Once Alira had agreed to allow Therin to join her, Henry became a loud, raging presence inside her mind, driving her to distraction no matter how hard she tried to pin the spirit down.

“Sorry,” she said yet again, shaking her head to silence the spirit. “I think I need to lie down.” Therin eyed her with worry and apprehension.

“Are you alright?” he asked but interrupted himself. “No, it’s to do with the part of this that you can’t talk about, isn’t it?” He held up his large hand and met her eyes. “Don’t worry. I’ve got duty anyway. I’ll be back, say after ten?” The church bells, enormous and deep, chimed four and Alira smiled wanly as Therin stood.

“Ok.” She leaned forward and put her tired head in her hands. The monk looked down at her with concern and pointed awkwardly to his cot.

“You can lie down if you’d like.” A blush crept up his neck and turned his lightly tanned cheeks crimson.

“Thank you,” Alira said quietly. As she stood, Therin caught her hand and squeezed it. He put his other hand on his chest and gave her a solemn nod.

“I’m going to help you, Alira. I swear.” She merely nodded again and curled up onto his small bed, Henry raising hell in her head.

You’re so stupid. I can’t believe you’d let the fate of every single human alive rest in the hands of this bumbling idiot. This isn’t what Ohira meant when she told you to come to Lightholde!

“Go away,” she whispered and it was only after she heard the door shut quietly that she realised she’d said it aloud and that Therin had heard her.

Good, now maybe you’ll listen to me.

“Henry, I’m very sorry but you have to be quiet now.” And she gathered her will and smashed the mental bars up around the angry spirit, silence finally ringing in her mind.

Alira fell asleep, having drained herself keeping Henry at bay all day. It was draining, emotionally and physically to bar him from her consciousness and she needed to find a better way to handle him. If she had to constantly go around keeping him at bay in this way, she’d never have the ability to think, to move, to react. Her dreams were bright, liquid, and strange.

When she awoke, the moon was casting a striped beam across her face and the scratchy blanket beneath her had made her sweat. She rolled onto her back and looked up to the ceiling, one hand on her stomach, one absently stroking one of her long braids. Henry was silent, almost ominously so.

“Henry?” she whispered, unable to feel where he usually hid inside her. She felt a deep pull in her chest, like a long line was connected to something wriggling. A second later, a glowing green mouse scampered from under the door and bound up onto the bed.

“I was keeping watch. The door isn’t locked.” He sat on his mouse haunches and cleaned his face.

Alira exerted her will again and tried to gather the spirit back inside her but he just sat up and tilted his little head at her.

“Maybe I don’t want to be trapped like that.”

“You don’t have a choice and neither do I,” Alira hissed. She reached for him, trying to catch him but he became incorporeal and melted into the night.

“It doesn’t hurt you,” he said from all around her.

“But you can’t do this. You’re escalating the changes.” Even as she said it, she could feel something inside her expanding, filling with the darkness ever so slightly.

“I’m much more helpful out here,” he said and she felt him brush her cheek and tap her nose.

“Henry, please, you need to return.” As she said it, the two daggers on the desk beside her started to glow a faint purple, illuminating the small cell. She reached for them and their glow increased. Alira scrambled out of the bed and took up the two blades, crossing them before her as she had seen Ohira do. Darkness skittered across her skin, raising goose flesh across her body. Her vision blurred and she could suddenly see in the dark room perfectly.

She felt a tingling itch as her ears elongated, the fingers of her hands became long and bony, the nails becoming black claws. The skin on her back tingled and ached and suddenly erupted in enormous black wings, membranous and leathery. She flapped them, stretching them.

“Return, Princeling, or face my wrath.” Her voice was not her own. It was overlaid with many, some deep, some high and whining. She uncrossed the blades and felt Henry enter her body, his own terror mingled with hers.

A hand grasped her shoulder, shaking her awake.

“Alira?” She heard the soft ringing of his chainmail as Therin stood over her. She reached for Henry inside her mind and felt him there, silent but there, sulking.

A dream.

She had been dreaming.

“Therin?”

“It’s ok,” he said kindly. “It’s just me.”

“What time is it?” She sat up and drew her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs, making room for him to sit on the end of the cot. He unlaced his plain tabard and pulled it over his head, tossing it on the desk. The chainmail shirt underneath glittered in the moonlight filtering from the barred window.

“Just after ten.” He kicked off his boots, grabbed the neckline of the chainmail and bent double, letting the slinky metal material slither off his back as he pulled. He stood, sweat turning his blond curls dark, and draped the chainmail over the back of his chair.

As Alira watched him slowly dismantle his sentry garb, she realised that this monk was multifaceted, not just a simple studious man. His back and arms rippled under his linen undershirt, sweat making it cling to his well-muscled form. He turned his back to her and yanked the sweaty undershirt off and she saw the silvery lines of old scarring across his back and arms. He shook out the shirt and laid it on the back of his chair.

“I was tired,” she said softly but she didn’t take her eyes off the man.

“You must have been.” He pulled a clean undershirt out from the chest at the foot of the cot and pulled it on and then slipped his brown monk’s robe over himself. He pushed the hood off his head and ran a hand through his wet, tangled hair. He caught her watching him and froze. Their eyes met and Alira felt something akin to hunger flare in him, something not quite lust but deeper, more aching.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, his hands falling to his sides. “We could go find somewhere to eat. I’m free for the next two days. I paid Zeke to take my duty tomorrow morning.” Alira nodded but didn’t move. Henry had noticed her watching him and began berating her.

Of course it’s lust, Alira. He’s a celibate monk and you’re a woman. She slammed the mental bars down so hard she felt her vision dim briefly. She scrambled to her feet, her cheeks heated and met his eyes again.

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“Let’s go. I’m starving and I need to stretch my legs.” She sheathed the daggers at her waist, hefted her pack and swept past him to the door.

“If you ever want to talk about the things you’re bearing, I’m a priest and bound to silence.” She turned to look at him.

“The church’s laws don't concern me,” she said quietly.

“Then which laws do?” He sounded affronted and Alira immediately cooled her tone.

“Only nature’s.” She smiled sadly at him and shook her head. “I will think about your offer, thank you.”

“I grew up here,” Therin said as he led her through the door of a small tavern called The Ugly Duckling. “Lightholde has many places to eat but only this particular establishment serves anything worth paying for.”

“I didn’t mind the stew at The Warren.” Alira cast her eyes around the bright room, adjusting to the smoky light. The Ugly Duckling had a low beamed roof hung with lanterns and small plain chandeliers of candles.

Therin approached the long dark oak bar that covered the entire left side of the room and sat on a tall stool. Alira climbed onto the stool beside him and tucked her pack between the stool and bar, resting her feet on it.

“They stole the cook from The Ugly Duckling,” Therin said smiling. “Now the new cook runs it and has doubled the business.”

“How?” Alira asked as the barmaid approached. The young woman lifted the cream cowl she had around her neck, letting it rest perfunctorily on her head and smiled warmly at Therin. She was lovely, her olive toned skin complimented by the long cream coloured cowl that was draped loosely around her neck and head.

She spoke to Therin in a language Alira didn't recognize and he replied in the same lilting, sing-song tongue. She dipped her head in acquiescence and threw her cowl off as she strode away. Alira eyed Therin with a question and he grinned.

“Dinari custom,” he said with a shrug, clearly embarrassed.

“How did they double the business here?” She asked again.

“Catering to foreigners,” Therin said, gesturing to the table in the corner. A group of four short, round, whiskered men sat there, empty tankards scattered across their table. Their long beards were braided with glinting bits of gold and all four of them had jewelled armbands tightly bound to their biceps. They joked and gabbled in a deep, guttural language, guffawing loudly.

“Dwarves?” Alira gasped. She had never met any race from across the sea and she met Therin’s eyes in shock.

“And others,” he nodded. “They serve all kinds of food here. I ordered for you, I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. I’ll eat anything.”

Their drinks arrived first, clear-bottomed tankards of beer, laden with a thick head. It tasted like the beer her mother sometimes brewed. A small woven bowl of tiny brown nuts was placed before her and Therin grinned excitedly.

“Peanuts,” he said and tossed several into his mouth. “The southern dwarves are excellent farmers.” Alira found the salty, creamy bites rich and noted they’d make an excellent food to can, much like her mother’s hazelnuts.

A few minutes later, the woven bowl empty and taken away, Alira smiled up at him. “Incredible,” she said quietly. “Thank you,”

“That wasn’t dinner,” he said, laughing. “Here it comes.”

The plate laid before her was piled high with a thick reddish brown gravy with large chunks of chicken. A bright green salad was on the side, dotted with red tomatoes. Two thick flat loaves of leavened bread were tucked neatly on the side. The smell was spicy, bright and garlicky.

“Across the sea, north of the Dwarven kingdom, there’s a small tribe of humans that live in the desert. Their existence is eked out mainly through trade with the dwarves.” Therin leaned closer to her as he showed her how to attack the meal. He deftly ripped a bit of the bread and used it to pinch a chunk of chicken and gravy. He popped the whole thing in his mouth and chewed, his eyes rolling and fluttering dramatically. “They trade spices for other things. This is one of the dishes.”

Alira followed suit and was surprised by how spicy the food was. The pair ate in relative silence, the only sounds were Therin’s starved grunts of pleasure and the clink of their tankards as they washed down the food with beer.

Sated, Therin pushed his empty plate away from him and grinned at Alira. He laughed at her mostly finished dinner and clapped her gently on the back.

“Good job, little witch,” he said as he swayed slightly. He was definitely drunk and Alira looked at him in surprise. He’d had less to drink than she had and was nearly twice her size. Correctly reading her expression he tapped the side of his nose.

“We only drink watered-down wine at the monastery. And dwarven beer is very strong.”

“It tastes like the beer I’ve grown up drinking,” Alira commented, finishing her tankard. “My mother used to make it with the wild hops and bunberries around our cottage.”

“The dwarves also use hallucinogens, like bunberries,” Therin said as he took out a small coin pouch and emptied it into his hands. “Bunberries are poisonous if eaten raw,” he added as he swayed, counting out coins.

“Do you want some help?” Alira took the coins from his hands and paid their tab.

“Where are you staying tonight?” Therin asked, steadying himself with a hand on the bar.

“I hadn’t considered that,” Alira looked around and mentally calculated how much of the money that Ohira had given her she had left.

“Well,” Therin put a hand into the pocket of his robe and pulled out the dispensation coin. Awkwardly, he looped it around her neck and let the heavy medallion rest between her breasts. “Stay wherever you want, now.”

“Surely the inns in Lightholde will recognize I’m not a nun.” She picked up the coin and studied the profile of a figure on one side and the rooted tree on the back. She looked up to see Therin motioning above her, sketching a symbol in the air. She felt a warm, liquid feeling descend from the top of her head, down her shoulders and back.

“The coin is bound to you now, until you leave Lightholde. I’ll be with you and can reapply the prayer when we leave the city. Anyone who questions your right to carry the coin can answer to me.” He put his hands on her shoulders and leaned his face closer to hers. “I could sneak you into the dormitory if you’d prefer. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

An entire building full of hormonal, sex-deprived men. That sounds like a really good, safe place. Tell him to go to hell, Alira.

“Let me walk you back to the monastery and I’ll find a place to stay from there.” He nodded in agreement.

The pair left, Therin’s unsteady arm around her shoulder.

“How often do you get drunk?” Alira asked as they crossed the mostly empty cobbled street.

“Oh,” he let out a girlish giggle. “This is the first time.” His slurred words and giggles made Alira smile.

Damn fool.

“I see,” she said and steered him out of the way of a puddle of what looked to be vomit.

“You’re such a nice witch.” Therin’s hand tightened on her shoulder and Alira tensed.

“It might be best if you forget that I am…a witch.” She lowered her tone and looked around quickly. “I’d like to be able to avoid trouble if I can.”

“You know,” Therin said, and Alira had no idea if he had heard her or not. “Devan was so heartbroken when that witch betrayed him. He broke a twenty-five year oath of celibacy for her.”

“That’s very sad. I’m sorry for him.”

“But I have it on good authority that he would have left the order for her if she had not lied to him.” Therin stumbled and nearly dragged Alira down with him as he caught himself.

“And you’re leaving the order even though I’m lying,” she said under her breath. But Therin had heard her and he slowed to a stop, forcing her to look at him.

“I’m not–” he hiccuped. “I’m not leaving the order. I’m going on a sanctioned mission. I’m spreading the word of the Light.” He waved his hand expansively and leaned closer to her. “You’re gonna get me my hammer, Alira.” His breath was hot on her cheek and she turned her face.

“Well, let’s first talk to your High Lord, shall we?” She shrugged him off her shoulder and took his arm instead, leading him as though he were elderly or feeble.

“You’re a nice w–” he stopped himself. “A nice woman.”

It took fifteen minutes but they made it back to the monastery unscathed and without Therin falling down. Alira stared at the door to the silent, dark building and weighed her options.

“Do you need me to walk you to your cell?” She put her hands on her hips after she had let Therin sit on the top step.

“Alira,” he said, waving for her hand. “Don’t worry about staying here.” He caught her hand and rested his forehead on it. “I’ll sleep on the floor, it’s fine.” His skin was clammy and damp on hers.

“I’ll find a place. I just want to make sure you’re safe.”

“I’m a warrior of God. I am a hammer of Light,” he slurred against her hand, reciting some rhetoric he had ingrained. “The Light guards and guides.” The hair on her arms raised as he spoke. “The Light keeps and consecrates. God is great and knows all.”

Her blades, mostly forgotten tucked into her belt, began to glow their hazy purple.

“Therin,” she said quietly.

“The Light blesses and binds. I am a warrior of God, the Hammer of Light.” He dropped her hand and laid his own into his lap and looked up at her, bleary, tears in his eyes.

“Therin?”

“I’m gonna be sick.” He bent double and threw up down the steps of the monastery before putting his head in his hands and sobbing. Alira just gaped, unsure what to do.