Three nights.

That was how long it took Eliza to wake up from her wretched sleep after we retrieved her. Never once uttering a sound. It was as if she were dead.

Aspen stationed me outside the building where she was being kept, and Helen slunk off into the darkness after she led us there, like a cat in the night.

“Alright now, Kit,” Aspen turned to me. “Listen closely. I do not know how long it will take me to retrieve our wayward little dove, nor how many rogues will be inside waiting for us. You will remain here on lookout.”

“But-”

He cut me off. “No buts. You can barely wield a knife, love, and Eliza is a better shot when injured than you are at full strength.”

He patted my head, roughly but well-meaning; it took me quite a while to untangle the knots from my hair. After a long stretch and a knife check, he passed me his long dagger, then walked backwards to the side entrance Shah left us at.

“Stay. Good girl.”

With a flash of his smile, the old crow disappeared into the darkness, his black hair and scarred figure merging with the shadows.

Of course, there was not much else left to be said. I could tell you of how long I stood there, listening for guards, before the flickering of their torches drew near. I could not remain in the light for much longer, for I would’ve been caught, so I retreated off to the corner, and settled quite nicely on a ledge that protruded out from a nearby alcove.

From up there, I could see everything. I recall the back alleys of the Black Market were cramped, tight and smelt of refuse. A deathly vapour poured from the buildings, and since we were no longer in the Red Light district, the gaudy fumes of floral scents and sweat and the musk of men all faded away into that putrid rotting stench. The darkness swallowed up a large part of the twisting pathways, and although I was only about three horse-lengths high, I had a relatively good vantage point and was secluded away from the light.

I was seated comfortably on that ledge, save for a little rock that jutted out into my spine. I believe a long few hours passed, with nothing but the rotation of the guard to keep time for me.

All that while, my mind wandered to the gods, or the saints, or whatever I should call them now. There was nothing better to think about, for if I lingered on Eliza’s state, I would have run straight into that building and gotten myself killed. Aspen’s words came ringing back to me like a spectre. What indeed was the difference between Oberon and the saints?

Suddenly, I was no longer there, on that ledge, watching the dark empty path leading up to Ivara’s den. I was no longer beneath the dusty, earthen roads and quaint little buildings of Cheverton. I was not there, in the underground, in the wretched darkness. Suddenly, I was at the temple, three times smaller than I was then, and kneeling below the God’s altar next to Eliza.

I remember that time well, how could I forget? That was a rather cruel day that I dared not tell any living soul for a long time afterwards. Especially not Eliza.

I was only around ten summers old with my arms bruised from rough-housing with Mori, but every child must go to the temple at the appointed time, even if we were haggard from a day at the training grounds. I had met Eliza and Lady Celestine at the crossroads just before the temple in Skarabeck, a ways away from the Golden Palace.

The courtyard was grand, with neatly manicured gardens and long, sprawling mosses; trees weaved themselves in and out of the temple walls, where large stone statues peppered the walkways. There were many scents that hung in the air, a perfume of the outdoors, woodsy and inviting, that led up to the humble altar at the heart of the temple.

That altar was nothing more than a pedestal, with no god nor graven image carved into the stone, or anything at all. A crack in the stone formed a small fountain with trickling water that pooled at the edge of the raised dias, with the saints standing around it like guardian angels.

From what I recall, Lady Celestine, Mother and Mori all knelt down to pray and seek the God’s face in that pool, whispering for reflections of the truth to come to the surface. Many men, women and children spent hours at that pool, so much so that their feet created grooves for them to rest in, and it would be dark by the time we returned from the temple. Unlike them, Eliza and I were too young to know anything. We kept our hands folded and our eyes turned down to the water; there was no voice, no face, that peered back at us then.

At the end of the prayer, at the ringing of a silver bell when we could no longer feel our own legs, we would take the pure, sweet water and raise it to our lips. Mother had told me that the water would cause us to see Oberon himself if we were fortunate, as it was his proxy to reach us, or at least one of the saints; many stories were told about him behind closed doors, when the priests would perform the rites and see the God Himself as they bled from their eyes and nostrils. Whenever she said that, my eyes would flit towards Skarabeck, Lethe, Fayer, Ahavet and Yvonne, all carrying various items in their hands to symbolise their respective roles. Skarabeck carried two iron gauntlets, with something between an angry scowl and a kind smile on his face while Lethe held a beautiful flower and was adorned in a veil; you could not see her face, not in the statues, nor in the paintings and portraits. Fayer held a ledger, an account of the faithful in her hands, and a balance to weigh the hearts of men. Ahavet and Yvonne were both veiled, but only half of his face was visible while she was fully cloaked. The saint of divine retribution held a scythe behind her back, with a sickle in her other hand and a crow perched on her shoulder. Her formless face was terrifying to me, and I kept to Yvonne’s side. He was gentle, and held a small vial with a cloth bandage.

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I remember studying those features intensively as a child, wondering if they were ever to speak to me. Even the priests could see my ambition, that naive curiosity, that sparkled in the eyes of youth and set me off to the High Priest for answers whenever I pestered them.

That day, I was seated on the fountain with his eminence at the edge of the courtyard. We were watching believers, both nobles and commoners, trickle into and out of the temple like streams of water, ebbing and flowing and merging with the tides. The sun was high in the sky, setting white marble and grey stone glimmering in a way only a temple could, and the smell of rain was fast approaching us. How I loved that scent, the perfume of a fresh start that hung in the air to water the ground. The rough stone of the fountain felt cool to my fingers, and I memorised that spot every time I visited so that his eminence would not have trouble in finding me.

“What is it you wish to know today, child?” His voice was so kind then, without a trace of malice or even the guarded courtesy that most nobles spoke with.

I smiled childishly, “Tell me about Fayer, please.”

I chuckle at that childish innocence every time I see the temple; I was not at the age where I could properly make a request, only asking with a simple please and thank you. Perhaps please is enough for a child, but that was not the case as I grew out of it.

The High Priest laughed, gently patting my hair.

“Very well, child. Fayer is… rather an odd saint to explain.”

I tilted my head, “How did she become a saint?”

“See, saints do not become saints, little one. They are not people who were chosen, but beings from time immemorial who serve His Grace.”

“His Grace the dukes?”

He chuckled again.

“No, little one. His Grace, Lord Oberon. He chooses saints as partners for Himself. He draws them in and they serve Him because of devotion, love and loyalty.”

I most probably scrunched my nose at that. Inhuman saints?

He continued slowly, staring off into the distance, “There was a day, a long famine, when Percival flew over the earth and razed the lands with plague. You can see where his statue was, there - it’s that empty patch beside Yvonne where the rock has been corroded. Originally, there was no issue as Yvonne wandered around, pouring out his strength to the dying, but as with all things, humans fight for what little they can get. The dark being’s mark had already been made - he caused them to corrupt and decay from the inside. That is where anger and strife reside, after all.”

The leaves shook on the trees, shivering a little. It sent a rattle up my spine.

“Ahavet was soon sent to quell the wars that followed, deeming anyone with a shred of evil as guilty, and fields grew dark with blood. Lethe could not keep up with her bloodbath, grieving for every soul that was lost, until Fayer was called upon. She was formed from the dust of the heavens, the celestial stars, and was cast down to recall Ahavet from her senseless gathering. With her balance in hand and a book of the faithful, she recorded the names and lives of every human who was and is and will be, straight from His Grace’s lips. Ahavet found golden chains around her at last, coiling to keep her from anymore bloodshed, and thus Fayer acts to keep her in check. As a final mercy to the humans, she founded the temple and gave us the Law, by which we deem mortals worthy or unworthy. That is why we must not breach protocol, lest she release Ahavet upon us once more.”

He paused, his eyes drifting off into space. He looked as if he were seeing beyond the trees, beyond the stone and marble of the temple into a faraway place. The long silence was comforting to me, who had trouble consolidating such a long story in such a short amount of time. It took several minutes before he spoke.

“She looks very much like the lady Eliza, you know.”

I looked up at him.

“What?”

“She looks like Lady Eliza, little one. Her eyes, her hair, even her mannerisms. They all resemble the saint.”

“How do you know?”

He didn’t answer me. His eyes flickered to the pool but for a moment, and then he stood up. I was so confused by that.

“There are things you shall see in the future. Things you must bear for His Grace’s sake. Oberon’s grace to you, child of Ahavet’s house. I shall see you again at the appointed time.”

The sound of a rock falling to the ground brought me back out of that memory for but one moment, for when the guards’ rotated. At first, I thought it to be from the pedestal of my memories, but rather, it was the ledge I sat upon.

“Who’s there?!” A rough voice bellowed out, and I was fully aware of where I was.

I shrunk back into the darkness. Now was not the time for memories; after all, we were in the Black Market of all places.

As the guards neared my perch, I huddled back into the alcove ledge, praying for a miracle.

Oberon above, please… Please…

They could not find me here. I still had to see Eliza. I swore to help her, after all. Not like this.

A rat scuttled about their feet, drawing them away from the entrance.

I breathed a sigh of relief as they passed, suddenly aware of one rather unfortunate fact.

Aspen had never told me what signal to use should I need to call him. That wretched old crow.

I cursed under my breath. He would pay for this slight.