Seraphine wiped at her face with the heel of her hand.

  "Sorry you had to see me that way."

  Her voice had settled back into its usual register, but a faint roughness lingered beneath it, like grit in a bde that had not been fully cleaned.

  I rubbed her back. "Believe it or not, this isn't the worst shape I've seen you in."

  She let out a breath that might have been a ugh if it had found more room to exist. The motion tugged a loose strand of red hair free from her braid; she caught it, retied the cord with quick, efficient motions, and pulled her shoulders back into something resembling readiness.

  I studied her face. "Sure you're going to be okay?"

  She turned away.

  "Come on," she said. "We're wasting time."

  I nodded. There was no point pretending we could think our way out of this without putting him in front of our eyes.

  We walked.

  The bishop's tent sat on the far side of the central aisle, set back behind a neat row of supply wagons and a screened line of canvas walls. It was rger than the others, of course, and the ground around it had been tamped ft with rugs. Two ntern poles fnked the entrance. Four padins stood in front, with several more behind them, pacing the perimeter in a slow circuit.

  As we approached, one of the guards stepped forward. His posture was respectful. His shield remained between us and the tent.

  "Her Holiness is inside," he said. "The bishop is receiving."

  "I am aware," Seraphine replied. Her voice was even, but her jaw had gone tight. "We are here to see her."

  The guard's eyes flicked to me, then back to Seraphine.

  "I cannot allow that," he said.

  Seraphine stared at him, as if she had misheard.

  "Bishop's orders," he said quickly.

  Her fingers tightened around Pulseweaver.

  I reached out and brushed her shoulder.

  "Take our names inside," I said. "Tell him we're here."

  The guard hesitated, almost imperceptibly. Then he nodded, turned, and spoke to someone just out of view. Another padin peeled off and disappeared into the screened passageway that led behind the canvas walls.

  We waited.

  A shadow moved at the edge of my vision.

  I turned, expecting another patrol.

  Instead I found Lumiere.

  Not the real Lumiere.

  The figure standing a few paces away wore her face with near-perfect fidelity: the same height, the same mantle csp, the same calm arrangement of hair. But the stillness was wrong. The posture was too exact, like a statue set in pce.

  My mouth went dry.

  "Hello, Seraphine," Phymera said, borrowing Lumiere's voice. "Cire."

  "Phymera?" My shoulders lifted. "What are you doing here?"

  Phymera tilted her head. Instead of answering, she looked at Seraphine.

  "How goes the quest?" she asked.

  Seraphine's expression tightened.

  Phymera waited.

  Seraphine's chin lifted a fraction, defensive. "We're more than half done. Only three more anchor points to secure. Three more keystones to collect."

  Phymera's eyes brightened, and for a moment the borrowed face looked almost alive with it. "And then?"

  "And then," Seraphine said, "we bring you down there for your part. Like we agreed."

  Phymera nodded slowly, as if tasting that promise.

  I stepped toward her. Close enough to see the minute seams at the edges of the illusion, the way the skin looked too clean, too untroubled by recent events.

  "Phymera," I repeated, quieter this time. More pointed. "What are you doing here?"

  Her gaze returned to me.

  For a moment, we just stood there, staring at each other.

  Finally, she spoke.

  "Observing."

  Then her attention shifted, abrupt.

  The screened passageway rustled. Footsteps. A voice, low and controlled, and then a sharper reply that carried despite the careful pitch.

  The canvas fp at the tent entrance jerked aside.

  Lumiere stormed out.

  Her mantle was fastened, her hair pinned, and her face was arranged into the kind of control that only appeared when she was angry enough to fear herself. She spared not a gnce for the guards, nor for us. She walked as if her next step were the only thing holding her from doing something foolish.

  Evelyn followed close behind, one hand half-raised as if she wanted to catch Lumiere by the elbow. She spotted us and made a grimace that meant "now."

  Seraphine moved first. I fell in beside her without thinking.

  "Lumiere!" Seraphine called. "Wait up!"

  Lumiere kept walking.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Phymera approach the same guard who had barred us.

  With a simple look, he moved aside. As if he had been expecting her.

  My stomach did something cold and sharp.

  I tore my gaze away and followed the sound of Lumiere's footsteps.

  We didn't stop until we were halfway down the aisle that led toward our section of the camp.

  "Lumiere," Seraphine said again, breathless. "Tell us what happened."

  Lumiere halted so abruptly that Evelyn nearly collided with her back.

  For a moment the four of us stood in a line, with the rest of the camp moving around us like water around a rock.

  Then Lumiere turned, fists curled tight.

  "He refuses to take responsibility," she said.

  Her eyes were bright, not with tears, but with a kind of contained heat.

  "Not for the words he said," she said. "Not for how they nded."

  Seraphine's mouth twitched.

  Evelyn lifted her hands. "To be fair, I did warn you."

  Lumiere's gaze snapped to her.

  Evelyn looked away, rubbing the back of her neck. "I'm not saying I told you so." Then, under her breath: "But I mean, I kind of did."

  Seraphine squinted. "What did he say exactly?"

  Lumiere sighed, pinching between her eyes. "He said he says a great many things when he is channeling the Goddess's passion. That he cannot be held accountable for every fervent turn of phrase."

  Seraphine stared at her, as if waiting for the rest.

  "That's it," Lumiere said. "That was his entire refusal."

  "Then the padins he lost?" Seraphine asked. "What about them?"

  "He praised them." Lumiere's jaw flexed. "For their bravery and devotion. He said they would find a seat beside the Goddess worthy of their sacrifice."

  My fingers curled around my satchel strap. The leather bit into my palm.

  Seraphine's voice went low. "So what are we supposed to do now?"

  Lumiere turned away.

  "If he refuses to take responsibility," she said, "then we will not accept help from his men any longer."

  Seraphine flinched.

  "That's it?" she snapped.

  Lumiere blinked. "Is that not enough?"

  "No!"

  Seraphine's shoulders trembled. Frustration made her look redder than usual.

  "I mean, why not stop doing this altogether?" she demanded. "Why not leave them to their doom? If they want to py fast and loose with their own lives, I say we let them."

  The words had heat behind them. Grief. Exhaustion. Guilt looking for somewhere to go.

  I stepped in before Seraphine could turn that heat inward again.

  "We can't," I said.

  Seraphine's eyes snapped to me. "Why not?"

  "Because it's not just them they'd be dooming," I said. "Halbrecht will keep throwing bodies at the problem until he gets what he wants. He will do so with a smile and a blessing and a promise that the Goddess will make their deaths meaningful."

  Lumiere's face went taut.

  "The men under him," I continued, "are happy to give up their lives. He's fed them a narrative where their deaths are not loss, but proof."

  Seraphine swallowed. "You think they would—"

  "We saw them, remember?" I said. My voice stayed steady because it had to. "Watched them immote themselves in the Forest. Completely of their own volition."

  Seraphine's expression went ft.

  "And when it happens," I said, "when they finally free the Demon Lord, do you think they'll be fit to fight him in this state?"

  Her mouth opened.

  No words came.

  A voice answered instead, from behind us. "No."

  Rocher stepped forward. "It would be a complete disaster."

  We turned.

  Rocher had approached quietly. Only Evelyn seemed to have noticed.

  His hair was damp at the temples, and there was a faint flush in his cheeks. Not the fevered flush I had seen on the padin's face earlier. But a normal one that suggested honest work.

  He stopped a few paces away and nodded once to me.

  "I just finished sparring," he said, "with Sir Benet's group."

  Evelyn chuckled. "It's over that quickly?"

  "Yes," he said without looking at her. "I asked them to come at me all at once."

  She gave a low whistle. "You must have really been pissed off."

  "I was angry," Rocher admitted. He didn't look proud of it. "But I genuinely wanted to see how they would fare in pitched battle—against a singurly superior enemy."

  "And?" Seraphine asked, though I could already guess.

  "There was no coordination," he said, sighing. "No pn of attack. I picked them apart, one by one. They almost got in each other's way trying to get a piece of me."

  My stomach tightened.

  Rocher's gaze dropped for a beat. When he looked up again, there was shame in it.

  "That hunger," he said. "That need to prove something with every swing. It's a mode of fighting I recognize all too well."

  He swallowed. "Since up until recently, that's how I've been doing it."

  Evelyn nodded at him.

  Rocher turned toward Seraphine. "If the padins move like that against the former Demon Lord, they'll die. And take us all with them—not to mention the people in the Duchy above."

  Seraphine's mouth pressed into a thin line. Her eyes flicked past him, toward the bishop's tent in the distance.

  "What about Phymera?" she said suddenly. "If we can convince her to withhold undoing the seal, we can hold it over him. Halbrecht can't do this without her."

  My throat went tight.

  Lumiere's gaze snapped to me, as if she had already guessed where my thoughts were going.

  "That won't work," I said quietly.

  Seraphine stared. "Why not? She was willing to let it go the first time we declined."

  "She had no alternative then," I said. "No matter what, she still has a vested interest in freeing Danzig."

  Seraphine's brow furrowed. "Phymera seems reasonable enough. Perhaps we can convince her—"

  "We can't," I said. "She was reasonable because we were."

  The words came out too fast.

  I forced myself to slow down. To breathe.

  Then I added, quieter, because the next part tasted like guilt.

  "Halbrecht has his hooks in her now."

  Evelyn's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

  I looked away.

  Because if I looked at them, I would have to hold their expressions. The disbelief. The calcution. The fear.

  I thought back to it. The way the guards had stepped aside. The way Phymera had walked into Halbrecht's tent without question. The way she had chosen Lumiere's face, of all faces, to wear while she did it.

  My throat tightened.

  I had known what she was like. How easily she would mold not just to the appearances of those around her, but to their thoughts and virtues as well.

  She anchored to those who kept her most centered.

  Rocher reached out toward me, cautious. "Cire?"

  I looked up at him, unable to say anything.

  Because I knew what it would cost to keep her.

  And so, I'd let her slip away.