She found her ride outside the city. It was a black carriage parked apart from the other transports. While the others were drawn by horses with drivers who loudly announced their destinations, this one had no obvious means of locomotion. It also had a roof and walls, unlike the Black God’s carriage. The driver demanded five hundred gold coins. From the weight of her purse, she knew she had that many, but it hurt to spend more money in an afternoon than she had ever made in her life. After some negotiation, and threats, he discounted the price by fifty coins. He would go no lower despite having no other customers.

The ride was quick and familiar. It had only been nine months since she boarded a carriage with other fortunate attendants, clinging to a sack with some clothing and a wrap with her mother’s cooking.

Popular understanding held that the realms were layered over each other, but occupied the same space. To travel between them, a transport reached the right speed and then pierced through an invisible barrier. All Aria saw of the transition was a slash of light. Then, she could almost see the hauntingly blue sky through the carriage’s glass windows.

They stopped half a mile from Garo’s palace. There, others waited to negotiate their passage back to the lower realm. Aria kept her face down in case they recognized her, but they seemed preoccupied with their own matters. The mood was one of concern. Garo was still being punished. None of his attendants knew what that meant for their lives.

The walk to the palace was cold and far too short. Back in the lower realm, the plan had seemed simple. With Garo’s palace so close, however, it looked foolish. She bit her lip and fingered the coin, still in its wrap. She could put it on and it would give her strength. It would also ruin her plan.

She passed other attendants along the way. Exaggerated makeup hid her features, but she still kept her face down. It was odd how natural the pose felt again. She counted the stones on her path and the few trees that stood beside it. They were all green, lush, fruitless, and the only features on the landscape. Unlike Evera’s home, Garo’s temple was built on flat, boring land. Not a mountain or a river existed to draw attention from his approaching compound.

Sooner than she hoped, she was at the gate. Two guards stood on each side, spears balanced on the ground. To her relief, she did not recognize them and they did not seem to recognize her. Given the sheer number of attendants in the palace and her painted face, that worry had been foolish. Through the iron bars, she could see workers walking from place to place. More guards stood beside the path to the main temple, but the smaller buildings relied only on the walls for their protection. Sometimes, even the interior guards were absent. Who would attack the Great Conqueror?

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One of the guards pulled a metal tablet from under his arm and held it up so that it blocked his view of her. The tablet would glow green to him if she was permitted, but remain black if she was not. She held her breath while he inspected it and kept her finger on the ring. If he seemed alarmed, she would unwrap and touch it in one breath.

He put it down and waved her forward. The gates slid open. Half of the bars traveled to one side and half to the other. Then, she was through and suppressing both a sigh and a prayer to Evera.

Aria tried not to smile as she went on her way. Who would have guessed that robbing the Great Conqueror would be so easy?

Count your fruit when it’s off the tree.

There was still a long way to go. When she was safely away, it would be time to rejoice. Despite her caution, however, she could not resist the thought of how she would tell this story in the future - if she could ever tell it. “The Great Conqueror’s palace is so secure, a single former employee can steal from it. Perhaps he should not have taught us courage.”

She knew the thought was foolish. Garo gave no thought to his security because his name struck fear into lesser gods and wariness into the more powerful ones. Anyone powerful enough to brave that caution was often also powerful enough to defeat him openly. There were only two people in that category: The Black God and Evera. Evera did not care for war and the Black God did not need it.

More guards patrolled the compound, but they paid her no heed. She was through the doors of the main temple in minutes. She found a basin of water and a rag, but the ruse felt unnecessary. No one looked her way. At most, they lent her a brief glance, decided that they did not recognize her, and kept walking.

Soon, she reached the forbidden corridor. As on the night of the feast, there were no guards. Who would dare violate a god’s sanctuary? The doors required a bit of force, but they opened. She walked between Garo’s testimonial curtains, taking only a glance at each side. Fear made each new step difficult, but hope kept her going. She was close. She would take the pitcher and walk out the same way she had walked in.

She pushed open the last door, slipped in, and shut it behind her.

The room was filled with people.