answer is ‘no.’ This means that either the Edict has not been implemented, has been rescinded or is fundamentally flawed.” The Bailiwick’s eyes narrowed, but the Scribe continued, unshaken by his employer’s displeasure. “In any case, I would ask that you confirm its present state and status with the Council.” Ink straightened as he added a conciliatory, “Please.”
The Bailiwick sat back and reconsidered the sword on his desk. He let out a long, slow sigh. “What you ask is fair,” Graus Claude grumbled. “And, in fairness to you both, I will investigate your request as well as offer you some information and advice.” He shifted in his seat much like a frog settling onto its haunches. “Once you exposed Aniseed’s plot to foster a Golden Age by mass human genocide, we found that, while we had apprehended many of her supporters, her guiding sentiment had gained popularity.” The Bailiwick coughed politely as if it could mask his distaste. “As a martyr, Aniseed’s death has given it voice.” He stuffed his fountain pen into its holder in disgust. “The Council has been forced to recognize a faction calling itself the Tide, whose representatives have invoked old precepts that would grant them formal audience as well as a seat on the Council.” He smoothed his four hands over the carved armrests. “If there were any who would be most interested in this sort of base revenge, it would be the Tide.” Graus Claude extended one pointy claw. “And they are most interested in you, Miss Malone.”
Joy gripped her chair arms. “What? Why?”
“As an extremist, separatist faction, they see you as the primary example of the danger posed by humanity,” he said. “Sol Leander, the representative of the Tide, accuses the Council of negligence in allowing you to flaunt their jurisdiction by wielding power without authority.”
Joy gaped. “That’s not true!”
“Actually, it is,” Ink said. “You ended Aniseed’s reign by erasing her mark as well as Briarhook’s signatura. As well as Inq’s. And mine. Such a thing has never occurred before, and certainly never without consequence.”
“But I didn’t know—” she began, but Ink continued.
“In addition, you continue to wield the scalpel, an instrument exclusive to the Scribes, without anyone being able to stop you or lay claim to you, since you are already protected under the Edict. You are what all the Twixt has ever wanted to be—both powerful and free.” Ink’s voice remained neutral, but Joy could tell that he said this with no small amount of pride. The dimples were back.
Joy tried to put her thoughts into words. “So the Folk...are jealous of me? Or afraid of me?”
“It is enough to make anyone afraid,” Graus Claude said. “Sol Leander enjoys reminding everyone that his commitment, his auspice, is to survivors of unprovoked attack, like everyone in the Twixt.” He tapped his pen with one hand as another gestured to Joy. Hands three and four held the armrests. “You have abused a system that you cannot possibly understand, and without Master Ink’s signatura, you currently exist outside our parameters, yet inside our protections, which does, indeed, flaunt the authority of the Council.” He lowered his head to Joy’s to impress the weight of his words. “To put it bluntly, you are considered rogue, Miss Malone.”
He sat back with a satisfied air as Joy nervously tugged at her cuff. “And therein lies the heart of my advice,” he said. “I suggest that, for the sake of peace, you consider the following options—either return the scalpel that can erase marks to Master Ink, thus negating the concern of your power going unchecked, accept his signatura, which would bind you to the laws of the Twixt, or quit this world, Miss Malone.” Graus Claude folded his four arms together. “Walk away from this life and never return.”
A heavy quiet made the room seem darker. The Bailiwick sat patiently. She blinked at him. What? Was she supposed to decide now? Joy staggered under the dual weight of Ink’s gaze and Graus Claude’s words. Had Ink known this was going to happen? Had she been blind not to see this coming? Or simply hopeful? How long had she thought she could go on without being forced to make a choice? The Bailiwick had warned her it was impossible to be of two worlds and, one day, she would have to choose.
She took the scalpel out of its pocket. “I’ll give it back.”
“You cannot,” Ink said. “It was a gift and I gave it willingly.” He turned to Graus Claude. “It is done and cannot be undone. Not even by the Council.” Ink cast a quick warning glance at Joy. Without the scalpel, the Folk might discover that the power of erasure lay not in the scalpel, but in her.
“So you say,” the Bailiwick answered. “Yet ‘undoing’ seems to be Miss Malone’s specialty and expertise. Besides,” he said, “there are other options.”
Joy held the scalpel, the metal warm in her hand. It was important to keep up the ruse, protecting her magic and her life, but it was also important that she keep other things, like being human. And being free.
“Ink doesn’t want me to have his signatura,” she said.
“Because it binds you,” Ink said.
“Yes,” Graus Claude agreed. “Precisely its purpose, as a matter of fact.” The Bailiwick tapped his manicured claws against the wood. “Signaturae were developed to safeguard against human entrapment, making slaves of the Folk under the yoke of their True Names. By transferring our magic to sigils, we have secured our freedom. The Scribes, Invisible Inq and Indelible Ink, were created for the sole purpose to mark humans with signaturae.” The great toad’s eye ridge twitched. “That is what they do.”
“But it must be given willingly,” she said. “A signatura taken by force is powerless. So if Ink doesn’t agree, then that’s that.”
“I believe you have remarkable talents of persuasion, should you wish to employ them,” Graus Claude said drily. “And it need not be Master Ink’s signatura. It could be anyone’s, but the bond does carry certain obligations and responsibilities that are essential to the Twixt.”
Joy hadn’t realized that she and Ink had been bound to anything other than one another. When she had been marked as his lehman, Joy was considered to be his human lover/slave/helpmate. What other promises had Ink made by marking Joy? What did the Council know that she didn’t?
“She is human,” Ink said. “And, unlike us, she has her freedom.” Ink placed a hand over Joy’s. She looked at their joined fingers: human and almost-human, wound together. “She should not have to give that up under pressure from the Council.”
“Well, I’m not giving you up,” Joy said, dismissing the third option. She looked defiantly at Graus Claude. “I won’t.”
The Bailiwick sighed around his chins. “One cannot have it all, Miss Malone,” he said, giving his head a palsied shake. “Every choice has its price.”
Ink regarded Graus Claude coolly. “There must be another way,” Ink said. “And if anyone would discover it, I trust that it would be you.”
The massive toad’s great eye ridge arced in surprise. “Flattery?” the Bailiwick asked, smiling. “That is a new trick for you, Master Ink.”
Ink shrugged. “I am learning.” He touched the skin of Joy’s wrist gently, as if remembering how her touch was his first hint at being human, the music of fingers touching, skin on skin.
Graus Claude rearranged random things on his desk before two of his hands opened a polished wood case and a third withdrew a set of gold-rimmed spectacles. “Very well. Leave me the sword—let me
