Amo found the key stained red among Phaeduin’s armor, plucking it out and choosing an expensive bolt of purple cloth to wipe it clean with. Amo took it back to the cages and opened the door to let Sethian Skin out. The man exited carefully, sliding out without touching the bars. He said, “Leave the keys on that hook there. Afterward, touch nothing but the floor. That’s advice for your own wellbeing.” Amo left the key behind and followed that dark man out of the halls.

In the main room, Sethian Skin stretched and paced. He eyed the fallen clothes and disturbed curtain. “What have you done to my boutique? Have you any idea how expensive these fabrics are?”

“No apology from me.” Amo walked to the door. It still burned. They stopped, crossed their arms, and said, “Let me out.”

“You’re trying very hard to hide your accent,” Sethian Skin said as he picked up the fallen clothes and set to rehanging the curtain. “But the more you speak, the more I’m sure. How does a southlander get lost so far behind enemy lines?”

Huffing, Amo started, “I’m not-”

Deep voice a snap, Sethian Skin commanded, “Tell me,” so harshly that it made Amo straighten and shiver. After a breath, Sethian Skin said more smoothly, “Tell me who you are, Southlander.”

Amo thought for just a moment before turning around and lifting their chin with pride. “Fine. Amo, a spy from the southlands, yes. Raised in frozen Phelaine. Legendary spy known by a hundred names, master of disguise. I’ve come with a number of agents to find and capture the magical weapons that the northern nations are using to hold the war in stalemate.”

“Legendary you say? Oh, honesty. How I value it.” Sethian Skin clasped his hands together. “I will keep my deal of getting you out of this building alive and uncursed. However, you will be dead within days.”

“What?” Amo closed their fists, closed their eyes, shook their head. “But you said-”

“This isn’t my doing.” Sethian Skin paced toward Amo, gesturing to their hand-shaped burn. “I repaired your body, but your friend touched you with metal and damaged my spell before it could take hold. This body of yours is already beginning to break down. And if that’s not enough, dear Amo, Norgash and her apostles will be hunting you.”

Magic wounds, broken enchantments. Sethian Skin did not have exclusive dominion over those things. There were sorcerers for hire in the north that might be able to repair the damage. But… “Why? Why would Norgash come after me?”

Sethian Skin paced around Amo, looking over their naked body as though measuring them for a new outfit. “When Norgash killed you, she broke a bargain with me. I banished her, tacitly uninviting her from my veiled night party. You were meant to be her replacement.”

Amo scowled at him. “The fuck are you talking about?”

“Clothes aren’t the Maniaque’s only product. To an even more exclusive list of clients, I sell power and youth. Norgash is entirely dependent on her recurring orders, but I’ve been diverting her portion into you since yesterday. If I’d finished, you would’ve become quite the entertainer in time for the party.”

“I am not,” Amo snarled, “Interested in becoming anything. Or in entertaining.”

“Well, someone needs to dance at the party.” Sethian Skin shrugged, pacing away. “Norgash is territorial. If you run into her, she will eat you. She has hundreds of apostles in the city who will be searching for you; yes, yes, they’ll know you. If she gets you out of the way, I’ll have no choice but to return her invitation to her, and she will desperately desire that.”

“And what am I supposed to do about that?”

“You have two options.” Sethian Skin held up two fingers. “One is to complete your body’s transformation, which I can still do, but I’ll need you to provide adequate resources. Do this while evading Norgash and her apostles, dance at the veiled night party, and you’ll be free of all of this.”

“No. I don’t want to be transformed. And by adequate resources, you mean lives. I can tell.”

Sethian Skin smiled. “Many kinds of dye are made from the carapaces of insects, ground into powder and used to color garments. The skin of sapient things is useful in similar ways.”

“You said two options. What’s the other?”

“Subdue Norgash and bring her to me alive. Her skin isn’t so special. Her power can be ours, and another will rise to take the stage at the veiled night party.”

Amo looked at all the clothes around them, wondering about the source of the dyes, the source of the cloth. Darkweavers didn’t make their garments according to the arts of mere mortals. How many lives had poured into this fashion? When Amo had stumbled through the clothing racks, did any trapped spirit suffer? At this thought, Amo recalled their nightmare visions, wondering why they’d seen what they’d seen.

“Oh, and Amo.” Sethian Skin stood directly in front of them.

Amo flinched back. “What?”

“I don’t care about the war. It is beneath me. So let me sweeten the deal.” Sethian Skin gestured with two open palms. “If you help my veiled night party succeed, either by completing your transformation and performing or by killing Norgash so that another can take her place, then I’ll pay you back by giving you what you came to the north for.”

Eying those hands suspiciously, Amo said, “How?”

“The magic weapons of the northlands are simple compared to my own arts. I will tell you where to find them, how to steal them, and I’ll even tell you how to use them. The southlanders lack knowledge of magic, right? Return home with the weapons and the art of their use. Return to your home with victory,” Sethian Skin made their hands into fists. “In the palms of your hands.”

Somewhere in the south, a tall woman dressed in a heavy white coat hung blankets in front of broken windows, asked her neighbors for help nailing boards over the gaping hole where her kitchen had once been. In the evening, squinting at a book beneath flickering electric light, she read stories to children. Fewer children now, and they no longer smiled. While she told her tales, yellow light flared outside, magic raining out of the sky and tearing cannons from the cliff.

In the boutique Maniaque, Amo looked down at their own nakedness. They put a fingertip to the hand-shaped burn on their chest; somehow the swelling had already gone down, scar tissue forming rapidly. Amo said, “Add a set of tailored clothes to the deal. And tell me what the rules are.”

Sethian Skin chuckled. “Clothes, hm? Ah, yes. Dear Amo, you’re about to be beautiful.”