They passed beneath the sconces down the hall. Pherenike led Corvo to the stairs up the tower; there steps spiraled along the walls, and the ceiling stretched toward the top of the sky. Corvo saw all the way up to the next story. Then the floor blocked his view.

Pherenike found a door a few steps up the flight. She had to stand on her tiptoes to open it—she was taller than Corvo but still small—and it groaned in protest as the hinges swung.

“This way,” she said, voice light and playful.

He followed. He climbed over a step, passed the threshold, and suddenly found himself outside.

They were on a low balcony. A crumbled banister surrounded a small area beneath the open sky. Beneath them was the garden and the bailey of the compound, and they were just high enough to look over its ramparts at the hill and forest and ruins of the City. The clouds stared down at Corvo here, swirling around the pyramid atop the Regizar’s palace. It was dark compared to any other place on Earth but bright enough to feel like day after hours within the confines of the tower.

Pherenike walked directly to the ledge, stopping between two short sections of the banister that had yet to fall from the balcony. Her feet, bare, dangled over the gardens. She raised her arms in the breeze and let it catch her blonde hair, billowing loose strands around her head.

“Come here. You won’t fall.”

Corvo was not so sure. He stayed back a healthy distance, just in case.

“This is my favorite place,” she said. “It’s too dark inside. And here, the Shadow Man can’t get you!”

Thoughts of playing with a girl his age had so distracted him that he had forgotten entirely about the Shadow Man as they ran off through the dark corridors and up the darker staircase. Now that she reminded him, he felt guilty for leaving Mother. She would want to know where he was. And what if the Shadow Man did appear?

He couldn’t here, beneath the clouds. It was too bright. So he inched forward.

…and saw the demons.

They were as the first blue demon who had nearly caught them. Three together, in the distance. They looked like shafts of shimmering light in the distance, but they slithered through the air as the other had, like serpents in the sky.

One was green. One was gold. The other was red.

“They’ll get us,” he said, pointing, shaking in sudden fear.

Pherenike shook her head and turned to look at him. She grabbed hold of banister at her sides and leaned over the ledge idly with her back, supporting herself with her hands.

“They can’t come here,” she said. “Neiaz keeps us safe.”

She sized Corvo up. Then she pulled herself all the way forward, rocking back to safe ground with her momentum, and she came toward him with a skip.

“What was it like in the city? Was it scary?”

Corvo pulled his pack to his chest. He nodded.

“Neiaz won’t let me go outside. I’ve never seen what it’s like. But I don’t want to go anyway. That’s how my parents died, only I don’t remember because I was too little.” She leaned forward, voice low. “They were killed by demons.”

Corvo’s eyes widened. “My dad was killed by a demon!”

Pherenike gasped. “Really?”

She sat down at the balcony’s center. Corvo followed her lead, and the two were cross-legged facing each other.

“Mine were using magic,” she said. “They drew attention. That’s what Neiaz said. What did yours do?”

“He saved a whole city,” Corvo said. “They built a statue of him!”

“No they didn’t!”

“They did!”

“Then what does it look like?”

Corvo had been told many times that his father’s dying place had been turned into a monument. He presumed that meant there was a statue involved. Of course he had never been to Katharos, he hadn’t seen it himself, and he had no idea what it looked like.

So he made something up.

“It’s a hundred feet tall! And he has a sword that looks just like my sword! And his eyes are blue, like mine, and he has gold armor on, and people go to see him every day! Sometimes they even have parades for him on his birthday, and all the knights come out to joust to show how much they miss him.”

Pherenike stared enraptured. She clearly believed every word.

“Is the whole city really humans?” she asked.

Corvo shrugged. But thinking this might reveal that he had never been there, he said, “No. There are gnomes. And dwarves. And trolls!”

“And no demons?”

“No.” This answer came confidently.

“I want to go,” Pherenike said sadly. She scooted backward until her back found a section of banister. She leaned against it. “I’ve never met a human before. Is it true you don’t live forever? That doesn’t make any sense.”

Corvo thought back to what Mother had told him many times. “No one lives forever. Even elves.”

“Then where do you go when you die?” She said this like a gotcha, an a-ha, proof to refute him for good.

He didn’t know the answer. So he shrugged.

They were quiet for a moment. Then Pherenike asked, “How old are you?”

Corvo had calmed since he spotted the demons, but now he felt another surge of panic. He realized that he didn’t know how old Pherenike was either, or how old any elf was, except that Trito said he had been alive since history started.

He nearly declined to answer. But he thought better of it, and instead he asked the question in return, “How old are you?”

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“Me?” She looked down at her knees, embarrassed. “I’m still little. I’m only twenty.”

The panic spread through his arms and legs. He had thought she was close to him in age, within a year, but he was right. She didn’t age like he did. The thought that she was as old as Aletheia terrified him. She would think he was hardly a baby.

But he still wanted her to like him. That meant he couldn’t tell her the truth.

So instead of telling her that he was five, he said, “Me too!”

“You’re twenty too?”

He nodded. Pherenike must have believed him, because she beamed. “We’re like twins! Only you still have a mother.”

She fell silent after that. Though her eyes were blank to him, like any other elf’s, he saw sadness twitching across her face.

So he picked up his bag of toys.

“Here,” he said. “Let’s play.”

She perked up. “Play what?”

“Look.”

He opened up the bag. Within were four things only: his wooden sword, the statue of the warrior, the glass rider, and, at the very bottom, the smooth piece of obsidian he had taken from the vault at Waterrest. Mother had told him to get rid of the sword, but he hadn’t yet; it was conspicuous, sticking halfway out of the bag, and she must have noticed it—but she hadn’t said anything about it to him yet.

He took out the glass rider. After so much climbing, running, and fighting, he had been afraid it would have been damaged. But it wasn’t.

He set it down at her knees.

She was impressed, clearly, as she leaned forward to touch it.

“It’s beautiful,” she said.

“Watch!” he said.

He pointed to the stairs, and said, “Ride!”

The rider jolted to life. It shook its head and patted its horse as it animated, and it tugged on the horse’s reins as it started a canter over the threshold and to the steps.

Pherenike gasped.

“That’s magic! You can’t have magic here!”

“Why not?”

“It isn’t allowed! You have to put him away, or Neiaz will yell at us!”

“But it’s my toy,” Corvo said.

“Magic is evil,” Pherenike said. “It can’t make toys. It only does bad things. Magic is the reason I have to live here alone with Neiaz. Magic is what took my parents away.”

Corvo knew Pherenike was an elf; and as an elf, he knew she had the ability to use spells, like Mother did. But here she was talking like Trito.

Her explanation made no sense. He didn’t understand why she would say something like that. Magic was amazing. It kept him safe when he would have been in danger. And it let his favorite toy move.

“Don’t you want to play with him?” he said, somewhat bewildered at her response.

“No! Put him away!”

He felt humiliated. He slinked to his feet and picked the rider back up, bringing it over to the bag again.

But Pherenike had the bag in her hands. She sifted through his things in search of anything interesting.

“What else do you have?”

“Give it back!” he said. “That’s mine!”

“I will! I just want to see,” she said.

“Don’t you have your own toys?” he said.

She didn’t respond. She pulled out the sword and the wooden figurine and discarded them to the side. Corvo had to grab them to make sure they didn’t fall off the ledge, and he clutched on to them tightly. He loved all of these things, and the thought of losing them terrified him as much as the thought of losing part of his family.

Finally she reached the bottom of the bag.

She frowned as she pulled out the obsidian shard. She held it between two fingers and brought it up to the light from the maelstrom.

“What’s this?” she asked.

Corvo stared at it. He had noticed it earlier, but he hadn’t really thought of it, not for more than a second, since he stole it from the vault. Guilt, and fear, descended on him. Did she know what it was? Would she tell Deror? Did she know Deror? It seemed impossible that she would, but he was an elf, and she was an elf, and….

He watched as she squinted and brought it closer to her white eyes. Then she looked to him for an answer.

He shrugged.

“I found it,” he said.

“Where?”

He shrugged again, but it wasn’t a very convincing display. He had to look at the ground. “Give it back.”

“It’s so smooth,” she said.

When he looked up, he saw her trail her finger across its surface. Once, and again. The third time, her nail came near its bottom.

A blue spark flashed across his eyes. It jumped like lightning from the shard to her fingertip.

She yelped and dropped the shard and let it fall back into Corvo’s open bag. He scrambled over toward it and fished it back out, cradling it in his hand as he looked it over.

“What happened?” he asked.

“It shocked me!” Pherenike said, clutching her finger. She looked near tears. “That hurt! What did you make it do?”

“I didn’t make it do anything!” he said. The obsidian was utterly smooth in his grasp and very cold, and he couldn’t resist his own urge to run his finger across its top.

Nothing happened. He did it again, and again, just as Pherenike had, and no sparks came.

“See? It was you! You shocked my rock!” Corvo said to her.

“No! It shocked me!”

“No, you shocked it—”

“Corvo!”

He and Pherenike both snapped around backward. On the threshold of the door stood Mother, gazing down at them with unfamiliar brown eyes.

“There you are,” she said. “How many times must I tell you not to leave my side?”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Do not be sorry. Only do what I say—”

But as she stepped forward to grab him and lift him to his feet, she spotted the obsidian shard in his hand. He tried to cover it in his palm, hoping she wouldn’t notice, but she instantly lunged for him. She grabbed his wrist and pried his fingers apart, and she plucked it from his palm.

She hovered over him as she stared into its flawless surface that glowed red atop black beneath the clouds. Saying nothing. Not moving.

Her eyes glanced to his.

“Where did you find this?” she said slowly.

He hung his head. He didn’t want to lie, but he also didn’t want to tell the truth.

“Corvo. Where did you find this?”

“In the vault,” he whispered.

Mother gasped. She closed her fingers and withdrew her hand to her breast, standing up straight again. But she kept firm hold of him by the shirt.

“It’s mine. I found it,” he whined.

“So you did,” she said. “Come. You as well, Pherenike. At once. Come!”

Mother helped him tie his bag and swiftly led them back down the stairs, down a corridor, past torchlight, and back into their guest room.

Dorian lay half-comatose in bed, staring at the ceiling. Aletheia leaned against the wall nearby. But she stirred when Mother entered, and she became instantly alarmed by Mother’s look.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I do not know yet,” Mother said. “You must come with me to see Trito at once. Corvo—stay here with Dorian, in the light of the fires. It is safe. Will you stay?”

Corvo nodded. Aletheia rose.

“What about me?” Pherenike said.

Mother scoffed. “You are not my daughter. Do as you will. But do not lead my son anywhere else within this place, or you will wish I had a mother’s kindness toward you.”

The girl was frightened at this threat—if it was a threat—and nodded meekly. As Mother and Aletheia departed, Pherenike lingered briefly, eyes averted, before at last scurrying out after them.

Then Corvo was left alone with Dorian.

Corvo stared at where Mother had stood for minutes that felt like days. With no notion of what had Mother upset, he wasn’t certain if he had disappointed her, or if he had made a mistake, or if something else entirely was to blame for her alarm.

At last he couldn’t stared any longer. He brought his bag over to Dorian. He looked through his things and found his sword and asked, “Do you want to play swords?”

Dorian coughed. He shifted upright in the bed, and said flatly, “No.”

Corvo quieted. But he heard Dorian stirring again, and soon he was upright, gazing down at him.

Normally Dorian smiled at Corvo. He grinned and played. He was Corvo’s favorite father.

But not now. Now he glared, like how Mother glared at almost everyone. His jaw tightened. He cocked his head.

“You’re a handsome lad, aren’t you?” he said. “I’m not sure I ever noticed before.”

Corvo shrugged.

“I’m afraid I’m not well enough to play now, chicklet. Why don’t you come in closer?”

"Why?"

Dorian said nothing. He stared at Corvo, extending an arm as if inviting him to cuddle, gazing at him dumbly like the words were impossible to find.

But he smiled, and he said, "Come here.”

Corvo frowned. He had never been truly close to a man, not like he was with Mother and Aletheia, and he was uneasy at this instruction. But despite all of the fighting of the last days, and the arguing, and the shouting, he trusted Dorian. He had seemed to be a presence for an eternity. It was hard to remember a time before he arrived.

So he complied. He sat down on the bed beside Dorian—bringing his sword, in case he wanted to play after all—and settled there. The sheets were musty and gory now, reeking of iron and sweat, and Dorian was covered in bandages.

“That’s it, chicklet.” Then the two were together.

Dorian put his arm around Corvo’s waist. But where Corvo expected to feel a hand, he instead felt the press of cold steel.

Dorian held a dagger. A small blade, concealed until then beneath his wrist. Now he showed it.

He brought it to Corvo’s neck.

Its edge pressed into his throat.

“You can scream if you like," he said. "Make as much noise as you want. That's fine. We’ll be going downstairs to find Mother right away now.” He tugged him upward, but the blade never moved. “Go on. Let’s walk.”