Night settled over the Hallows. Selene led Darius out of the Coliseum and into the streets of the 6-5 District. As they turned into the streets next to the Coliseum, a cluster of black-armored figures waited—and straightened at the sight of Selene.

  Most of the Inquisitors greeted her with polite nods or uneasy silence. Their gazes held wariness, respect, and tension. However, there were a few who were more bold and surprisingly warm at her return to the party.

  Calder lit up like a firework. "Princess Selene!" She jogged up, grinning ear to ear. "Please tell me you can get me a match in the arena. I'm dying for a good fight."

  Selene blinked. "If you fight in that arena, it's more likely you'll die during your good fight."

  "That sounds like a good time," Calder chuckled.

  Tomas, hands pressed together in reverent prayer, bowed his head toward Selene. "To have grown up amid so many dangers and still become the person you are today… a miracle of the gods."

  Selene gave him a flat stare. "Thank you, Tomas. Truly. Your sincerity nearly blinded me." Selene let out a sarcastic snort.

  Tomas ignored her jest and simply gave thanks again.

  Myrren stepped forward next, her eyes bright, her notebook clutched tightly to her chest. "Princess, is it true that the 11-1 District houses the Grand Library, bigger than anywhere else in the world? Can I... can you take me...."

  "I don't know about the world, but certainly the largest on the continent," Selene cut in gently. "And yes, you may go. Later. When we're not chasing traitors through my streets."

  Myrren beamed.

  Kaelen approached with stiff shoulders and a face as blank as marble. "Princess," he said in a monotone. "We appreciate your hospitality."

  Selene simply stared at him. Quiet. Patient. Suspicious.

  A vein twitched in his temple.

  "What?" he snapped. "What do you want from me, you damned witch?"

  Selene grinned. "There it is. If you're not cursing at me, Kaelen, it feels wrong. It makes me uncomfortable."

  Kaelen groaned in disgust. "Then I'll make sure you are permanently at ease."

  His twin, Jareth Morrick, only smiled politely and nodded in Selene's direction.

  Selene turned to continue, but the back of her shoulder collided with Darius' chest.

  He leaned forward enough so that the warmth of his breath could tickle her ear.

  "Where exactly are you leading us this evening?" he murmured.

  Selene's lips curved. She tilted her head just barely toward him. "Ah, I see. Princess Seraphine is nowhere in sight. So you decide to get bold. Is that it, Inquisitor?"

  "Do you hate it?" he replied softly.

  "I'll suffer through." She smiled.

  Calder's brow shot up. "What are you two whispering about?"

  Selene straightened immediately. "Discussing strategy."

  "Sure," Calder mouthed at Tomas.

  Selene gestured for the group to follow. "We're in an awkward position, given the corruption issue. I'll take you somewhere you can rest without fear. And on the way," she looked over her shoulder, "you're going to give me information."

  "Rest?" Kaelen scoffed. "Where in the gods' name could anyone rest in a place like this?"

  Aelun drifted up beside Selene, calm and graceful. "The Elven District will be comfortable, no? My people maintain tranquility."

  A murmur rippled through the group.

  A few Inquisitors whispered excitedly—"We're sleeping among the messengers of the gods?" "Truly?" "Blessings upon this campaign!"

  Selene smirked. Then she led them deeper into the Orc District, towards the city's center square, which connected to every district.

  The deeper they got, the more obvious the change became.

  Buildings towered crookedly, reinforced with dwarf-made support beams and patched stone. Half of them looked like they'd been punched through.

  A man—human-looking—flew out of a pub wall. The sound of brick and mortar erupting caught everyone's attention. He hit the street, and the pavement cracked beneath him. He bounced back onto his feet, perfectly fine, roaring obscenities as he stormed back inside, his thin tail swaying behind him.

  From the archway of the destruction, an Orc pointed at him and laughed. Before the two men sat back down, Dwarves were already running up to begin repairs.

  Tomas stared, horrified. "Is… is there always this much destruction?"

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  "Yes," Selene answered without hesitation. "The Orcs earn more coin than any other district, by a large margin. They destroy more than any other district by an equal margin. Luckily for us all, they only care about food, drink, and battle, all of which are relatively cheap. Most of their money goes straight into city-wide repairs and infrastructure."

  Calder looked impressed. "Efficient."

  "No," Selene corrected. "Chaotic. And weirdly wholesome."

  She slowed her steps. "Enough about those crazy Orcs, tell me about the Archbishops that are in my city."

  Eryndor drifted up beside Selene.

  "The Archbishops present for the Accords…" he began, his voice lowered so only the leaders could hear.

  As they walked, he described each of them, but Selene told him to exclude Malrek as she had already met him.

  One was Rhyla Venn, a middle-aged, sharp-eyed, dark-skinned woman whose braids were threaded with glass beads. She was openly and proudly known as a witch sympathizer.

  Then there was Jonah Crestwell, pale-haired and quiet-spoken, a scholar through and through. He had nearly lost his career by aligning himself with Rhyla in their attempt to help witches and saints gain more freedoms than they currently had.

  The third, Tiber Kaswyn, was the opposite. He was harsh and traditional. However, no one could deny the depth of his knowledge of Sanctum laws and rules. Nor could they deny his political savvy.

  And Meridan Holt, the last, kept herself wrapped in careful silence. Calculating. Ambitious. A woman who always seemed two steps ahead of everyone else. She was an outwardly neutral party, but would bend her will towards the strongest winds.

  "Archbishop Venn and Crestwell should be our main suspects, obviously," Kaelen said with several of the Inquisitors agreeing with him.

  Isolde stepped in. "Rhyla and Crestwell," she confirmed. "Back then, they were at your trial, Meme. They had just become Bishops at the time. They supported Meme that day. If not for Saint Augustine's support, their careers would have died. Instead, they climbed to be Archbishops. They've been the strongest advocates not for damnation of witches, but for calls for understanding."

  Kaelen scoffed loudly. "Which is why they're prime suspects."

  Selene looked over her shoulder, staring at Kaelen.

  "What, witch? Their sympathy towards witches, justified or not, makes them easy prey for Cursed Bounty's honeyed words."

  Selene smiled. "You're absolutely correct. But that also makes them the perfect smokescreen."

  Eryndor nodded. "Then who do you judge as the prime suspect, your Highness?"

  "Archbishop Malrek Veil, of course."

  All conversation died. Just moments ago, everyone was giving their opinions on who they should go after. But now they had all stopped in place and stared at Selene.

  She frowned. "What? Why are you all looking at me like that?"

  Darius sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Why Malrek?"

  Selene folded her arms. "Because he behaved like someone eager to watch the Accords crumble."

  Selene went on to describe her encounter with Malrek. She discussed the odd feeling she and Princess Seraphine got from him. Still, the Inquisitors looked at her in silence.

  Selene's irritation spiked. "What is the big deal? You're looking at me like I killed your fa—" She stopped herself too late, and looked over at Darius. "Sorry. Poor choice of words."

  Darius stepped close, gently grabbing her elbow. "Selene. Please. Walk with me."

  Confused, she allowed herself to be guided a few steps away. Then she pulled her arm free and whispered, "What is going on? They're acting like I defiled a shrine."

  Darius exhaled deeply. "It's worse. It's like you just accused their fathers of treason."

  Selene blinked. "Their father—what are you talking about?"

  "Malrek wasn't just an Inquisitor," Darius said quietly. "He was Grand Master of the Inquisitors. The leader of every Inquisitor in the Sanctum."

  Selene's mouth parted.

  "He retired after losing his personal company to a demonkin apostate who called themselves Pale Seer," Darius continued. "After that, he became a priest. And he rose fast. Give him a few more years… he'll be the next Cardinal."

  Selene rocked back on her heels, then tiptoed to peer over Darius's shoulder at the group watching her with cold, wounded eyes.

  "…Right," she muttered. "This is like accusing my grandmother of treason."

  "Exactly."

  She looked back at him and placed a gentle hand on his arm. "I understand. But that doesn't change what must be done."

  "I know," he said. "Just leave that part to me. Aelun. The Saints. We'll handle it."

  Selene nodded—slowly. "Do you agree with them? About Malrek?"

  Darius didn't answer immediately. His eyes drifted toward the lantern glow reflecting off the stones.

  "Two months ago," he said finally, "I would have defended him without question. But…" He inhaled. "In the past two months, in the little free time I've had, I've been researching Garran's past assignments. Before I finished my training and joined his company."

  Selene stilled. "Darius, I don't..."

  Darius lifted one finger to stop her and then continued, "I still believe Garran was a great man. I know he was. But no man is infallible."

  "Nor woman," Selene murmured.

  A shadow crossed her face—self-reproach, plain as the moon in the night sky. She had killed Garran. Efficiently. Without remorse. She had done what she believed she had to. She looked down at her feet, feeling something uncommon to her... doubt.

  Darius didn't comment; he didn't pry. He gently lifted her chin and said, "Then we do our best. And we keep moving forward."

  She instinctively reached out and grabbed his hand; he didn't resist.

  For one fleeting moment, they froze, locked in each other's gaze.

  Then she suddenly slid her hand free of his grip.

  Her face tightened with anger.

  "You think I give a damn about who Veil was? Just do your damn jobs and we won't have a problem."

  She raised her voice, commanding and annoyed.

  "Let's keep it moving, Inquisitors!"

  The company straightened. She was clearly aggravated by whatever their Commander had said to her.

  Darius blinked, caught off guard. He stared at her back as she walked away. He could see the aggression in her every move.

  Isolde passed, but not before looking at the confusion on his face, and returning a confused look of her own. She called after Selene.

  Kaelen clapped Darius on the shoulder, laughing, bringing him back to reality. "For a moment, I worried you were sweet on her. Good to see I was just imagining it."

  One by one, the Inquisitors walked past him with approving nods.

  Only when the last of them passed did Darius realize—

  She did it to protect him.

  To preserve his command.

  His reputation. His authority.

  "Dammit," he mumbled to himself.

  Aelun approached, patting Darius once on the back.

  "You've chosen a difficult path," the elf said lightly. "And an even more difficult woman."

  Darius huffed a breath. "Yeah. Nothing worth having is easy."

  He squared his shoulders. "Let's go."