Chapter 171: Stuck in The Middle

"They can’t be that bad," Lula says as Penelo gently dabs another cloud of purple bruising. "They were Saint Sisters... from the church. They even healed most of your wounds."

"OW!" Eris snaps. "They can absolutely be that bad. One of them punched me through a stand of trees. Have you ever been punched through a tree?"

"No... not yet." Penelo shrugs.

"Well, it hurts!" Eris winces.

"A lot!" Vexena adds, wincing through her own impromptu healing session nearby.

"You two should compare notes," Mika drawls from a nearby crate, wings drooping tiredly at her sides. "Start a club. Matching bruises and everything."

"Not helping, angel," Eris grumbles.

Penelo dabs carefully at the bruises mottling Eris’s back as the general curses, bent over a barrel, muttering the same phrase under her breath on repeat.

"...I never want to see a Saint Sister again as long as I live," Eris mutters, for the twelfth time that hour.

"...Okay," Lula concedes. "Maybe they are that bad."

"It was humiliating! I’ve fought hydras, I’ve fought Baronesses, and I have never once, in my entire unnaturally long life, been so thoroughly and cheerfully dismantled... by a half-naked redhead, no less."

"What’s that about redheads!?" a voice asks, clearly annoyed, from somewhere in one of the carriages.

"Nothing!" Sera replies back. "Just that they’re extremely dangerous based on past experiences."

Vuvi responds with a string of muffled curses, the carriage rocking slightly as she flops back down inside it.

The team settles in and around the carriages, tending to lingering wounds and even more badly bruised egos after their encounters with Baroness Syraleth and then the Saint Sisters. The air still smells of scorched earth and Penelo’s herb-oils, bandages and blankets strung wherever there’s a free hand to hang them.

Nearby, Veena helps her mother, Vexena, covering a still-seeping wound across her shoulder with a mixture of Penelo’s herb-infused oils, working with careful, diligent hands despite her own lingering exhaustion biting at her limbs.

While off to the side, her tiny sister, Virelle, is utterly enraptured by the sheer size and overwhelming fluffiness of frosthounds. She climbs all over Frostlick like she’s a furry mountain built specifically for a demon princess’s amusement, burrowing and tumbling delightedly through the thick white fur, much to Raikya’s visible and audible dismay and Frostlick’s obvious, tail-thumping, thoroughly unbothered joy.

"She’s going to end up in her stomach at this rate," Raikya mutters, trying in vain to corral the tiny terror, watching Virelle vanish briefly into a particularly dense patch of fur, only a small tuft of dark hair and one kicking foot still visible.

"She’ll be fine," Veena says, not entirely convincingly. "She probably tastes terrible anyway."

"Careful, my little starseed," Vexena calls over, watching Virelle cackle with delight as she nearly rolls straight off the hound’s back.

Then the Demon Queen turns to her generals, pressing a hand to her wound as she scowls.

"Syraleth got away in all the commotion," she says. "Halfway to the Demon Lands by now, if I had to guess." She shakes her head slowly. "Those damnable Saint Sisters got in the way. They aren’t ordinary mortals. I’ve never once seen that kind of divine power wielded by anyone claiming to serve the Church, and I’ve fought quite a few of them."

Eris straightens slowly, wincing, some of the wry humor draining out of her voice. "Your Grace, if I may. I’ve fought at your side for decades. I don’t think I’ve ever once seen you actually struggle in a fight. Not like that."

Vexena scoffs, one corner of her mouth curling despite the honesty buried in the jab. "Struggle? Please." She flexes her clawed hand, turning it over like it’s personally offended her. "My connection to my core-crystal is already fraying, Eris. Half of it’s sitting locked away in a castle currently being overrun by Syraleth’s forces, and I’ve been fighting on borrowed strength ever since. I was up there trading blows on half a tank." Her eyes drift skyward for a moment, distant, almost hungry. "Trust me. If that crystal were whole and I had everything I was actually born with, I’d gladly go another round with that Saint Sister."

"Perhaps we simply avoid them in the future," Bilorial says, still testing his freshly mended shoulder. "I feel like we’d live a lot longer."

Vexena barks out a laugh, still holding onto her sense of humor despite the constantly deteriorating status of her rulership.

"I’ll have to avoid a great many things soon if we don’t get back to the Demon Lands and stop Syraleth first," she says pointedly. "Assuming there’s anything left of the Demon Lands worth returning to by the time we manage the journey."

"There will be!" Eris says firmly, from where she’s still bent over Penelo’s treatment, wincing through it. "There has to be! We cannot just let—"

"Even leaving right now, straight line, no stops," Xenara says, cutting in, counting on her fingers as she works through the logistics out loud, "it’s a week. Realistically a fortnight, accounting for terrain and the sheer number of soldiers currently too wounded to march. And that’s all before we even get to the part where we need your full army to actually retake the fortress once we arrive, not a battered fraction of it."

"Thank you, Xenara!" Eris sneers, flinging up both hands hard enough to reopen a bandage on her wrist. "Very helpful summary of exactly how screwed we are. Appreciate it."

"So, basically, we’re stuck," Vexena says, sighing deeply at the very thought of being forced to remain on the continent for a second longer than she’d like.

"I’m afraid so, Your Grace. You’re stuck," Xenara confirms.

Vexena groans, dragging a hand down her face, mud and dried blood still crusted along her jaw.

"Fantastic! We’re stuck here until we can put together an actual plan, and every hour we waste is an hour Syraleth gets to dig herself in deeper and steal more of my power."

She calls out sharply, voice snapping back into its usual commanding register despite the exhaustion clearly dragging at her body. Bilorial, Xenara, and Eris all snap to immediate attention, spines straightening, any lingering pain visibly set aside for the moment.

"It seems we have no choice," she tells them. "The army stays here... for now. The two of you stay with it. Keep them in line, keep them out of trouble, and for the love of the Great Mother, keep them from starting a war with the dwarves, or anyone else, out of sheer boredom."

"Understood, Your Grace," Xenara nods.

"Understood, Your Majesty," Bilorial says, already mentally cataloguing a dozen logistical concerns, his monocle glowing faintly as he no doubt begins drafting a supply requisition in his head.

"I’m trusting you to ensure the locals find no further reason to dislike us," Vexena adds. "We have enough problems without having to involve villagers and pitchforks."

Both generals nod, acknowledging the order without question or hesitation.

"Eris and I will travel on with my daughter and her friends to the Dwarven capital and work out our next move from there," Vexena says, rising, wincing through the motion as she rolls back her shoulders slowly.

"W-Wait!" Veena stutters, suddenly jolting up, completely oblivious of her exhaustion. "You can’t possibly... you want to travel? With us?"

"Try not to look too excited," Vexena adds, not quite managing to keep a straight face.

Veena’s ears go visibly pink. "Mother... I really don’t think that’s a good idea."

"Why?" Vexena scoffs. "Too dangerous for a Demon Queen?"

"No..." Veena groans, and softer, under her breath, "...it’s too embarrassing for me!"