I take a week to catch up.

  Ingrid scrapes together accommodations. Richard complains about everything he’s given, calling it too rustic, until Lucy offers to share Erson’s now-unoccupied home. Karla shares her space with Oka. Sven sleeps just outside my door, for all I know. Jingles takes Deach’s old quarters. Deach moves into my quarters, strictly to save space. Whiskey loves it there, sitting on their reassembled cat tree when they’re not chasing gulls from the cliffs. They ask why everything smells like dragon, and I don’t answer. I put my statuette back on the table, where it inexplicably glows pink again. It’s the only thing Whiskey doesn’t knock off a surface.

  I’m delivered a letter from the College in Carthesia. It’s an invitation to perform Thorhild and the Titan for their classical arts students. I also receive a stack of marriage proposals from Horonai, and Deach takes them before I can pitch them into the fire, adding to his menacing collection of blackmail material. I get a small package from Weekes with a portrait of his new family — him, Rose, and four baby rabbits. Finally, there’s a fancy announcement from the Ronchellard estate. I turn in a couple stickers and send a onesie that says "Live, Laugh, Light Daddy" in curled gold lettering.

  Karla keeps me abreast of news from Guildania. The story they're spinning about Felicia is weak - she died tragically in her sleep, and Richard has returned to his family in Byra while he grieves. They're honoring her like a national hero. Questions are bubbling about the “missing” Gala budget, which Kanon can’t officially speak for, seeing as she’s under investigation. It’s not helping her case. Karla finds features on me and my showcase at the Gala, too, with no mention of my abrupt disappearance. Apparently, I’m putting the Byrian Isles back on the map as one of the hottest things to come from Byra in the past ten years. Byra's stuffed to the demiplanar corners with hot things, but they got an interview with Lorenza, my old sponsor, who took no small amount of credit for me. As for the past six years? Unsurprising to my dearest self, they didn’t mention it.

  Now, not only is Erson dead and in need of replacing, but I’ve got traitors to worm out. Deach and Sven search out the scuttlebutt about who’s plotting what. Genk takes care of the rest. We ship a handful of raiders Erson left behind, saying they’re not welcome here anymore. Then I make an official announcement that Erson is a traitor, to much shock. Herkja and Nothri, the two new Warlords, are dumbfounded to hear it. I’ll have to return to Guildania and leave things in someone else’s charge. But with no second-in-command, it's a problem for another time.

  I gather the team for lunch in the long hall, making sure we’re alone. We sit around the high table, sharing a meal of seasoned and buttered cod, roasted potatoes, and root vegetables. After the offerings at the Gala, it’s a veritable feast.

  “We’ve gotta figure out what in the sweet fucking hells the Guild is up to,” I say. I start ticking off fingers. “We’ve got a cabal of vampires headed by the Chairman, a vampire lord. We’ve got an ominous project that Vincent’s overseeing in the background. And we’ve got… well, there’s another thing, but I’m not sure it’s related. I’m working on it.”

  Richard wipes his lips on a napkin. His honeyed hair’s slowly recovering its gleam. Lucy helped him replace some of his thirteen-step regimen, calling in favors from Byra. “I’ve considered more of my memories. Minister Dupuy was heading something that required vast amounts of gold. Acquiring it was their top priority, different from their usual quest for profit. Any spare gold was being funneled into this project.”

  “And you said it had something to do with that book? Peach, what was that about?”

  Deach shrugs. He’s a dwarf with white hair and a bushy beard wearing a blue pirate outfit. His accent’s thick and burrish. “I don’t know – I never got to handle it. I tried recovering my journals from my old hideout while we were in Guildania, but it’s gone. I think it had something to do with the Vanquishment, but it was a long time ago.”

  Karla speaks up. “Vast amounts of gold and an old book sounds like a ritual.”

  I pause. Everyone looks at each other. She’s right. “Did you learn anything from those notes?”

  I gave her Irminric’s stack of ramblings, which I had stuffed away in storage. I couldn’t stomach going through them myself, debating just burning them. Handling his ledgers was horrific enough, knowing my name's in there somewhere. But what Carolus said about Irminric’s early days stuck with me.

  Karla nods. She’s wearing sharp blue eyeliner and a matching diamond-patterned kimono. “Irminric met a Chairman twice - once when he was an adventurer, which would’ve been thirty to forty years ago. It was during a Gala. He and his adventuring party were successful that year, so they were invited. The second time was a few years ago. He thought it was the same person, even if Minister Baumbach says it was his father.”

  Irminric may have underestimated me, but, despite the overwhelming evidence otherwise, he wasn’t a complete idiot. Vampire lords don’t age, so it could’ve been the same Chairman for decades now, with occasional breaks to throw off suspicion. I pour myself a couple more fingers of whiskey, my head buzzing. Jingles moves the bottle away. They’re wearing a Drowning Man shirt and a pair of baggy pants and wool legwraps that make their wiry bird legs look stick-thin.

  “But Ricky didn’t know about him being a vampire?” I ask.

  “No. He was convinced they wanted his gold hoard, though,” Karla says.

  I wave a hand dismissively, leaning against the arm of my chair. “He thought anything breathing was after his gold.”

  “But the Guild knew how much he had,” Deach says. “They were essentially keeping it in an offshore account. It would’ve been an easy last-minute source of gold for this project if they killed him. Who knows how long they were working with Erson? Or maybe they meant to turn you after the Gala.”

  My blood goes cold. The room spins. A knife’s being nudged into my stomach.

  “I mean,” he continues quietly. “You would’ve been easy to take advantage of. What’s the difference between an alcoholic and a vampire?”

  If there’s a punchline forthcoming, it’s a terrible joke.

  Richard speaks up, gesturing toward me. “On that note, considering the stakes, we should discuss whether we’re following someone who could be left without his faculties at any time –”

  Genk delivers a punchline.

  Richard keels back over his chair and splays on the floor in a heap. He groans.

  “We support each other here,” Genk rumbles at him. “Especially the boss.”

  “We're making progress. Fuck off if you don’t like it,” Deach says.

  My heart swells. Maybe Richard’s right. But Deach passes me a glance and a knowing nod anyway. A ripple flashes across the pool of my mind.

  Richard’s hand flails, grabbing the edge of the table. He hoists himself up and squares his chair. His eye’s already swelling, his hair awry. He sits and clears his throat. “My apologies. I have no further questions.”

  “We’ll consider that a lesson learned,” I say. Whiskey settles on my lap. “What I’m hearing is that the Guild needs a hoard of gold to do this ritual, so we’ve gotta cut them off. Felicia said their biggest commodity is explosives – they put them on our ships and sell the whole thing to the rest of Vesh. We’ll disrupt that.”

  “Short of settling the war between Hartland and Torgal, that’s an immense undertaking,” Lucy says. She’s wearing a chunky, high-necked sweater of mint green. “Maybe we look closer to Guildania.”

  She’s right. Hartland and Torgal have been warring over possession of the Heartwood for longer than I’ve been alive. We frankly don’t have time to broker peace, even if she and I might have the best shot at it.

  “The munitions factory is on the southwest side of the city,” Oka says. He’s wearing a long, deep-gray canvas duster coat. His hat’s beside him on the table. “It’s massive. Most of the workers are under contract. The black powder makes sure they don’t last long. The Guild likes keeping it out of sight, out of mind.”

  “Where are they putting the powder together with the longships?” I ask.

  “Port Nakanai,” Genk says. “There's a warehouse by the docks. I worked as a guard for a while.”

  I nod. Things are coming together. “Then we’ve gotta get hold of those bombs. And we’ve gotta make those factory workers strike.”

  That night, I fall asleep in my quarters with Whiskey curled on my back and Deach at my side. I’m in an odd stage between dreaming and waking when I jump. I blink, finding my bearings. Sunlight’s hitting me already. Did I fall asleep? I’m still tired. It’s a constant thing these days. The room comes into focus.

  I’m not in my quarters. But I’m somewhere familiar. My stomach flips.

  I sit up in a vast, heart-shaped bed piled with pillows and silken pink sheets. Translucent drapes cascade overhead. A plush white fur drapes across the foot of the bed. On a table is my flask and a dagger. I grab the flask, and it’s full. I push out of bed. I’m naked.

  I shuffle to the expansive balcony over a roaring, rocky beach. A pink sunset spatters the horizon. Salty air breezes through, neither too cold nor too warm. I sip from the flask. It’s honey.

  I lean against the railing. Iros looks over at me.

  “Chouncey,” he says in a quiet, kind voice. He’s in his genderless form, glowing gently gold underneath his open white robe. “It’s good to see you well.”

  “It’s good to see you at all,” I say. “Where in the sweet fucking hells have you been?”

  The faintest outline of a sad smile curls on his glowing, ethereal face. “I’m sorry. I’ve been unable to sense you in Shirano. My communications have been blocked by something. It’s… puzzling.”

  I pause. What could possibly block a god? “Hence Whiskey.”

  “Hence Whiskey. I hope they haven’t been too much trouble.”

  “They’re nothing short of a terror. But thanks.” My chest warms.

  “I’m proud of what you’ve done,” he says. “Or, at least the parts I can see. You’ve been trying your very best to stop drinking. And you’ve relied on your friends and loved ones. My light has been spreading more widely than ever. And many of the slaves you freed have turned to me because of you.”

  “That wasn’t the goal.”

  “No, but it still benefits us. Gods need followers to fuel their power. I give light to all mortal beings regardless. But, it’s nice to see more of them appreciate it.”

  “So, the more followers you’ve got, the more powerful you are?”

  “In essence, yes. In fact, that’s how new gods are created from aspects. I know you don’t consider yourself my follower. But I’ll accept you into my court when the time comes, if you’re so inclined. I’m sure you would make things… interesting.” He smiles.

  Hopefully, that time comes later rather than sooner, but I’m not so sure anymore. I straighten, taking another drink. I suppose that’s the best I can hope for. “Speaking of which, who’s Lomir? Your High Priest in Guildania said they’ve got new competition.”

  He pauses. “No god exists by that name. Perhaps the High Priest was mistaken.”

  Then why has Arriel heard that name before? Something’s off. “What did you mean by something’s blocking you in Guildania?”

  He pauses. “I’m not sure. I can recall my presence there several months ago, but nothing more recent. When you’re there, I’m unable to reach you as I am now.”

  “Well, I could surely use the help,” I say, crossing my arms. “There’s a fucking cabal of vampires running the Guild. They know about me being your Champion.”

  There’s another pause. “I’m not sure. I can recall my presence there several months ago, but nothing more recent. When you’re there, I’m unable to reach you as I am now.”

  I raise a brow, looking over at him. I turn. “I just told you there’s vampires. Did you not know about that?”

  “I’m concerned that a darkness may be growing there,” he says, like he didn’t hear anything. He glances at me. It’s hard to tell, but it seems like his eyes wander down. Then, he smiles softly. “I’ll need a Champion soon – one who can bring light to dark places. I know you’re up to the task.”

  “You mean the vampires? In Guildania?”

  “I’ll give you some gifts that will help. First, you’ll need this.”

  He touches my forehead. I gasp. It’s like an electric shock. The room spins. Something snaps into place inside me with a flash of light, the broadening of a chord. I look inward. My fifth ley line connection thrums with the rest, a wisp of gold light coiling me closer to it. I nuzzle against the familiar tension. A sob breaks free.

  I can teleport again.

  In the calm pool of my mind, a new spell materializes on the unwavering surface. It simply shows a heart-shaped door. I pause. I know what that is.

  “Here’s another spell,” he says. “This one, you won’t forget.”

  He touches me on the forehead again. Like the world’s worst, most annoying earworm of a song, a feeling, a sketch, a key matching the resonance of the ley line enters my mind. I try to shake it off, but it stays. I pause, feeling the underlying potential. It’s hopeful, or maybe heartbreakingly gutting, like finding more words to say before you say goodbye.

  It’s a spell to bring someone back to life.

  It stops my breath. We’re squaring up against a vampire lord soon. We might not all get out alive.

  He folds his glowing hands. “One more gift is forthcoming. You’ll know it when you see it. And… here. Have fun with these.”

  I look down at my flask, and there’s a hundred more stickers crammed on it. Maybe he’s apologizing for ghosting me the weeks I was in Guildania. Or maybe he's growing into being a Light Daddy.

  “That’s a minor boon, right? What’s that mean?”

  “That’s up to my discretion. You’ll get creative with it. I’m considering offering this points system to my clerics, too. Dawn Points, I’m thinking of calling it.”

  “Quite a missed opportunity for Sun Ray-wards.”

  He nods thoughtfully, tossing it around his godly head. “I like that better. That’s why I consult you on these things. I’m interested to know your thoughts on it.”

  I look at the stickers on my flask. It’s been a sense of progress that’s not thinking constantly about how long since my last drink. Which I’m sure he knows, reading my mind. But I’m not saying it. “I like the coffee mug. Don’t let them have it.”

  He smiles. “Then it was a limited run. It’s now unbreakable, too.”

  I can’t help smiling back at that. It fades. “I’m gonna be honest – I thought you were snubbing me.”

  “No, of course not,” he says, his voice becoming a fleece-lined blanket. He puts a hand on my face, running it down my neck and shoulder. It’s like a hot bath at the end of a long day. It hums a little, feeling like soft, gold electricity. I find myself shivering. “You’re important to me, especially for what’s to come. It’s given me great pleasure to see you grow. And even greater pleasure to see you’ve found your way without me. I’ll remain as close as I possibly can. And when I can’t, remember to look for the light.”

  I barely hear him. He’s still touching me. But my stomach flutters at the intensity in his words. “You always insist on me being naked when we meet like this.”

  “I choose what would make you most comfortable.”

  I cock a brow. “I’d be more comfortable with you taking that robe off.”

  He smiles. He waves a hand, and the robe vanishes. My blood sears downward. The full power of his radiant, sculpted skin beams like the fucking sun. It’s almost too bright. But my eyes water anyway when I try to glimpse as much as I can. It leaves me breathless. What does sunlight taste like?

  “Gods, I'd go to church for that.” It’s all I can think to say.

  He gives a slight laugh like the whisper of angel wings against my skin. The flare of his gold light twirls and skims over me. I shiver. “Only you would flatter a god. Maybe that’s why I like you. But no – you should return to your rest.”

  “I’ve got that minor boon. I could ask for a kiss.”

  “Is that your wish?”

  It’s not a no. What would it be like? Would he blow my back out if I ask? I stop myself from saying yes. It guts me. I should save it. But then, something else comes to me. “Actually, I’ve got a different idea.”

  I wake the next morning more refreshed than I’ve felt in weeks.

  I spend the day with Deach, gathering information and making contacts among the workers at the bomb factory. I draft copy to be distributed as pamphlets. Genk gives me details about the warehouse in Port Nakanai, and Deach sketches a map from my illusion. I sell Lucy the Fuzzy Back for one copper piece, and she draws up paperwork to transfer it into her name as a Byrian asset. That way, the Guild can’t reclaim it when I default on that loan. She’s an absolute natural in speaking Guild, especially when it comes to property law. I try my hand at scrying again, but have no luck checking on Carolus. He must have nondetection. Now I see how frustrating that is.

  Finally, at my desk, I snap out my pick and start whacking off a ley line. “Cheeks, I need your help. Do you know the explosives warehouse on the waterfront? On the other side of town. It’s owned by the Guild.”

  A response comes a moment later. Hey, Chouncey! Yeah, I know it. Some people from the Night Market occasionally smuggle stuff out of there. It’s expensive. Why? What do you need?

  I pause. There’s no elegant way of saying this. “I need you to blow it up. Our magistrate friend over in Takazaki can block any warrants if you’re caught. Just make sure nothing’s left.”

  There’s a long gap before he replies. His voice is less steady. The whole thing? I’ll see what I can do. It’s probably not too hard if you’re asking. I’ll get a night off from the kids.

  He can handle it on his own, if not with his patron daddy's help. And what’s a little arson on top of murder? He’ll be a right seditionist like me before long. “You’re a lovely friend. I know you’re up to the task. I’ll send a map and details in just a moment. Don’t forget your mask.”

  His response is more assured this time. Okay, I’ll keep an eye out. I won’t let you down – and I’ll let you know when the job is done. Wish you were here.

  I find myself smiling.

  That night, I update the team in vague terms while we have dinner in the long hall. It’s packed, word having traveled that I’m back and Erson’s feeding the sharks. For all his faults, things are thriving. All the gold we brought in from Drowning Man has gone to good use.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  I look up when a half-angel walks in.

  He’s tall and lithe with stark white hair pulled back in thick twists in contrast to his dark, clay skin. He’s got full lips and a certain chiseled look – masculine but with the grace of the celestial plane smoothing it. His eyes glow gold, and a faint wisp of light, like a flared ring, floats above his head. A mace is belted at his waist. He’s wearing travel-broken leather armor with a dinged metal breastplate. A sun symbol's etched on it.

  He catches my eye and smiles. He approaches the high table, standing before it. Fires roar in the pits on either side of him. His voice carries the weight and light of the celestial plane. “Champion.”

  The hall falls dead silent. Hundreds of eyes look around and eventually fall on me.

  I keep a smile in place. I stand, stepping around the table and meeting him. I cross my arms. “And who've I got the astounding honor of meeting?”

  “I’m Francisco Rivera, a cleric of our radiant Dawn Lord. The light be with you. I was given the honor of bringing you a priceless artifact from the church in Byra. The High Priestess sends her utmost regards.”

  Murmurs dribble around the hall. Suddenly, I wish he’d picked a different time. He slings down the pack from his shoulder, opening it.

  He hands me a breastplate etched with a sun symbol.

  It absolutely roils with magic. I reel. Light skims over my mind and body like a wave. The magical vibes glow like glinting sunlight – the firelight shifts off the glossy metal like a noonday sun. It’s rigorously enchanted, feeling even more solid than the most well-forged steel. But there’s something else it does. Something… vaguely familiar.

  Iros can’t be expecting me to wear this.

  Francisco continues. “This belonged to Zaira Blackhorn, the Dawn Lord’s Champion during the Vanquishment. It’s been displayed at the church in Byra for a millennium. It’s yours to protect against the darkness.”

  Murmurs drift. Zaira was a half-devil who defeated one of the generals of the god of nightmares in single combat. She rode around on a pegasus. Apparently, Iros couldn’t see fit to give me one of those. I got a dragon cat fond of baring their rosy asshole near my food.

  There’s more in the bag. Francisco lays it out on the high table. Lucy moves dishes and cups aside. Whiskey jumps up and sniffs it. The whole team gapes at me. Everyone in the hall gapes at me. There’s a dull, light green gambeson, back and breastplate, pauldrons, vambraces, tassets, and greaves. It’s exquisitely made – and ancient. It’s got rings for a cloak, but there’s another one on the left shoulder in particular. I pause, glancing at my mandolin slung over the back of my chair by its strap.

  There’s no way in the nine steaming hells I’m wearing this. It’s got a sun on it. The last thing I need is people mistaking me for a cleric. I look at it. It’d be nice to have more protection, though. And my team has made it clear that my life’s of every importance here. Maybe I should wear it. I sigh.

  “It’s generous of you, bringing this here,” I say. “Are you planning on staying?”

  Francisco nods. “If you’ll have me, yes. I see you have no church here. Perhaps I can assist you in establishing one.”

  I press my lips together. “You know, I’ve been meaning to get around to it, but I’ve got so much going on. I’ll put you in charge of that. It's an important job, and one I'd trust to no one else.” I turn to the rest of the hall. “Who here follows the Light Daddy? Or anyone who’s interested. Don’t be shy.”

  A few hands go up, then a few more hesitant ones. One of them is Jingles, of all people.

  I turn to Francisco. “There you are. You’ve got a congregation already.”

  He smiles, his perfect teeth gleaming. “The Dawn Lord blesses us. I’ll begin at morning light. Might I partake of your meal?”

  “By all means –”

  Richard cuts in. “Cleric, pardon my interruption. Did you say this bard is the Champion of the Dawn Lord?”

  I put a finger up. “It was an arrangement –”

  “Yes,” Francisco says. “The Dawn Lord, Iros the Noonday Sun, has named Chouncey of Seven Oaks his Champion –”

  “Could you knock it off?” I say out the side of my mouth in angelic. “You’re outing me to my friends.”

  He pauses, dipping his head. The glinting halo moves with it. He switches to angelic, too. “I apologize, Champion. I became overzealous.”

  I glance him over again. I'd not mind more overzealousness. “Why don’t you come by my quarters after dinner? You can tell me more about this armor.”

  It’s hard to tell what I see in his glowing eyes, but something like understanding shifts in them. “I would be most honored.”

  A couple days pass. After a night on his knees in prayer, Francisco founds the first church of Iros on the Byrian Isles. I hear back from Weekes, who succeeded thanks to a minor wish for a well-placed fireball. The explosion was contained within the wards around the warehouse, which is now rubble. Rose was disgruntled at the news, but I help him smooth things over. Deach watches the Guild scrabbling to figure out what happened. As soon as warrants pop up for a rabbitfolk seen wearing a mask, our dear magistrate Kenal Trevelyan in Takazaki receives a letter from me reminiscing about how easily I could write to their wife. The warrants vanish.

  I wake well into mid-morning. Whiskey’s curled on my chest and scampers away when I sit up. I’ve cleaned up no fewer than three seagulls the past couple days. They only whine that they’re sharing with me, and don’t I appreciate them going out of their way? I’ve gotta do something about it.

  “Good morning,” Deach says. He’s sitting on a couch nearby, magical notepad on his lap, scribbling with someone. He’s in his half-orc form and wearing his usual dapper waistcoat and tight pants. Breakfast is on the table beside a vase of fireweed I picked for him yesterday.

  I scrounge a pair of lounge pants from the floor and join him, stopping behind the couch to put my face in his neck and inhale the sweet scent of citrus and pine wafting from his mossy-green skin. He responds with a hitched breath, shuddering. Prickling bumps rise. My mouth waters. He flips his notebook closed as I sit and sip milky coffee. I glance around for the bottle of whiskey I had yesterday, but it’s gone.

  “I knew you follow Iros, but I didn’t realize it was something like… that,” he says, gesturing at the armor bag in the corner. I’ve still not put it on.

  I take a bite of herring and dense, toasted bread. “I don’t follow him. He asked me to be his Champion, and… it’s a long story.”

  “Can you make it a short one?”

  I pause. I’ve barely talked to anyone about it except for Arriel. That was hard enough. I glance over at Deach. Whiskey brushes my legs, sniffing my fish. I nudge them away.

  I wasn’t going to eat it!

  They trot to their cat tree, offended.

  “Do you know what a wish spell is?” I ask Deach.

  “Like where you can wish for anything?” He pauses, something falling across his face. “That actually exists?”

  “It’s so powerful, it puts you up against the eighth ley line, the one only the gods use. That’s how I killed Irminric. I also used it to… Iros put some sort of… seal over everything so I don’t have to drink. He took my magic away, and I’ve been figuring it out again. Oh, and I lost the wish spell, vacuous ovate that I am.”

  He pauses like he’s floundering for words. He’d not be the first to be sent spinning by me being frank about my magic. “Maybe it’s a shitty thing to say, but it’s nice to know I’m not the only one who lost everything.”

  Somehow, it’s comforting to hear. His eyes, the color of tanned leather, are on me, unwavering. He continues, his voice quieting. “I bring it up because it makes sense, now. When I first saw you, you were so… bright.”

  In the pool of my mind, a memory flashes - soft gold light casting over the muddied wood of an alleyway.

  I resume eating, and the silence stretches. Sunlight casts over the droning of ocean waves breaking the rocky shoreline below. These days, for brief moments, I find myself having tuned it out.

  “Can I talk to you about something?” he asks hesitantly. “It’s been on my mind a lot.”

  “Is it the milking thing?”

  “No. It’s not about sex. Or I guess, it’s cut from the same pod.”

  “You mean – never mind.”

  He gives an exasperated sigh. “What?”

  I gesture with my fork. “It’s just, the metaphor’s not working. You’re taking two and smashing them together. You can’t cut something from a pod –”

  “Can you let me talk?”

  “Of course, sorry. I’ll be quiet as a mouse dropping a pin.”

  A muscle in his wide jaw jumps. “If you can stop being an ass for six seconds, I’m trying to tell you that I’m in love with you.”

  "Why?"

  His words don't stick. Then, they sink in like a knife. My stomach curls.

  “Godsdamnit. I had a whole speech,” he says, turning away. Words pour out of him. “It’s just… somehow, I went from wanting to kill Vincent to wanting to make the world better to… shit, I don’t know. Whenever I’m around you, it’s like we could do anything. With Boris, I felt like the asshole in that relationship, but now you are, too, and we deserve each other. Like when we first got to Guildania, and you stood up to Richard. It made me… like you, and glad that you’re a… friend, or whatever this is. And all this sex is fun, and like nothing I’ve ever done before, and it helps me not miss Boris so much.” Moisture wells in his eyes. “Somehow, I feel free with you – not that Boris was bad, but you don’t expect anything from me, and after everything that happened with him, I need different things now. I think I knew that when you were on that stage at the Gala. I was so fucking… proud, or happy, or in awe. I don’t even know. But you were spiraling, and I was ready to throw in the ghost, and then you just… made magic happen. And then again on that ship. If it was going down, I had to be there with you because it’s not so dark when you’re around.”

  Silence rings. I'm several sentences behind, my head buzzing. I can only stare. Suddenly, I’m sitting at a piano beside Arriel, confessing something similar.

  You’ll find someone whose heart you can happily abscond with.

  The room spins. Why didn’t I catch this before? Do I feel anything back? Right now, it’s like grabbing a single sheet in a vortex. Whatever this feeling is, it’s hard to name it, because it’s never been there before. Or maybe it’s been there all this time, looming deep inside the dark waters of my mind, sealed away with the rest.

  He’s sweating, waiting for a response. I'm balanced on a knife-edge. An old feeling tugs at me, like I need to go. I make myself speak. “I'm flattered, I think. That was a lot, all at once. I'm sorry, I'm still catching up.”

  He nods, eyes still on me. His lips twitch over his tusks. “I thought maybe you have feelings for your friend in Carthesia.”

  I laugh. It hurts. “She was always too nice to me. I feel lots of different things for lots of different people, but… this is new.”

  He shrugs. “That’s fine. I don’t know what I’m trying to get out of this. We have to kill a vampire lord, and the chances of everyone staying alive are slim. I just… I needed to tell you.” He pauses, then gives a half-hearted laugh. “I have a type, and it’s apparently mages with all balls and no brains.”

  I sip coffee. Whiskey bolts by, chasing a stuffed toy shaped like a sun. There’s another one shaped like a mace in the corner. In the calm pool of my mind, I see a familiar room - a heart-shaped bed with a dagger on the nightstand and the sea air wafting of pine wood and citrus. My chest feels like an ogre’s stepping on it.

  I’ve gotta talk to Arriel, and soon.

  “I’m not trying to butter you up, but I want to give you something,” Deach says. “I’ve been debating. And if I don’t give it to you, it’s useless to me.”

  He pauses, waiting for an answer. I've felt more at ease with my balls tied up. I nod.

  From somewhere on his person, he produces a small pouch the size of his fist. He reaches up to his elbow, digging around. He pulls something out. It keeps coming. It’s a long leather case, slightly bowed along the edges –

  I shakily take it from him. “Why’re you giving me this?”

  His pouch vanishes. He gestures. “I walked past this place in Guildania and… I thought of you. The shopkeeper said he’s partnered with the Players’ Guild. They send him all their members. He gets his wood from the Northern Marshes, but it’s expensive, so he only does small orders. You said you lost yours, and I knew you probably wouldn’t get yourself a new one.”

  A ripple shoots across the calm pool of my mind, like a beast thrashing to the surface. Water churns and burbles. Something starts to fray in my throat, unraveling into my eyes. My vision blurs. I open the case.

  It’s a dark and lusciously crafted fiddle.

  There was a time when I could only dream of having coin for something like this. I run a finger over it. It’s a masterwork, made of near-perfect, glossy spruce and rosewood. The holes are carved in the shape of a flutter of hearts. It’s smooth and curved, not a single imperfection. It even wafts with magic, probably enchanted to hold a tune better. The bow’s made of unicorn hair, meaning it’ll never fray. It doesn’t even need resin.

  “You stole this?” I choke.

  “No, I bought it,” he says quickly. “I won’t steal from a luthier, especially not for you. I didn’t know if I was going to give it to you or not, but… that was a few weeks ago. I want you to have it.”

  I’m paralyzed. I need to leave. Something’s quickly flying to the surface, like a black claw reaching from the darkness. It’s the image of being dragged from a small, dark room, a glimpse of a fiddle sitting on a dresser, a catfolk hunched in the corner with bloody claws –

  Deach closes the case and sets it on the table, then wraps himself around me.

  Great, heaving sobs rush from my chest. I can’t be in this room. I need to get away. I need a drink. But Deach clings, flush against me, remaining dead weight. I hold him and stay there. I have to. If I get up, I won’t come back. If I have a drink, I’ll never stop. I can only hear the crashing of waves in my head, the droning of ocean, the musk of wood and ale, the smell of sour acid lingering in the bones of this room.

  It feels like an age before I come back together, humming to focus on sound rather than the images thrashing through my head. The rippling waves on the pool's surface calm.

  “Are you okay?” he asks quietly.

  “I’m fine.”

  “It’s alright if you’re not.”

  I cling tighter.

  I gingerly take the fiddle from the case, feeling its new exotic weight, its contours. It’s masterfully tuned already. I put the bow to it, and it all comes streaming back, like I never forgot. The sound puts me to tears again. Or maybe it’s the happiest I’ve ever been.

  I laze in bed beside Deach and serenade him – no singing, just music. He watches, then closes his leather-colored eyes and remains present, head on his arm. Whiskey even jumps up and curls on my feet. A single paw reaches and rests on Deach.

  “Do you think you’ll ever play in the hall again?” he asks after I set it aside. “People have been asking.”

  I raise a brow. “I don't give a demon's bleating load.”

  “I know. You don’t want to do it because you have to,” he says.

  “I’d like to want to do it again,” I say quietly.

  “I hope to be there,” he murmurs.

  “I think that’s the only way I could do it,” I say. I pause as the words come out.

  He smiles, lips shifting over his slight tusks. He climbs on, straddling me. It’s a pleasant surprise. My blood begins to swirl and hustle. He becomes inky, shifting into a human woman with spiky, dark hair, full lips, and gray eyes. Her clothes shift, too, into a simple farmer’s coveralls and a shirt cut low. I'd die happy careening into the crevice between her plentiful tits.

  “Maybe we could skip the show and get to the part where we met at the tavern,” she says lingeringly. She’s got a slight country flange to her Carthesian accent. “The rooms are expensive around here. I asked father, and he said you can stay in the barn.”

  By now, I keep an illusion permanently over the room. I grab it with my mind, shifting it into a hay-stacked barn loft, moonlight cutting through the battered boards of the roof. Insects buzz, and warm summer wind rustles through. We’re propped on a pile of feed sacks.

  “It must be exciting to travel around and see the world,” she says. “I’ve never left Marroux. My brothers, neither. I think you’re the most interesting man I’ve ever met. Maybe you can put a baby in me so I can remember you.” She blushes.

  I’ve got one halfway mustered already. “I don’t suppose your brothers are around,” I say, thinking only of hips.

  “They’re out with friends,” she whispers, tugging down my pants. A goat clomps on the wood floor below. Whiskey scampers, looking for the source. “They could be back any minute, so we’ll have to be quiet.”

  I’m in the dim shrine of the Ronchellard estate.

  It’s quiet, except for the faint sounds of hammering and sawing outside. They must be adding on. I glance around. After so much time on the Byrian Isles and Horonai, marble architecture feels like being in an ice box. But it’s the same as ever – a single stone bench sits before the familiar statuette on a dais. A small, padded step for kneeling is in front of it. The only light comes from overhead, seemingly sourceless.

  It’s pink.

  I position myself on the bench, crossing my legs and draping an arm.

  “I see you’ve made some changes,” I say. “I, for one, am a fan.”

  Arriel whirls. Her amulet clatters to the floor. She grips her chest like her heart stopped. “Gods – how did you –”

  I point at the pink light overhead. “Is that in honor of me?”

  She gasps, retrieving her amulet. She stands, putting it back on. Her voice is sulfurous. “I don’t know, is it? You had something to do with that. I’ve tried three different idols now. One of them was even in the bedroom.”

  I cock a brow. “The Light Daddy works in mysterious ways.”

  She rolls her eyes, sitting next to me. “How did you get in here?”

  “Your security elf let me in, still assing for some cock.”

  She pauses, peering at me. Then, she puts a hand out. It waves through my leg. She startles, pulling her hand back.

  “Careful, that tickles.”

  “Is this the spell you were using?” she asks, brows puzzling together.

  “As much as I love sucking your connections dry, I wanted to see your marvelous face this time.”

  She looks me over incredulously. “What do you need?”

  "I'm doing well - I see your concern and appreciate it. I'm back on land and short one lamentable Erson Walstad, may he rot ever so eternally in the hells. How’s your god baby coming along?”

  She makes an amused sound. “Faster than they should. I’m certain Iros is to blame.”

  “Have you picked names yet?”

  “Yes. We’re thinking Camilla if they’re a girl and Arnaud if they’re a boy."

  "I only ask because Cheeks named his firstborn after me. Not for any other reason."

  Her lips become a flat line. "Weekes is impressionable. We’re… curious if they’ll look more like her or me.”

  I remember the sight of her dapper, half-devil wife coming home. “If there’ll be horns, you mean.”

  Arriel gives something like a nod. “I’m happy with whatever happens, but Bri is still getting comfortable with her ancestry. I thought with our boon for fighting Orinthius, she might ask to be made human.”

  “Are you glad she stayed?”

  She smiles softly. “Yes. I didn’t want her to change.”

  A strand of her tawny blonde hair wisps from the knot on her neck. I’ve never wanted so badly to brush it back. “Well, you were right about Deach. He told me he’s… in love with me.”

  She looks over, fair brows going up. “And? What about you?”

  I take a deep breath. I’ve still not got a clue. “Nothing’s easy anymore.”

  “It seemed easy to fall in love with me.”

  “You did your fair share of making it hard. In a couple different ways.”

  She smiles a little more. She looks at her hands. “When he told you, what did you feel?”

  “Like I had to get out of there.”

  She nods like it's what she expected. “You run away because it protects you. That’s what you did when I was nice to you. Are you afraid to get close to him?”

  A laugh cuts from my chest. A ripple startles across the surface of the calm pool in my head. The image of longships sailing into a pink sunset fractures. I breathe. Iros is keeping everything in that pool at bay, but maybe he’s also keeping some things far out of sight. “Oh, we've got no problems being close.”

  “But you’re asking me about it. You don’t normally stop and think about things.”

  She’s not wrong. I’ve been thinking about it constantly. I cross my arms. "What about you and your wife, then? Does it ever just feel like... fear?"

  She smiles sadly. "Yes. I've been afraid to lose her. At the worst of it, Iros sent me to find you."

  “Then what should I do?”

  She’s quiet. “You’re not going to like the answer, but you’ll have to open up. I’ve seen you do it before. I know it’s possible.”

  The thought curls my stomach. What's gonna happen if he peers over the edge into the blackness? What happens if I do it? What're we gonna find?

  I think I know the answer. But I look at Arriel. There won’t be a happy ending if you don’t try to make one.

  “Did you learn anything about Lomir?”

  “I did,” she says. “He’s supposedly a new god of darkness.”

  “Supposedly?”

  “The process of ascension is complicated,” she says, tilting her head back and forth. “An aspect needs to have enough followers, first. I don’t think Lomir has ascended yet, but he’s growing in power. Some of the clerics at the church here have heard of him, too –”

  “Hold on,” I cut in. A shiver skims over me. Something clicks together. “How exactly does ascension happen?”

  “I don’t know,” she says. “It hasn’t happened since the Vanquishment with Orinthius.”

  I pause. Orinthius was, by a couple degrees, an aspect of Roslan, the Death Shroud. Nightmares to sleep to death. “Does darkness fall under the Light Daddy’s domain?” I ask.

  “It could. It would be more like the opposite of Iros. But then again, the goddess of bad luck is an aspect of the goddess of good luck. It wouldn’t be unheard of.”

  I stand, pacing around the small shrine. Back in my body, something with sharp claws mauls my foot. I nudge it away. “I asked him about Lomir, and he said he doesn’t exist. He’s got a… blank spot in Guildania. He can’t reach me. And the last he knew of anything going on there was months ago. Why’d that be?”

  She goes quiet, looking at me. Her brows are still furrowed together. “I… what have you been doing in Guildania?”

  “I went to the Gala,” I say, waving a hand. “I'm surprised you didn't hear about it all the way here."

  “No – I need you to be honest with me. What’s happening in Guildania?”

  I suppose if there’s one person I can trust, it’s her. I sigh. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” I lower my voice. “The Chairman of the fucking Guild is a vampire lord. There’s more of his offspring in the Ministry. I’ve got a team, and I’m trying to root them out, but they’re up to something worse than sucking gold from the hands of poor people or using them as blood slaves. When I told Iros about it, he didn’t even hear me. I couldn’t get through to him.”

  She claps a hand to her forehead, eyes wide. She stands, too, approaching. “If Iros can’t reach you in Guildania, it’s because his aspect hasn’t returned to him.”

  I freeze. A shiver rocks me. I almost lose hold of the spell. We stare at each other. I look at the idol sitting under soft pink light on the dais. My head spins. The whole thing clicks into place. “How did the Guild get hold of an aspect?”

  “I have no idea. It would have to be extremely powerful magic. Maybe they captured him.”

  Extremely powerful magic, like a ritual found in an ancient book from the time of Orinthius, the most infamous aspect-turned-god. I feel the need to sit, but my body’s already lying down. I pace more, crossing my arms. Old stories and legends spring into my head where I’d already combed over them for how to kill vampires, not how they work in the first place.

  Vampires can enthrall their spawn into doing whatever they want. The spawn have to listen, or they die.

  “If someone’s enthralled to follow a god, does it count?” I ask.

  She sputters, reaching for an answer. “I don’t know. Are you saying this vampire lord will compel his spawn to follow Lomir?”

  “It’s an awfully fuckable loophole.”

  “They would need a lot of vampire spawn.”

  I pause again. There’s millions of desperate people in Guildania unable to leave because of their contracts. The Guild owns nearly every building in the city. They can show up uninvited and turn people as they please. But once they’ve ascended their god of darkness, then what?

  “They’ll need an assload of gold, too,” I say. “We think it’s a ritual from an old book they found. It had to do with your nightmare god.”

  She reaches out to grab my arm, but it goes through. “Chouncey, you need to do something. If Lomir ascends, he’ll be unchecked by the other gods. They’ll have to intervene in the mortal plane again.”

  Her voice is shaking. I've not seen her so upset before. For a moment, I remember what Iros said about being burnt to cinders if I were ever standing before him. “Come with me, then. I’ll need your help.”

  She shakes her head. “I can’t. Bri needs me here, especially if things get worse. We’ve saved the world once already, and it was awful. I’ll do what I can and spread the word with the clergy. But you have to stop this. An ascended god in this plane would put the whole world in darkness – maybe even usurp Iros or the other gods, if this Chairman can create enough spawn.”

  A world of darkness would be a paradise for vampires. Maybe that’s why they need longships. They’ve got oceans to cross - moving water. And with ships that are fast, maneuverable, and easy to beach, vampires could spread to every continent, quicker than anyone can stop them.

  She gives an incredulous laugh. “This is why Iros picked you.” The fact that she’s right hits me like a smack in the face. “Are you and your team up to this task?”

  “We’ve gotta be,” I say. I’m whirling. Iros said he’d need a Champion soon – not to fight his battles, but to save him. “He sent me armor from Byra. It belonged to Zaira Blackhorn, the old Champion. Do you know it?”

  She stops breathing. “You have her armor? You? I… yes, I know it. I paid a pilgrimage to it in Byra when Bri and I were investigating cultists in the Heartwood.”

  It’s still stacked in a bag, being used as a thousand-year-old window seat by Whiskey. “What’s it do? Why’d he give it to me?”

  “I, um…” she closes her eyes and taps her forehead like she’s trying to make her head work. “It dampens holy fire. The general of Orinthius wielded holy fire against her. And it saved her life at the very last moment. It’s enchanted with a protective spell. If Iros gave it to you, you need to wear it.”

  I sigh. “Alright. I’ve gotta get to work.”

  “Yes, go.” She says. She looks worried, to say the least. “And please stay alive.”

  My chest aches. I’ve missed her. “Only because you ask so sweetly,” I say, smiling.

  She smiles in return. Her voice wavers. “I haven’t stopped praying for you.”

  I reach to brush her face, but it's like touching air. She leans into it, moisture in her blue eyes.

  I end the spell, snapping back into my body. I’m lying on my bed, mandolin nearby. Whiskey’s curled on my chest, licking their asshole. I shoo them off and hustle from the room, snapping out my pick. A few moments later, the team’s assembled at the high table in the empty long hall.

  I lean my palms on the table. I’m exhausted. “Alright, I know what’s going on. The ten of us have gotta stop another Vanquishment.”