“Justiciar Radiant, there is a message for you.”
“No thanks, it’s my day off.”
Radiant sat cross-legged deep in her fluffiest chair, sipping a mug of tea that would be too sweet for a hummingbird. Her hair was down in wild curls and she wore her fuzziest robe. Her toenails were getting long, but that was fine. She would deal with that later.
The voice from the radio, ambiguously accented and gendered, spoke up again. “Justiciar Radiant, the message is from the Protectorate.”
She shook her head. “Hold it for tomorrow, please.”
There was a touch of static from the radio, then the voice tried again. “The lieutenant was quite insistent.”
Radiant sighed. This radio spirit was a new thing. She wasn’t sure when exactly it had appeared from the ether like some kind of gentleman ghost, this new formless spirit that took radio messages and assisted in connections. Not many had heard of it yet – it seemed to have shown itself to only a few in the city’s employ so far.
But the helpful voice didn’t feel quite so helpful on her one day off each week, like a life preserver when she was trying to dive for pearls. “I am not available today,” Radiant insisted. “Please hold the message for tomorrow.”
After another long, slightly crackly delay, the voice replied “Of course” and the radio clicked off.
She finished her tea, staring at the jar of foundation on the table. She’d never seen the value of makeup in her profession, where her scars were the icing on the implicitly dangerous cake of her muscles and sword and armour.
But Radiant was trying something different today, so she eyed the foundation. She stood, stepped over to the table, hesitantly reached for the jar as though the makeup might explode all over her face. She lingered, nearly touching… and dropped her arm.
No. Not today. Specifically today, because of her plans. Next week, for certain.
She dressed herself with care, building an entirely different type of armour than her typical chainmail-under-business-suit. Radiant forged her mental armour, protecting herself from her insecurities and second thoughts about wearing this patterned floral dress and high heels. She wanted her scars visible at work, but on her day off they were identifiable markings, like a spring songbird’s colourful flair, highlighting her, making her stand out.
That was the point of the makeup. Another type of armour. There was no point to it today, though – it would come off. Radiant did her breathing exercises, touched up hair unaccustomed to being free, and stepped outside.
The air was crisp and chill, unusually with no lingering bite of mist. Radiant crossed the blackstone road and waited for the streetcar, smiling to herself at the total void of recognition among her neighbours. M. Perse and M. Farrier stood next to her, eyed the scars on her arms and neck and face, but did not recognise her without her suit, sword, armour, and securely tied hair.
Her smile dipped like a bug in the wind as she spotted the woman stomping down the street toward her apartment building: brigadier Kat Morowa-Arnesdotr, hands stuffed into the pockets of her worn old bomber jacket, rapier and revolver bouncing on her hip.
Kat didn’t recognise Radiant, which was just as well because it was Radiant’s day off and Kat was certainly not visiting for leisure. The streetcar arrived; Radiant boarded and left Kat behind.
She was nervous despite her mental armour. Ever since that last incident with the brigadier, Radiant had paid a lot of thought to self-care. She’d sworn an oath to serve Ravenshore and its constitution. Part of that oath included taking care of herself so she could continue to serve the city. Until recently, that had mostly meant keeping her one day off per week inviolable no matter the crisis.
When Radiant recruited Kat to help her bring in a ghost as witness for a trial, the ghost had nearly killed her. She’d not wanted to, but was ready to, die for Ravenshore. It was a work day, after all. Of course she was still upset that Kat destroyed the ghost to save her life, but the incident made Radiant reconsider her self-care. Kat saw Radiant as some fanatic ready to throw her life away, and she couldn’t remove the thorn of doubt from under the fingernail of her mind. What if Kat was right? Perhaps, rather than simply not work on her days off, she should indulge herself every so often. There were more ways to care for herself than eating well, working out, and sleeping comfortably.
The first part of Radiant’s day was typical, but she was determined to make it special. She stepped into her masseuse’s office, hair and dress bouncing around her, which still felt as awkward as a two-legged cat.
“Good morning, M. Radiant,” smiled Charle from behind the desk. “Welcome back.”
The people in this flower-and-cookie-candle-scented office were among the small handful who recognised Radiant out of her work suit. “Hello, Charle,” replied Radiant.
“The usual?”
“Actually, no. Today I’d like the deluxe package with all the extras, please.”
“Ooh. Special occasion?”
“Not really. Trying something different.”
Charle showed her into the fancy room with its cascading plants, whispering waterfall, and soothing scented mist. Radiant undressed and tried not to let her eyes linger on the mirror reflecting the dozens of scars criss-crossed over her powerful, un-feminine build. She had to close her eyes and wall off the insecurities trying to punch their way through her armour like little jousting lances.
When she had control of herself, she climbed onto the table and lay face-down. Not long after, there was a knock on the door, and Radiant allowed her usual masseuse, Tiffe, to enter.
Tiffe layered beautifully smooth, lightly perfumed oils across Radiant’s back. She worked the muscles with powerful fingers, like a sabretooth cat kneading its bedding until it was soft and pliable and free of any bumps or knots.
Radiant let herself drift, floating on a sea of gently undulating bliss. Tiffe took her time with every muscle group, with moisturizers, with delicate scents blending into each other like the split light of a prism recombining into something pure and whole. She barely felt the rough, inflexible parts of her scar-marked skin.
She couldn’t stop sighing.
The door cracked open, just a touch. “I’m so sorry to interrupt,” Charle’s voice pleaded, “But someone is calling about a brigadier Kat -“
“I’m not working today,” Radiant sighed. She barely recognised her own voice, soft and dreamlike.
The door eased shut and Tiffe continued her work.
The massage itself was incredible, but Radiant’s thoughts kept returning to work. Perhaps she was too relaxed to control herself, like a pet falling over when scratched.
What if, said her worry, Ravenshore was better served by occasionally failing in her duties so that she could continue to perform her duties? If she’d died trying to bring in that ghost witness, Radiant would not have served summons to half a dozen more defendants this week, or protected a judge from being attacked in court by an angry wizard who’d tattooed a spell circle under his tongue.
But that didn’t make it okay to fail, to not try.
But when was it okay to give up? Or was it ever?
“You’re tensing,” said Tiffe. “Everything alright?”
Radiant sighed once more. “Yes. Sorry. Thinking of work when I shouldn’t.”
“Tell you what. I’m going to turn up the waterfall, light a few extra-strength candles, and put on some music that will help you forget all about it.”
It worked.
Radiant drifted through the next few hours of transit, manicure and pedicure, and haircut in massage-induced bliss. Her body felt loose and free as a balloon spider on the breeze, to the point where she stopped noticing her dress and simply felt normal. As she turned the pages of her romance novel she kept glancing at her pretty lacquered nails and soft fingertips, as though she didn’t hold a sword and shield all week every week.
The hair drying machine – some fancy new thing that didn’t use a lick of magic, she didn’t understand but she trusted her stylist – hissed and hummed steady, so when brigadier Kat Morowa-Arnesdotr ran past the salon chasing a panicked man down the street who somehow dodged through traffic like a seer-fish ducking bird strikes, Radiant didn’t hear a thing.
Only one aspect of the commotion bothered Radiant. As Kat chased her suspect down the street and through an intersection, the traffic light that had just turned suddenly changed back. A delivery truck slammed on its brakes just in time to avoid hitting Kat, who barely noticed and kept running.
Radiant frowned and stared at the traffic light. She knew they were on a strict schedule. Some electrical-mechanical system, inspired by Aulonia’s. Tweaked and fine-tuned regularly according to the city’s changing schedules and needs, yes, but a ‘go’ light did not simply change to a ‘stop’ light without warning.
The change smacked of the city elemental intervening lightly to prevent Kat from getting hit by that truck, almost like the old stories of those gods that didn’t exist protecting their followers from harm.
What made Kat Morowa-Arnesdotr so special that she’d met the spirit of Ravenshore on multiple occasions, and it directly intervened to help or save her several times? Justiciar Radiant served Ravenshore faithfully and the most she’d ever got was a quietly comforting feeling of someone watching over her. No meetings. No interventions. She didn’t even know what the spirit looked like – had only heard rumours of a hulking form, electric glow, and bird’s head.
The hair dryer hummed around her head and Radiant debated with herself whether thinking of Kat and the spirit counted as thinking of work. Technically no, and while technically correct was the best kind of correct, Radiant still decided it was too close. This was not just her day off, but her extra-special treat-herself day off.
She closed her eyes, counted to six, and returned to her well-worn novel.
Later, as she packed away her book with curls as bouncy and glossy as fresh purple springfruit, the radio crackled with a message for Justiciar Radiant. She paid her bill with a generous tip and left the salon before anyone could realise the radio meant her.
The sun was setting on Ravenshore and Radiant breathed in the first tendrils of the evening’s fog wrapping around her bare arms and legs like a casual yet familiar lover. She loved walking through the fog at night, but this evening was different.
She craned her neck to check the line ahead – only a dozen people to go. Radiant stood beneath the yellow neon glow of upper downtown’s hottest new nightclub, music thumping through sound-dampened walls like a dragon that couldn’t quite be contained. She clicked her heel to the rhythm, eager to dance among strangers.
Someone grabbed her elbow from behind. Radiant wound up, ready to punch –
Brigadier Kat Morowa-Arnesdotr. Standing there in her greasy hair and dirty jacket, weapons still on her belt, shining as if used very recently.
Radiant groaned, almost growled. “I am not working today. Leave me alone.”
To her surprise, Kat took a full step back, bumped into a big man behind her, who shoved her aside. Radiant scowled at the man who, though big, could not match the breadth of her shoulders.
Kat steadied herself. “Sorry. I just thought you should know. That seer who got off because we didn’t – because I destroyed the ghost witness?”
The bouncer waved Radiant forward. She hesitated, ground her teeth like a giant armadillo trying to sharpen them. Her hands flexed into fists, unfurled, tightened again. The bouncer cleared his throat.
“I’m going in to dance,” Radiant declared to Kat, “And if this is important enough you can follow me.”
She was certain Kat would refuse. The woman wasn’t dressed for a club, would have to surrender her weapons at the door, absolutely did not look the type to let herself go on a hot and packed dance floor.
To Radiant’s shock, Kat followed. She could barely rip her eyes away from the sword and gun she handed to the bouncer, and every moment afterward looked uncomfortable as a polar bear in a sauna with the heat still rising. Still, she followed.
Radiant regretted allowing the option, but she couldn’t go back on her word.
She slid onto the dance floor, turning down offered drinks, stepping nimbly as a pondskimmer on her high heels. For a moment the lively, sweaty crowd gave her space, perhaps intimidated by her scarred muscle. She matched their rhythm, took advantage of the lingering looseness of the deluxe massage to sway and move freely as a sail-serpent on windswept seas, and the crowd crushed back in, recognising only her body’s movement and not its shape or scars, the smile on her face and not its identity, all weaving together without ever quite touching.
Kat followed close behind, keeping herself tight and small as she could in her bulky sheepskin jacket. She looked miserable, unable to move with the crowd, bumped by elbows and shoulders and hips and knees.
“Loosen up,” Radiant said. “Let yourself move with the music. Your body knows how.”
Kat shook her head and said something Radiant couldn’t hear.
“What?”
“I stopped the seer,” Kat shouted up to Radiant.
Radiant spun on the spike of her heel, grabbed Kat by the elbow, and hauled her off the dance floor to the damp smokers’ alley. “You what?”
Kat tightened her coat. “I know you were upset when that seer got off because we didn’t get the witness. You talked about how dangerous it was for him to see the future, which forces the vision to happen no matter what. You said it violated others’ right to self-determination or something.”
Radiant put her hands on her hips and loomed over Kat. “What. Did you do?”
She looked up at Radiant, stuck out her chin. “I’ve been tracking him since the court let him go. He can’t be re-tried and I wasn’t going to wait for him to hurt someone else, so I found him and I used antimagic to stop him from ever seeing the future again.”
Radiant turned around and gripped her head through her curls. She spun back round and almost spat at Kat. “That’s not up to you! That’s illegal! Only the courts -“
“The courts let him go!” Kat shouted back.
Two smokers huddled in a corner exchanged glances and stepped back inside.
Radiant crossed her arms and squared her shoulders. “You have the right to due process. Everyone does. Even him. You can’t -“
“I can’t let him see another future that kills people! What about their rights?”
“It wasn’t proven in court that he killed anyone!”
“He would never have been arrested in the first place if he didn’t deserve to be!”
Radiant saw from the way her voice trailed off that Kat didn’t believe her own argument. “Have you deserved -” Radiant began, but cut herself off.
“Every time I’ve been arrested?” Kat finished. “No. Fuck. I get that, I said the wrong -” She huffed and jammed her hands in her pockets. “Look, I haven’t done anything illegal. I’m working for -“
“King Duncan MacReady of Aulonia,” Radiant interrupted, emphasizing that last word. “Yes, we’ve been over this. The king gives you authority to act as you please in pursuit of his law, and he is now the king of Ravenshore and his law supersedes mine. I know.” She hated, hated that Kat was technically correct, so with as much venom as she could muster, she added: “A thing can be legal without being right.”
Kat stepped back, bumped into the wall. “You really think it was wrong for me to stop a dangerous criminal from hurting people?”
“I think it was wrong of you to swear loyalty to a foreign king over Ravenshore.”
That was the wrong thing to say. She’d said it before. It didn’t work then, and it didn’t work now.
Kat’s hair dropped over her eyes. “Enjoy your dance party,” she snarled, and stomped back into the club.
Radiant sighed and leaned a shoulder against the cold, damp wall, barely noticing its temperature or the scrape she gave herself. She’d allow Kat a few moments to retrieve her weapons and leave.
She returned to the dance floor, no longer as free and loose as she’d been, unable to tear her thoughts entirely from Kat and their conversation. No matter how she looked at it, Radiant couldn’t find fault in her stance, and of course Kat must feel the same.
Perhaps Radiant would simply have to accept their differences and work around the brigadier’s authority as best she could.
She danced until she could barely stand.
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