After he departed, Mona returned to her quarters and took a moment to pull herself together, then decided to spend some time in the temple sanctum, preparing for the second set of services that would take place later that evening. Her temple attendance had been spotty since the Master’s troubled arrival on this plane, and she did not wish to forsake her most fundamental duties.

She also wanted to check in with some of the other priestesses. It was only a matter of time before they heard what had happened in the dungeon, the bleeding of their god, and she wondered how they might take it. They might get the wrong idea about what exactly had transpired.

As she tidied the temple dais and removed the used candles, Mona contemplated the fact that Greg had only done it because of her. He had seen the horror on her face and did what he could to help her, even at the cost of his vitality, the very essence of his life.

Mona wished she would have stopped him. She should have, but she had been in shock, even as he had cut himself with that stupid ceremonial knife.

Though she had torched the dog paladin to a crisp, she didn’t feel like she’d won their battle. She’d only caused more trouble for both herself and her Master.

If only I’d been stronger, she thought, as her stomach twisted with guilt. She should have possessed better control, but the spell had run away from her, fueled by adrenaline, panic, and her newly stoked power of Will. He shouldn’t have bled on my account. It’s supposed to be the other way around.

The candelabras that ringed the temple dais were covered in dried, black wax, which she carefully removed with a brass scraper. It was Dreadthorn tradition that the candles burn all the way, which tended to cause a mess. Mona took a cloth and a bottle of white paste from a nearby shelf, then began to polish the candelabra until it shone vibrantly in the light of the many flickering sconces that hung from the ceiling, burning with magical fire. As she looked up at them, Mona thought she would have to get a ladder and climb up there to replace the fire runes later. One looked rather dark as if it would soon fail entirely.

All this was technically Yeni’s job today, but the poor girl hadn’t returned since being rejected, and Mona hadn’t been able to find her in her quarters. In a way, Mona didn’t mind. Something was soothing about cleaning the temple. It reminded her of being a lowly initiate again, of simpler times free from responsibility and dread.

When she first arrived here, she’d mixed the cleaning paste herself—it was only salt, flour, and vinegar. Cleaning the temple made her reflect, for a moment, on how far she had come since then.

She began humming to herself, polishing the second and third candelabras quickly, her hands finding their old rhythms. She became so absorbed that she didn’t even notice visitors until one of them cleared their throat awkwardly from below the dais.

“High Priestess, we come on urgent business.”

Mona looked up, brushing some stray blue hairs away from her eyes with one hand as a jolt of fear shot through her. The sight of four tower guardsmen, adorned in their dark armor, their spears held casually against their arms, could never be a good thing.

Something terrible had occurred or was about to.

“Yes?” she asked, standing straight now, as tall as she could. She quickly stepped over to the podium, placed the rag upon it, then brushed her hands awkwardly against her robe, trying to make herself presentable. The podium stood between them now, like a shield.

“We need you to come with us,” the guard said, hesitantly adding, “It’s Dark Lord Greg-Theryx. He’s fallen ill. Again.”

Her heart dropped. “What happened? That’s not possible.”

The lead guard looked to his fellows for a moment, and the others looked back and forth between them as if unsure what to do. But Mona had already descended the steps from the dais in a smooth motion and now stood in front of them, one hand on her hip, one finger extended towards the leader’s chest. “Don’t just stand there, you clods. Take me to him,” she said.

The guard’s eyes widened nervously, but he nodded, spun on his heel, and marched out. She followed them out of the temple as her mind reeled. How was it possible? Greg had seemed fine when they had parted, and he hadn’t lost that much blood for a god, had he?

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“What happened?” she asked as she followed the lead guard into the elevator. The others filed in behind her.

“He collapsed,” the leader said as he punched the button for the infirmary level. “I’m sorry, High Priestess, that’s all we were told. We were sent to retrieve you immediately.”

“Who sent you? Who’s there?”

The guard paused for a moment, blinking his eyes. “General Shatterbone sent us,” he said. “We do not know who else is there. Our apologies.”

Mona nodded at the guard, then turned away from him, looking towards the door, beginning to think. Something gnawed at her mind, and the elevator suddenly felt crowded, packed in with the four guards, who had formed a ring around her while she stood in the middle.

She felt her breathing quicken and her heart pound within her chest. Why hadn’t Ilmatar been the one to send for her? Indeed, it would have been his task to perform unless something had also happened to him.

She felt her teeth clench and hoped they wouldn’t notice. As the elevator stopped and the doors clattered open in front of her, she raced forward, turning sideways to fit through the gap even before it had fully opened.

One of the guards protested from behind her, but she barely listened as she marched down the hallway toward the main infirmary room. She needed to waste no time in getting to him. No matter what had happened, her place was at his side.

Her boots squeaked on the stone floor as she stopped outside the infirmary. There were large double doors ahead of her. There was no telling what awaited her on the other side of them. What state was he in?

She hesitated momentarily, one hand on the knob, as she took a deep breath. She heard the guards beginning to march down the hallway after her.

She placed her shoulder against the door, throwing it open with her weight. The room was mostly dark, besides a circle of lamps around a hospital bed at its center. Ilmatar stood between her and Greg, his back turned, and she felt her heart quicken with fear and anxiety.

This room contained many more beds, but they had been pushed against the walls, along with some shelves stacked with rolls of gauze, needles, and beakers of liquid she couldn’t identify.

No sign of Shatterbone, but perhaps he was already preparing for his ascension higher in the tower. That would be just like him. The idea filled her with rage. He had been waiting for this, hadn’t he?

At the last moment, a thought occurred to her. She cursed herself for not thinking of it sooner. She rushed towards the bed, eager to take the Master’s hand in hers. Surely he would recover quickly. If not… A strange feeling twisted in her heart.

“Ilmatar, what the hell—”

He opened his mouth to say something as he turned, but even before he began to speak, she instinctively reached out with her hands and set him on fire.

Because he wasn’t Ilmatar—when she’d spoken, he hadn’t visibly reacted. His shoulders hadn’t tensed. He hadn’t even sighed at her. Instead, he’d waited a moment before responding.

Only now did she see the syringe in this blue demon’s hand as he flailed, trying to extinguish the fire that engulfed him.

The guards behind Mona had broken into a run, their boots clattering as they raced to catch her.

Of course, she thought. An ambush. She should have known. Those bastards.

Mona ran to the other side of the bed so that it was between her and the doors, shooting another flame at the blue demon with the syringe to be sure he would not recover enough to inject her. It must have been a sedative, she thought, if not something worse. Presumably, it had been prepared by Phaedra.

Only now that Mona was close enough to see the “patient” did she realize it was simply a row of pillows covered in bedsheets, the laziest of deceptions. She felt like a fool for almost falling for it. They’d known how to strike at her worry, her fear.

The demon posing as Ilmatar was lying on the ground, crying in agony, attempting to smother the flames as he rolled back and forth. She whispered a curse and sent a flame orb straight toward his face. After one last scream, he grew still.

The guardsmen had caught up to her, the four of them fanning out around the bed as they slowly advanced.

“Are you going to kill me?” she asked, looking at their leader.

“Only if we have to,” he said, moving carefully, the tip of his spear extended towards her. Mona had ruined their ambush, but they still outnumbered her. She needed to be careful. “If you surrender, there will be no need.”

She saw one of the other guards holding a pair of manacles in his hand, not unlike the ones they’d used to restrain the paladin down in the dungeon. Mona supposed she would join her soon if they had anything to say about it.

But not without a fight. After all, she had no assurances that if she surrendered, they wouldn’t just kill her anyway. And that was to say nothing of what they planned to do to Greg. If Shatterbone had figured out his secret, or if he thought he had…

Mona honestly didn’t know what he would do if given the chance.

“Only if you have to,” she repeated to the guard and shook her head. “Last I checked, you don’t have to do anything. We all do what we think our consciences will allow. Right now, you’re betraying your god.”

The guard stopped, his spear even with the other side of the bed. There he waited, as if scared to advance further.

Her hands were held in front of her, two small orbs of fire hovering between them, orbiting each other slowly, lazily, as if they had not yet decided where to go.

Mona’s heart pounded as she heard the sound of more footsteps in the hallway. A moment later, more guards began to file in through the doors until there were twelve or thirteen of them, looking almost like copies of each other, all with the same black armor and spears.

There had been a second wave behind the first. She had been hoping Shatterbone had underestimated her and that the four of them were all he’d sent.

This would be much harder than she thought. But not impossible.

Mona took a deep breath. As her Will rose within her, she prepared for the fight of her life.