As the twins’ shrieks of delight bounced around inside his skull, Ceres resisted the urge to cover his ears. Udit’s sudden return had unleashed pandemonium, casting him as the unwelcome bystander once again. Relegated to the sidelines, he stood amidst the swirling dust of the street, a mere spectator to the familial drama unfolding before him. Udit’s mother hurriedly whisked her daughter indoors, wisely avoiding further commotion, while Ceres found himself alone with Mohan.

He braced himself for the inevitable interrogation. The cleric’s glare could fell a rhinoceros, but he refused to buckle. Instead, he summoned a serene smile. If there was one thing he’d learned from his training, it was the art of holding his own in the face of adversity. And in this showdown, he was determined to give the noxious old goat a taste of his own medicine.

Mohan’s glare deepened.

Behind him, a naked child darted past, brandishing a stick like a miniature warrior. A scrappy mutt trailed after, surprisingly docile despite the mayhem. Nearby, a heated exchange erupted between two women, their voices rising above the general clamor, with accusations of pilfered undergarments adding an absurd twist to the drama. Squinting up at Ceres in the harsh light, Mohan poked him in the chest with a bony finger. “Did you dishonor my daughter?”

Ceres glowered down at him. “No.”

Mohan seemed poised to unleash a verbal deluge, but then his shoulders sagged. “We should talk,” he said finally. Stumping over to an overturned crate, he sat, and gestured for Ceres to join him. That Mohan clearly liked him about as well as he liked Mohan didn’t help; Udit’s decision to accompany him hung in the balance, teetering precariously on the edge of her father’s approval. One wrong move, and he risked alienating the old man, shattering any hope of a future together. Yet, amidst the tempest of emotions swirling within him, a more sinister impulse whispered seductively in his ear. The rain barrel loomed nearby, its dark depths a tempting solution to his dilemma; drowning the cleric wouldn’t take much effort at all. But he resisted the urge, for now, knowing that succumbing to his darker instincts would only cause more problems.

So he took the crate opposite, and waited.

The cleric frowned at Ceres’s knuckles. “Tattoos are forbidden.”

“I drink, too,” he replied, unmoved.

“The worst of all actions involve altering God’s creation.” Mohan’s tone was sour.

He wondered how the cleric felt about genital piercings. “Some of us need all the help we can get.”

Chuckling, Mohan gestured at his neck. “Livestock are marked in the same place.”

Ceres wanted to ask Mohan where his brand was, then, and didn’t.

Mohan sighed, his disappointment palpable. “You’re an aristocrat, whatever else you are.”

His eyebrow arched, with a hint of challenge. “It was my perfect manners, or…?”

Instead of addressing this inquiry, Mohan fixed his gaze on the rain barrel. “The Empire’s ruling elite, they’re all effete. Dissolute. I don’t want my daughter mingling with off-worlders, especially not pampered princelings from Brontes.” He turned, his stare piercing Ceres. “You wouldn’t be the first to dabble in a bit of light romantic tourism.”

Rubbing the exhaustion from his temples, Ceres scowled. “Let’s remember, old man, we’re strangers. I’ll refrain from deciding who you are, without evidence, if you extend me the same courtesy.”

“You think I’m insufferable.” Mohan’s voice carried a self-deprecating edge. “Just wait until you’re in my shoes.”

“Udit is capable of deciding for herself,” Ceres retorted.

Mohan’s tone remained steady. “Only if she’s fully informed. Your feelings may in fact be genuine—for now. But you’re an outsider, and you always will be. Likewise, she’ll never belong in your world. You know it and I know it, whatever you choose to pretend.”

“You seem to know an awful lot about my world.” Ceres didn’t bother to keep the scorn from his voice, at the cleric’s presumption.

Mohan nodded. “I’m from the capital, same as you.” He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. “And I know who you are, Claudius Ceres Aculeo.”

Ceres stared at him, stunned.

After the coup, he’d embraced his house name as his surname, becoming Ceres Mara Sant—a name that had defined him, now, for over a decade. No one had ever presumed to use his private name, before, other than his immediate family; even his closest friends had called him Ceres. His third name, like all third names, indicated some peculiar characteristic of the holder and was earned. His meant prickly, in the First Tongue, a fitting descriptor for his childhood temperament. Whatever Udit thought, his time with the Brotherhood had helped him to grow up.

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The grungy dog reappeared, and Mohan bent down to scratch it between the ears while Ceres tried to process what he’d just heard. “You’re his spitting image. Caracalla’s, I mean. I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me, at first. After all, it’s been years since I’ve so much as seen the emperor’s face on a coin.” He grimaced wryly. “The bow only confirmed my suspicions.”

And it was then that the pieces of the puzzle clicked together with a resounding clarity. Mohan’s cultured accent, incongruous against the backdrop of the slum, should’ve been his first clue. And Udit, like her father, was far too pale to truly be local. It dawned on him that Mohan had to have been her teacher, bestowing upon her the wisdom of the First Tongue, a language reserved for the elite. She’d been raised, not as a denizen of the streets, but as the scion of nobility she was. “Who were you?” Ceres asked. “On Brontes?”

Mohan’s words were as grim as the storm clouds that’d started gathering above. “Pooja doesn’t know,” he admitted. “I met her after I came here.”

Udit remained oblivious, too, shielded by her father’s carefully constructed façade from the reality of her heritage. Ceres wasn’t about to tell her; revealing her father’s entirely human motivations for the life he’d chosen would shatter her illusion, and he couldn’t bear to be the one responsible. So he asked the next question, already knowing the answer; he wanted to know if Mohan would at least be honest with him. “Did you truly come here to help people, or to escape?”

“In truth?” Mohan’s gaze followed his four-legged friend as it wandered away. “I disapproved of your father, and I was needed elsewhere. I wanted to live my values, not simply preach them.” He exhaled heavily, as he released the burden of his long held secret. “But who willingly ventures into these foresaken lands, except those who have no choice? Your father’s reforms destroyed my family.” His expression darkened with regret. “His policies were as reckless, as stupid, as his personal choices but your uncle….” He trailed off, unable to continue.

Ceres couldn’t help but roll his eyes internally at the hypocrisy, but he kept his expression neutral. “You’re judging me for how I responded to becoming an orphan,” he remarked coolly. “To being hunted. There was a price on my head.” And, technically, there still was—only Galen was too cunning to order his arrest. Tilting his head slightly, he fixed the cleric with his own dark stare. “Or are you merely condemning me for my father’s misdeeds?”

Mohan took a deep breath, gathering his composure. “It’s one thing when a man grows up in poverty,” he began, his tone steadier now but still laced with disappointment, “and lacking proper education. He might resort to a life of crime, out of ignorance or indeed necessity. But for someone like you, with every advantage, to join the Brotherhood?”

“You’re making assumptions.” Ceres’s voice had turned to ice.

“I can’t help but wonder if your…lineage influences your choices,” Mohan persisted.

“Meaning that I’m crazy,” Ceres snapped. “Due to inbreeding.”

At that remark, Mohan had the good grace to look embarrassed—albeit briefly.

“I’m not oblivious to my own failings, or theirs,” Ceres added, in the same acidic tone. “And whatever it is you’d like to tell me, about how I should be different, trust me—I’ve heard it all before.”

Mohan’s expression turned to one of puzzlement. “How can you possibly find satisfaction, in what you do?”

“I’m the best at what I do.” It wasn’t a boast, it was a simple statement of fact.

The cleric scoffed. “What a skill to master.”

“I’m ambitious,” Ceres replied. “After my own fashion.”

“You’re ambitious to kill,” Mohan countered, his voice dripping with disdain.

“Yes,” Ceres said simply.

“And you’re proposing to drag Udit into this nightmare.” Mohan sounded somewhere between disbelieving and appalled. “At least, until you tire of her and find some other girl to corrupt.”

Ceres leaned in, his tone cutting. “Unlike you, I don't see Udit as some fragile flower waiting to be plucked. She’s strong, resilient, and capable of making her own choices. And unlike you, I’m not going to shelter her from the world—I’m going to live in it with her, as her partner, by her side.” He paused, a hint of steel in his voice. “And if you have any doubts about my ability to protect her, let me remind you of what I've accomplished against far greater odds.”

The cleric’s accusatory gaze bore into him, rich with silent condemnation. “You think that, because I’m a religious man, I’m stupid.”

Ceres held his ground, his voice calm despite the tension crackling in the air. “No,” he responded bluntly. “I think that because you’re not me, you’re stupid. But I’m not screwing around.”

Mohan crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re doing to others what was done to you.” His words hung in the air, each syllable laden with accusation and concern. “And you think it’s justified, or at least your order does. Which, to you, amounts to the same thing.” His eyes bored into Ceres with uncomfortable insight. “At this point, you probably believe that the thoughts in your head are your own. You can’t remember a time when that little voice wasn’t there, inside, telling you what to do.”

Ceres held the cleric’s gaze. “What’s your point?”

“Your uncle thought your father needed killing, too,” Mohan said. “When does it stop?”

“That’s not for me to decide,” Ceres told him.

The cleric’s eyes narrowed with concern. “I don’t want Udit dragged into this.”

Ceres rose to his feet. “Respectfully, Mawlana, that’s not for you to decide.”