine was splitting his head in two.

"I just want to go home," Delph confessed quietly, "I just want to take my brother home."

'Rel. Rel, Why aren't you here to help me?' 

Ursa's heart cried out for his own brother. There was no answer, and nothing to do except brace for the inevitable end. "The Warlock's belief was enough," he declared, "With the witch gone, he intends to tear this world apart and make its people pay for the sins that killed our loved ones."

"What?" puzzled Delph, "And what are you going to do about it?!"

"Let him of course," Ursa replied, "What else would you have me do? This isle was due to meet its doom. And while the sinless embrace once more in the afterlife, those deserving of retribution will toil in the realm of torment until their souls turn to dust."

"But..! What of your mother?!"

"Not my mother," said Ursa, his guilt seizing into a sneer as soon as the words were spoken. "My mother died at the hands of the enforcers when the witch escaped."

In the fields, the men were still working.

"And what of them?!" asked Delph, "They are innocent!"

"I do not mean to kill them," said Ursa, "Another means to take their lives, and only then will their innocence will be proven. Let us all face judgement, together."

The gambit of Delphin Strahl could have seen him cut down in spite before the cart had reached the end of the lane, and yet there was no choice but to play it.

"Your family," he began with caution, "Did they know that death was on its way to claim them..? Had someone the power to tell them, to warn them, wouldn't you have wanted them to speak? To act? To scream at the top of their lungs if it meant the people you loved could be saved?"

The earnest desperation in Delph's eyes held more feeling than Ursa had seen in a century of grief. That a man would allow his affected self to be witnessed so openly, was uncommon on the road to vengeance.

"How could you sit and do nothing?" he asked of Ursa, "When you know what doing nothing means?!"

"Enough," said Ursa, "Why should they get the warning they failed to give the people of Hofingrad? I was not born to be their savior."

This was not Delph's world, and these were not his people. All of this was beyond the scope of his comprehension, and remained at times something like a dream. But look at them. Look at those men, working without thought to prepare for a wedding day that would never come. Wiping their sweat and suffering the aches of their bodies as they pushed them beyond endurance. All of it for what? 

"I want to see my brother," said Delph, "If you're content to do nothing to stop the Warlock, then maybe before we leave we can find another to see sense."

"You think you can leave?" asked Ursa.

"You are not even sure of who I am!" cried Delph, "Would you still force me to stay?!"

Ursa laughed. The more he thought of it, the louder it became.

"What?!" begged Delph.

"Even if I let you go," said Ursa, "If I sent you off to find your way home; do you understand who you would need to ask for help..? There's only one person in this world who could send you back to yours."

"You mean... the only person I can count on to send me back to my world, is the madman intent on destroying this one..?!"