The heat of the afternoon clung to the stones as Selene crossed from the Leviathan terraces into the dry avenues that fanned toward the 5–4. Her hair was still damp from the baths. She’d changed to light leathers provided to her by the Lycen guard. It looked more uniform than fashion.

  The female Lycan paced at her side, silent until addressed. When she finally spoke, it was in a low, even cadence that carried without effort.

  “Sanctum priests started a sermon in the market square,” the Lycan said. “They aimed it at the humans. Nothing you haven’t heard before—gods and purity, the usual.”

  “And?” Selene said.

  “A demon took the bait,” the Lycan replied. “Argued that the gods don’t pick sides. Bance this, bance that. The priest could not contest his words and instead struck him. The demon put down the priest and two Inquisitors before the guard line could form.”

  “Are they dead?” Selene asked.

  “Breathing. Bruised. Their pride’s hurt more than their bones.”

  Selene scoffed, "Then why contact me at all? Just follow normal protocol."

  "I would have loved to, but an Archbishop intervened, saying he wouldn't let things go without proper punishment being enacted. They are a foreign guest; my hands are tied."

  Somewhere beyond the next turn, voices yered themselves into a single rippling mass. Selene didn’t quicken.

  “Name?” Selene asked.

  “Archbishop Malrek Veil. Broad man. More solid than any priest I've ever seen.”

  At the next corner, two figures waited, already turning as Selene approached.

  Princess Seraphine put on a silk robe to cover herself before heading towards the commotion. Lyssara kept half a step behind the Princess, with just a cloak to cover her body. They fell in pce behind Selene without addressing beyond a shared nod.

  “We have an eye on what's happening,” Seraphine said. “Fill in the bnks for us.”

  The Lycan repeated her report. Seraphine’s expression thinned at the mention of the first strike coming from a priest. She did not comment. The crowd’s sound grew heavier.

  The 5–4 pza appeared all at once: the square showed itself, it was clearly designed and influenced by human hands. As it looked like the Valenfor Empire's Capital Square, only with more scales and feathers.

  Selene entered without raising her voice. The crowd sensed her approach; gaps opened of their own accord with the help of the Lycan’s shoulders. Seraphine and Lyssara followed. When the st line broke, the center y clear.

  A demon stood with his bare feet cracking the stones under them. His skin was a dark crimson like dried blood, and the silver of his veins was hardly visible under his smooth skin. Two Inquisitors and a priest y at his feet, senseless, sweat shining on their faces. Across from him stood a single man holding himself as if he’d been built to hold the line, not preach scripture.

  Age-colored hair at the temples, yes, and a network of lines around the eyes. The staff’s head was a crown of thorn-fashioned silver around a bde. He held that staff like a spear aimed at his target.

  “Princess,” someone murmured. The crowd’s noise dipped.

  The demon’s gaze flicked to her once and then away, posture easing half a degree. The Archbishop’s eyes tracked every one of her steps.

  “What in the hells is going on in my city?” Selene said.

  The Archbishop straightened. He lifted his chin.

  “I am Archbishop Malrek Veil, representative of the Sanctum of Thorns in these negotiations, and bearer of—”

  “Titles don’t weigh anything here,” Selene said. “Only your words do.”

  The staff did not lower. “Your creature verbally accosted my men.”

  The demon exhaled. Selene gnced at him and then at the bodies on the ground.

  "Oh, I said bad words that hurt your feelings?" The Demon responded sarcastically.

  “Unprovoked,” Malrek added, while ignoring the Demon's taunts. “We were preaching the word to the wayward when he interjected with bsphemies. If you insist on housing these creatures, perhaps you should keep their leashes shorter.”

  “Release them,” Selene said to the demon. Not caring enough to hear anymore.

  The demon’s foot lifted and nudged the closest Inquisitor. It was not gentle. The man slid across the ground, stopping in front of the Bishop. The second followed with the same casual force. The Demon picked the priest up by his colr and tossed him at a paperweight. They were bruised and beaten, but not even a drop of blood was on them.

  The Archbishop did not kneel to check on his people. Instead, an annoyed, disgusted look crossed his face as he looked at them. It eased away so quickly that most couldn't have caught it, but Selene did.

  “Remarkable, ” she said. “Look at how well trained they are.” Selene joked as the Red Demon chuckled.

  “Do you find this amusing?” Malrek asked. The words were even; the edges were not. “Incidents like this can undermine an Accord before they've truly begun.”

  Selene’s gaze went to his and stayed. It was not sharp. Sharpness is for cuts. This was clean gss—clear enough to see through, and hard enough to break a face.

  “It can,” she said. “But it seems that idea excites you.”

  The Archbishop’s jaw tightened as did his grip on his staff.

  Seraphine stepped forward.

  “The presence of the Sanctum is appreciated,” she said. “It is not required.”

  "So what will you do now, hmm? Chase us from here? Tell us to stop preaching the word?" Malrek questioned.

  “This is a free city,” she said. “There are lectures in every street if anyone wants them. Priests. Poets. Pirates. You can shout the gods' praises, or you can curse them blind.” She lifted her hand to the people, palm showing. “There are only three ironcd rules here. No stealing, no forcing someone to do anything against their will. And what was the st one again?”

  The answer came from a hundred throats, no leader needed.

  “No killing.”

  Selene nodded once. “If you want to see blood spill, you do it where it’s meant to be done. Coliseum. Fight clubs. Not my city streets.”

  Her eyes slid back to Malrek. “If you want one of ours dead, challenge them. They are far too polite to refuse.”

  A ripple of ughter moved like shade through heat.

  The Archbishop’s grip on the staff eased.

  “Sin breeds in every corner. If you think you can keep that filth fenced with-”

  Seraphine made a noise that would not have been permitted in a cathedral. “I left an enjoyable afternoon of watching bare-chested scaled men,” she said, mostly to Selene, entirely for the crowd. “And for what? A debate about governing policies?”

  Laughter broke through the crowd, the natives taken by the Valforian Princess's tactlessness.

  Seraphine breathed out in theatrical defeat and flicked a gnce at the sky. “Well. Since my afternoon is ruined, are we done here?”

  Selene looked at Malrek and did not look away until politeness insisted on it.

  “We’re done,” Selene said. "Tell the guards moving forward to treat all guests as if they are citizens. I'm sure Valenfor will have no issue with that?"

  "I'll be sure to let father know of everything that happened here. I'm sure he'll agree with your decision." Seraphine smiled.

  "Good... as you were, everyone."

  The crowd eased as if a hand had lifted from the center of their backs. Conversations restarted, and just like that, things were back to the general normality of the Hallows.

  Seraphine stepped closer and begged. “Take me somewhere to lift my mood, please,” she said.

  Selene inclined her head. “You like staring at bulging muscles. Coliseum, then.”

  "How crass, I don't stare. It's art appreciation. All beautiful things must be savored." Seraphine smirked as she looked back at Lyssara.

  Selene chuckled and turned away without looking back. Just before the square’s edge folded them back into the avenues, she let her eyes find the Archbishop’s for the space between blinks. Selene scoffed and continued on.

  Once the crowd swallowed them, Seraphine leaned in.

  “You should send someone to watch him,” she said.

  “We agree,” Selene said, and didn’t raise her voice. She looked towards the Lycan that guided them here.

  The Lycan captain’s presence thinned. Then there was nothing—no footfall, no breath, only the faint dispcement of air. Selene looked at Seraphine,

  "You should get the former Crown Prince to keep tabs on him as well."

  "Do you think that's necessary? Your Lycans seemed skilled enough." Seraphine responded.

  "Maybe... but they will have no qualms killing monsters, but I doubt they'd be fool enough to kill a Prince," Selene expins.

  "I see..." Seraphine nodded in understanding.

  They turned the st corner before the Coliseum, and the city changed again. The streets kinked to funnel breath toward a wide gate where iron sts sat retracted. Inside, the air was cooler by trickery—great cloth lungs drew currents through the stone and spat them out in measured sighs. The sound of crowds was always present in this pce.

  Selene paused just long enough to let an attendant in copper bracelets bow and ask whom to announce. She waved the question away. Inside, the sand was uncut and smooth. Someone would mark it ter with lines, stakes, and ropes for a bout.

  “Will it be a proper match?” Seraphine asked. “Or training.”

  “Training does not take pce here, only blood sport,” Selene said.

  “Excellent,” Seraphine smiled.

  The sounds of beating horse hooves filled the path to the Hallows. By the time Darius and his company viewed the spires, the sun had begun to set. They had not even set foot in the city, but the gates were already unlike anything Darius had ever seen.

  Behind him, fifteen Inquisitors rode in tight formation. Their bck armor bore the mark of the Thorned Path. They had been on the road for days, crossing the Empire, only stopping when the horses could no longer bear the strain. After telling them they would encounter Demons here, instead of rage or fear, their spirits were lifted to pique. However, they all fell quiet in the shadow of the gates.

  Calder was the first to break it. “Gods above,” she muttered, leaning in her saddle.

  Eryndor slowed, tongues of fme fizzling beneath his boots. He brushed away the dust still rising from the scorched stone.

  "My word. These gates alone are filled with such complex glyphs and spells.

  Isolde descended beside Darius, her silver-white mantle stirring like wings. “Before we enter,” she said, her voice carrying easily through the ranks, “understand this: the Hallows isn’t the Sanctum. There are only three ws to observe. No stealing, no coercion of any kind, and no killing.”

  Calder frowned. “Even the demons?”

  “Yes, even the demons,” Isolde replied. Her gaze hardened. “Do not give cause to turn this city against us.”

  Kaelen scoffed. “I don’t like walking into a battlefield with my hands tied.”

  “Just your eyes open,” Isolde said coolly. “And your mouth shut.”

  A murmur of assent rippled through the line.

  Darius gave a curt nod. “You heard her. Eyes sharp, tongues still.”

  They were able to pass through easily enough with the help of Isolde, who was a welcome guest and was charged with keeping track of the Inquisitors with her.

  Darius stopped after crossing the gate’s threshold. He could feel Devotion calling out to him. He unsheathed his bde, and it began to glow—a deep, pulsing red.

  Isolde saw the light and froze beside him. The light from the sword painted her pale features crimson, the holy steel reflecting in her eyes.

  “…Devotion’s reacting already,” she said quietly. “We haven’t only just entered.”

  Darius held the bde aloft, watching the light ripple along its edge like a heartbeat. “What the hell is...” he said, but was interrupted by Isolde as she looked around,

  “It's sensitive to corruption, and demons live here. The City is probably teeming with tainted energy. Devotion won't be able to tell the difference.”

  Darius’s expression hardened. He sheathed Devotion, but the glow still seeped faintly through the cracks in the scabbard.

  “Well fuck...that makes things difficult.”

  Isolde’s throat tightened as she mused with thick sarcasm, “You think—”

  “All five Archbishops are here,” Darius finished for her. His tone was grim, the certainty of a man who’d seen too much to mistake the signs. "Devotion won’t help us find which one’s the culprit.”

  The silence that followed was heavy. Even the horses seemed uneasy, hooves shifting.

  Isolde’s voice was low. “Then what do we do?”

  “We do it the old-fashioned way,” he said. “We watch. We listen, and we wait, wait for them to slip up." Isolde nodded her head, added,

  "It would be nice working with someone who can force mistakes." Isolde smiled at Darius.

  "Just say you want to go see Selene." Darius smiled.

  "I wanna go see Selene. You don't?"

  Darius opened to say something, but the sound that escaped his mouth wasn't one of denial.