I came back to myself in a well lit, comfortably furnished room. The decor was dark, all rich wood and burgundy, with heavy curtains over the windows and a four poster bed, also curtained.

I blinked, staring around in confusion at the quiet scene. The fireplace crackled with warm flames, and though the walls were the heavy stone of a dungeon or fortress everything seemed inviting and clean.

Last I remembered, I was with Emma in the tunnel. The ghosts closed in, and then that wave of fog and…

"Emma!?" I looked around, but didn't see the girl. Had she been taken elsewhere? Or worse, had she been left back in that tunnel with the rampaging dead?

"She's quite alright, Alken. Do not panic."

I spun about, and there by the fireplace stood Ser Renuart Kross. He stepped out of the shadows, his gray cloak rustling and a faint smile on his mouth.

"Kross?" I asked in confusion. "What are you doing here? How…"

"I pulled you both out of the gate tunnel and brought you here. We're in Liutgarde. The dead cannot enter this place, not while the rightful heir resides within its walls. The threshold holds them at bay."

I shook my head in a slow motion, still trying to process. "I mean, how are you here? Did you follow us? Is Brenner—"

"Still back at Antlerhall, raging over his ward's absence." Kross held up a hand, palm down in a calming gesture. "I was worried for you two. After placating his lordship, I followed and arrived just in time."

"How?" I demanded, feeling the first kernels of suspicion breaking through my fog of confusion.

The knight-exorcist shrugged. "I flew. My companion is an angel, after all."

I remembered the last sound I'd heard in the tunnel. The beating of large, feathered wings. I began to relax, but not entirely.

"Then you have my thanks. That's the second time you've saved my life. Where is the girl?"

"A room in this same hall. I've already spoken with her. I think she's… reminiscing, I suppose? This is her childhood home."

"How long was I out?" I asked. I still had all my equipment, including my dagger.

"Just under an hour. The mists of Draubard gather thick in this place, and their touch can steal time and memory. I got to you just in time."

Kross swept his cape back and gestured to the door. "Let us return to the young lady. Best we not leave her alone too long in this place. Most of the ghosts remain outside, but there are certainly some within these halls."

The halls of Castle Liutgarde wound and turned and spiraled on themselves, a mad labyrinth. I could feel eyes on me all the while.

I found Emma wandering the halls not far from the guest bedroom. She looked dazed, almost entranced, and when I called her name her lidded eyes turned slowly to meet mine.

"Ah. You're still alive." She let out a breath and seemed to focus. "That's good."

I approached her cautiously, keeping my senses open for danger. "Thanks to him." I tilted my head back to Kross, who lingered a distance behind.

Emma's attention wandered back to the walls. There were paintings lining them, all masterfully done and lifelike, each of a dark haired, amber eyed noble who resembled her. She was studying one piece of a handsome couple, a man and a woman, who sat to either side of a morose looking girl whose dark hair had been fashioned into a towering arrangement like two spiraling waves.

"That's you, isn't it?"

Emma nodded without saying a word, her eyes fixed on the painting.

I could tell the woman was the Carreon. The man had lighter hair and brown eyes, as well as a stern face. Emma had gotten her starker from him, I guessed. Her mother had softer features and a faint, amused smile on her lips.

"I remember having this done," Emma mused. "I didn't like standing still so long in that dress. I demanded the painter be executed, thinking it was his idea."

"Was he?" I asked.

Emma smiled, and I saw her mother in that smile. "Father made the man believe he would. He only gave up the act when mother grew tired of the game."

"Did you ever meet your great-grandmother?" The nobly born could sometimes live a long time. They cheated with alchemy and abnormally potent souls.

Emma shook her head. "No. Astraea took her own life when my grandmother was still a child."

We stood in a long hallway, a connecting section between two of the castle's soaring spires. A rich carpet lined the entire floor, and empty suits of archaic armor stood silent vigil along the walls. Their helms were fashioned to look like the heads of predatory birds, the visors shaped into stylized beaks.

"This is my home," Emma said quietly. "I loved this place. I was so angry when we had to leave it. I didn't understand why. We were safe here. The Burnt Rider could not enter these walls, and it seemed so foolish to leave and put ourselves at risk. But now…"

Emma took a long breath and fixed her focus back on me. "My parents understood that this place was as much a prison as a refuge. Now I've placed myself back here with the enemy clamoring at the gates."

She squeezed her eyes shut. "I'm a fool."

"You're not a fool. I think coming back here was the right choice. I'm not sure, but I have a hunch."

"Oh?" Emma canted her head in curiosity. "Do elaborate."

I glanced back at Kross, who waited patiently while studying the portraits. He caught my eye and gave me the same look.

I had everything I needed to attempt this. We were at the place this all had all started, which also happened to be an ancient redoubt of a High House. The dead gathered here by the hundreds, locked within these storied halls or lingering out in the fields below, bitter and restless.

Renuart Kross had a holy spirit riding him. Emma was the scion of her bloodline, the rightful inheritor of this land.

And I… I'd been placed here by the Angel of the Briar, who herself was Onsolain. I was the Headsman of Seydis, a Doomsman.

Had Nath predicted all of this? Did she know I'd be here at this time, ready to make this choice?

If so, she'd gotten one thing wrong. It could not be my choice. And there was one piece missing.

There were windows on the opposite wall from the portraits. Outside, the sky had turned from a clear blue day into an overcast gray, darker clouds over the distant hills threatening a storm. Flecks of something like dark snow stuck against the window next to me.

Peering out over the plain below the castle, I saw a shape on the road. It glowed like a cinder.

Jon Orley had come.

Emma saw the same thing I did. Her face tightened with apprehension. "What do we do?" She asked me in a small voice.

I didn't answer at once. There was no hurry. I knew the Burnt Rider couldn't get inside, or he would have already.

"Alken?" Kross asked.

I spoke to Emma. "I have a way to end this, but it might put you in even more danger."

Emma pursed her lips "How so?"

"It will involve more powers," I said. "Once done, I might not be able to control what happens next. I'll do everything I can, but you have to understand that I'm tossing a set of dice and seeing what numbers come up. I can't make you any guarantees."

"What do you intend to do?" Kross demanded.

I ignored him, turning to Emma. Tall for her age and gender, she still had to look up to meet my eyes. We made an odd pair, me tall and garbed in a dull red cloak, frayed by many long miles and strange roads, pointed cowl shadowing my features. Her, clad all in black and velvet, the image of the shadowy aristocrat, almost vampiric surrounded by the brooding architecture of the Carreon palace.

"I'm here to back you," I said to her. "Not to make your decisions for you. There are some things about me you should know, other forces pulling at me. Nath is just one of them, and I don't think she has any more control over the outcome here than I do. I can give you knowledge, let you make the choice with open eyes, but I can't promise you a happy ending."

Emma chewed on those words a while. She bit her lip in thought, her gaze wandering toward the window. Finally, in a quiet voice that hid none of her uncertainty she asked, "Can't it just be your choice? You've known what to do until now."

I realized something then, seeing the indecision on the girl's face. She'd spent her entire life at the mercy of others, that life dictated by choices people both in the present and the past made. Now I gave her the chance to take some agency back, and it scared her.

I empathized. I'd chosen to give away much of my own agency because of that same fear, and…

I'd regretted it every day since.

"I rarely ever know what to do," I admitted. "It's up to you, milady. It's your future. Your fate."

Kross didn't interrupt this time. I felt him at my back, listening.

Emma closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and then snapped her attention to me. Standing tall, chin up in aristocratic command she made her choice.

"Tell me. All of it."

And I did.

"I used to be a knight," I said quietly, eyes drifting away in recollection. "Not just a knight, but a paladin. One of the Elf King's chosen and the champion of a mortal queen. I was a damn good fighter. But some things happened, the order disbanded, and I ended up getting excommunicated by the Church and stripped of my titles. I wanted to make amends, try to fix some of the damage I'd helped cause. I fought for the Ardent Bough during the war against the Recusants. For three years after Elfhome burned, I fought. When the war ended I wandered adrift, like a ghost. I took to drinking. I was aimless."

I remembered those days of mead-haze and emotional fugue. I'd been like a living dead man, a wretch. I clenched a hand into a fist against my sternum, hating the memory. Ashamed by it.

Emma, for her part, only listened intently.

"One day, when I got close to… ending things, Nath's brethren offered me a road through the new world, which had become so dark in my eyes. I became their blade in the night, their executioner. I'm still tied to what I was though, and beings like Nath are drawn to that. Not just her, but ghosts and worse things. It's the light they put in us. It's like a torch, guiding in moths."

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"The aureflame," Kross said behind me. "I have heard of it. A mortal's soul ignited with immortal fire."

Emma's brow furrowed. "Why are you telling me this? What does it have to do with what's happening here?"

"I'm telling you because what we do next might draw a lot of attention on me, and you. Not all of it pleasant."

Emma's eyes widened. "You mean the gods. The Onsolain."

"They are real," I told her. "Worship them or not, they have power. I won't put you in that situation without your consent, and to truly give that you need to know what I am, and that my role in this could… change."

"How so?" Emma asked.

I hesitated to reply. Kross did for me.

"He is the Headsman. You may be innocent, child, but you represent your family in the eyes of the world. They may decide that you must answer for it."

I closed my eyes.

"Is there an alternative?" Emma asked. She didn't seem too disturbed by this revelation.

"Yes." I opened my eyes again and looked at her directly. "I fight everything that tries to come after you, and hope it buys you time to escape and hide. I'd recommend you leave Urn entirely. I'll probably die, and you'll probably still end up getting hunted down, but it might give you a chance."

I shrugged.

Emma's eyes were intense. "You would do that? For me? Why?"

I felt oddly calm. "Because the gods can be bastards. I might fight where they tell me to, but I do it my way. And if they're willing to damn you for your family's crimes, then they're not worth following. I'd rather be an oathbreaker than serve that."

Kross remained silent. It was an effort not to look and see his expression.

Emma only shook her head, dumbfounded. "I don't understand. You've only known me barely two weeks."

I shrugged, a smile tugging at the corner of my lips. "It's a knight thing. The smart thing would be to cut you loose or make a devil's bargain, but I guess part of me just can't let it go. I didn't swear my oaths because it was practical."

"Madness," Emma stated, though by her expression she seemed more taken aback than scornful. "You would die on my behalf because of some code?"

"Because it's right," I said softly. "The oaths just give me a bit of direction is all."

We stood there a long time in the hall while ash fell outside and the ember of the devil burned down in the valley. Emma thought on what I'd said, and offered. She didn't come to the decision she did lightly.

"If you are willing to challenge Orley's masters on my behalf…" Emma took a deep, shuddering breath, steeling her own nerves. "Then I won't run. I won't hide. I have nothing to hide. Let all the devils and gods of this world tell me who I am and what I will become, I will defy them."

She had a bit of aura in her words then, though I didn't think by intent. Sometimes, high emotion and strange circumstance can cause the soul to stir as easily as any practiced will, any ritual. Her visage became more stark, her presence in the world more tangible.

"I give you my leave to speak on my behalf," she said.

So be it, I thought.

"Then there's one thing you need to do first, something I can't do for you. I need you to invite him in."

The audience hall of Castle Liutgarde was fit for an emperor. Cavernous, with a vaulted ceiling high as that of any cathedral I'd ever stood in, it consisted of a wide floor that could have hosted a ball for every noble across this half of the subcontinent. The stonework seemed to shift through shades of blue, gray, green, and red, forming strange and surreal patterns along the mosaic floor and the high columns.

On a raised section at the far end stood two thrones side by side, for the Lady of the House and her lord-consort. Emma stood by the thrones, opting not to sit. Kross waited in the shadow of a column to the side, leaving me standing in the center of that empty floor.

I felt dwarfed by the room, diminished by it.

I needed to be sure of myself, to be strong. Or at least put on the mask. So I didn't look back at Emma, didn't risk letting her see the doubt on my face. My eyes remained fixed on the tall double doors, both carved of dark red wood and framed in solid iron.

And as I watched them, they groaned open to reveal the gray sky beyond. Ash and glowing embers flowed in through the opening, dancing through the air in an eerily quiet flurry of wind.

Some of the embers strayed near me, almost alighting on my skin. I did not flinch.

A shadow stood in the doorway. It seemed to glow a dull, angry red from within its fire-blackened armor. Jon Orley did not ride his horned steed this time, but stepped forward under his own power. The impact of his iron sabatons echoed through the room.

I dipped into a half bow as the doors closed behind the infernal nobleman. "My lord."

Will he attack immediately? I wondered. Have I made a mistake?

Jon Orley said nothing. He lifted his hand, and I realized he held something in it. He tossed it down at my feet.

It was my axe. The oaken handle had been broken off, splintered to less than the length of my forearm. I picked it up, using the motion to study the Burnt Rider closer. I noted that the revenant hadn't fully freed himself from the Malison Oak. There were still roots and branches stuck through him, jamming into the seams of his armor and twisting around his neck. It reminded me of the Briar Brother.

The undead knight's twisted helm lifted to regard Emma. I felt a bitter heat emanating from him, but forced myself to stay collected as I spoke again.

"You have been invited here as a guest." My words echoed just like Orley's armored shoes had. "And thus, you have been accorded guest right along with all its strictures. You may do no harm to any in this hall unless harm is done to you. Stay as you are welcome, and go as you please, and leave some of the joy you bring with you when you depart."

Metal creaked as the burnt man turned his helm back to me.

You cannot protect her.

I shivered involuntarily. The voice that branded my mind sounded painfully sad and forlorn, like that of someone who'd suffered so long they couldn't remember anything else.

It also had the edge of compulsion in it, a more subtle version of the wavefront of terror he'd struck Brenner's knights with. I resisted it, though it took effort. A bead of sweat formed on my brow.

I had no clue if this would work. Orley had already suffered death and betrayal while guesting in this castle. The customs of guest right might not bind him at all, undead or no. But he'd been held at bay by a threshold, unable to directly attack those who remained in this palace until they'd quit its walls.

It made me think he was still bound, which made me suspect a lot more. It also let me get him in a room with Emma, myself, and a representative of the Choir.

Steady on, soldier. There's no going back now.

"You act for the Iron Tribunal, and I serve the Choir Concilium. Both powers have taken an interest in the girl's fate. This is bigger than just you and me, Jon, and certainly bigger than your vendetta."

I didn't actually know if the Choir cared a wit about Emma Carreon or her cursed house, but the statement wasn't technically untrue. Nath cared, and the Onsolain needed her appeased. A small half-truth for a good cause. It didn't scald my tongue, so I took that as a good sign and kept talking.

"I'm officially challenging you for the right to decide House Carreon's fate as one Doomsman to another."

Squeezing the broken handle of Faen Orgis, I felt aura well up in me. This time, I didn't try to suppress the foreign will I felt in it, but let it surge up and out to pass through my lips. I knew my eyes shone bright, luminescent gold then, that gilded fire burned behind my teeth.

"By pacts of old made between the Apostles of Zos and the Children of Onsolem, I invoke the Rite of Doom on behalf of the Choir Concilium, who govern this land in the name of God's Heir. It is the Choir who will judge House Carreon, for this is their domain. You have no right to our souls, infernal one."

I knew Kross's angel watched me. I hoped it would hear this, and through it the rest of its kinsfolk would too.

"Orkael has broken the Riven Order by interfering in the feud between Houses Carreon and Orley. As a representative of the Choir, I call for intervention!"

Silence. I glared at Orley, trying not to let my pounding heart and crippling doubt show on my face. Would anyone hear this? Would the dead gathering outside pass the message all the way to Heavensreach? Would my invocation be heard?

Fighting Orley was useless. The Zosite would send someone else. Astraea herself perhaps, if her soul was in Hell as I suspected. I needed to end this feud once and for all.

A long silence ensued as the echo of my ritual words faded. Then, against even my most melodramatic expectations, thunder rumbled outside. It struck once, near and low, then again even closer.

The castle shook. Something had just landed on the roof. Something very big.

"What's happening?" Emma asked.

I closed my eyes, feeling both elation and fear in equal measure. It worked. All powers help me, it worked.

Of all the things I might have expected in that moment, with my attention firmly fixed on the Scorchknight and the sound of a fierce storm gathering outside, it was not to hear a weary sigh from my left.

"I really wish you hadn't done that."

The click of boots filled the space as Renuart Kross walked forward to stand between me and Orley. I stared at him in confusion. More thunder peeled outside. Rain had begun to assail the castle, slamming against the roof above us with a a dull and incessant rhythm.

Kross looked caught between bemusement and annoyance. "They told me you wouldn't make any bold moves, that you were too… broken. I see they misjudged. I had worried as much when you told me all that in the chapel, but if I'd known you would do something like this I'd have made sure to silence you."

Something cold and hard as an iron ball began to form in my chest. "Kross—"

"It really is a shame," the knight-exorcist continued, looking genuinely remorseful. "I had hoped to resolve this situation without involving greater forces. It could have been done quietly, amicably, without much fuss. I thought you were going to challenge him to a duel or something. You'd have lost of course, which would leave the girl in my care."

A warning shouted through my thoughts, but I spoke as though in a trance. "Kross, what are you talking about? Why does the Priory care about Emma Carreon?"

That had to be it. This was some scheme cooked within the Church. The Priory had gotten wind of this and were investigating. They wanted to deal with the situation quietly, so the presence of infernal powers in the land didn't start a panic.

That had to be it, because if he was anything but what he appeared, and I'd told him all of that, then…

He crushed all of my hopes with brutal, dispassionate bluntness. "I am afraid this farce has run its course. Understand, Alken, you did ask for this."

Feeling that pit in my chest form a hollow place, draining all my emotions into it, I spoke with the same lack of passion he did. "Who are you?"

Kross hadn't lost that smile. "You haven't guessed?"

Jon Orley hadn't moved. In fact, he seemed to have gone entirely still like a statue. I didn't even feel the furnace heat beating off him anymore, like he'd entered some kind of stasis.

Emma stepped off the dais, her fine boots clipping the stonework as she approached. "Ser Kross, what is the meaning of this?"

"Stay back!" I barked. Emma froze, still halfway between me and the thrones.

My attention remained on Kross. His lips twisted into a malformed smile.

"You wish to challenge the right of Orkael to pass judgment on the scion of House Carreon? You understand, Jon Orley is but an iron fist. You must have expected there to be an advocate, just as you no doubt sought your own in that rebel seraph. I followed you that night, you know. When you went to see the Fallen? My companion warned me you might be trying something like this, laying the roots, but I didn't think you clever enough."

"You fought with us against him!" I took a step forward, unable to contain the bitter emotion that welled up in me despite my attempt to quench it.

"I had to maintain this cover," Kross said with lifted eyebrows, unaffected by my anger. "Though, I am certain Orley took satisfaction in wounding me. He hates us nearly as much as the ones who betrayed him. Then again, the armor was perhaps a bit much."

He glanced at the Scorchknight. "I understand it is quite painful."

"Us?" Emma had no clue what was going on. "What is happening? Explain this, Ser Kross."

"You're carrying an angel around on your back!" I couldn't accept it, couldn't bring myself to fully admit I'd been so easily duped, so starstruck by the image of a True Knight.

But it isn't the first time, is it? A scornful voice barely recognizable as my own whispered to me.

"Alken, Alken…" Kross sighed and lowered his head, shaking it in disappointment. "I thought you knew this lore! As I said in the council, they are kinsfolk to the Onsolain, no less holy than they."

Baring my teeth, I brought my aura to bear and looked, using my powers to see through illusion, cleave through falsity. And I saw…

The same thing I'd seen in the graveyard. Around Kross bloomed a soft light, cold and clean, forming the shape of a winged figure holding his neck in an embrace. It opened its silver-white eyes and met my gaze, and—

I realized my mistake. I'd seen the beauty and stopped looking there. The being who rode Kross was beautiful, as much as any immortal I'd ever laid eyes on save one. But it had a sharp malice in its gaze, a metallic harshness. And Kross himself…

I'd been a fool. The spirit clinging to him masked his own aura. I'd never felt his true presence, not once. How else could he walk freely among the faithful, disguised as a holy warrior?

The storm grew in intensity. It sounded like a hurricane blowing in over the valley. Thunder crashed and rain drummed down. Once again the roof seemed to shake, dislodging cascades of dust. The doors had closed behind the Scorchknight after he'd entered, but something was pouring through them.

Fog. It began to filter through the room, low and slow, not at all natural. It curled around our legs. I felt a pull in it, a sense of depth.

Kross watched my realization in minute detail, never once dropping that damn smile.

"Who exactly are you, sir?" Emma had ignored my order and approached, stopping next to me and tilting her chin up at the knight-exorcist. Responding to uncertainty with haughty demand, an Urnic noble through and through.

I failed to say anything, too busy putting together small details, little hints. The way his broken arm had healed so quickly in the middle of the fight with the Scorchknight. His knowledge about esoteric lore, the scorn he'd directed toward Brenner's clericon.

He'd practically told us what he was in the council chamber.

Kross bowed to Emma as though they were meeting for the first time. "You may call me Vicar. I speak for the Credo Ferrum."

"You're a Crowfriar," I stated flatly. "A missionary of Hell."

"Among other things," the devil agreed.

I lifted my axe, ignoring its broken handle. I didn't think about the action, didn't care about anything other than that I'd told this creature everything.

Nearly everything.

"Oh, it's too late for that." Vicar didn't so much as flinch at the elven weapon. "Thanks to your little stunt, force of arms will play no part in what happens next. We settle this now by precedent of law, by the Rite of Doom, with Emma Carreon's fate in the balance. You will speak for the Choir, and as Jon Orley's handler I will speak for the Tribunal."

In an amused tone he added, "You invoked this, Alken."

He finally seemed to note the mist filling the room. "Ah. It seems we're to be taken elsewhere for this drama."

"Elsewhere?" Emma took a step closer to me, looking around in growing panic. "What is this? What's happening?"

"Stay calm," I told her. "It's a spell of transposition. We're being drawn into the Wend, or through it to somewhere else."

I hadn't anticipated this. Kross, or Vicar, had rattled me. But this wasn't done, and my plan was still underway. If it could be called a plan.

"What did you do?" Emma asked me, fear on her face.

"I called the Onsolain. They answered me."

And before the eyes of the gods, I'd debate with a devil for the fate of Emma Carreon's soul.

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