"I should warn you," Julian began. "The things I learned aren't exactly… pleasant."

Marena's brow furrowed, but she settled down to listen. Julian continued to stroke Pepi's fur as he began his tale.

"Well, two nights ago I was in a tavern. I don't remember the name of it, but I know it wasn't far from the Temple District. That's an important detail, you see, because I happened to notice this priest sitting at the bar, decked out in all his vestments, as if he had just come from giving a sermon."

"What was a priest doing in a tavern?" she asked.

"That's exactly what I wanted to know…"

The priest was a little old man with a deeply lined face and a bushy gray beard. His head was shaved bald, and his robes, once a magnificent raiment, now hung in tatters all the way down to the floor, pooling around the bar stool he sat perched upon.

He ordered a drink, then another. Before he could order a third, Julian approached him. "I thought the priests of your religion didn't drink," he remarked, trying to strike up a conversation. Julian liked talking to interesting people, and so far the priest seemed like the most interesting person here.

"Sir," the priest muttered without looking up from his mug. "We are so few and far between these days that I thought no one would take any notice if I broke my vows. Are you sent by God to remind me, then?"

Julian's smirk faded, not really sure what to say to that. "No, I'm not sent by God. I just happened to notice."

The priest nodded his head tiredly. "I'm drinking because my wife is angry with me."

"Oh." Julian raised an eyebrow, and the smirk was back again. "What did you do to upset her?"

"I told her she was beautiful."

This was not at all the sort of conversation Julian had expected to have, but now he was certainly intrigued. "I didn't know priests could get married," he said. "And I've never heard of a woman being upset when someone calls her beautiful, either."

"Some sects forbid their clergy to marry. In my case, I was already married when I decided to become a priest, and what God has joined together let no man tear asunder." Folding his bony hands in front of him as if in prayer, the priest continued, "As for my calling her beautiful, she called me a liar for that. She was badly burned in a fire many years ago, you see. The scars cover one half of her face. I blame myself for it. The entire city was on fire, and there was so much chaos… I couldn't reach her in time. A good friend of ours, Marcus Roland, ran into our house, took a sheet of canvas and flung it over her to put out the flames, then carried her out. He saved her life, but the scars upset her so much. She covers herself with a veil even when she's at home. I can't even remember the last time I saw her face clearly."

"If you don't even know what she looks like, how can you call her beautiful?"

The priest heaved a sigh. "There is a beauty beyond the senses. Beauty like the quiet of green valleys and still waters, beauty of the spirit. That is why she is beautiful to me. But I didn't have enough time to properly explain myself to her before she got angry with me."

A sad story, to be sure. But Julian latched on to something else the old man had said. "You mentioned your friend was named Marcus Roland?" he asked.

"Yes." The priest regarded him curiously. "What do you know about him? Is he alive?"

"Er, I don't know. I was hoping you could tell me that." Julian pressed onward. "Or if you don't mind talking, I'd like to know more about him."

Did that sound strange? The priest looked reluctant. "Why do you want to know? Who are you?"

"My name is—Sebastian," Julian lied. "I… knew Marcus Roland's daughter." Strangely, he felt the hot spike of a headache pierce his brain at the utterance, but he set his jaw and forced himself to ignore the pain. If bringing back news of her family could bring some closure to Marena, it might help to balm the hurt he had inflicted upon her.

"I take it she didn't talk much about her family to you, did she?" The priest still looked a little uncertain, but eventually he nodded his head. "That makes sense, considering what happened. Tell you what, Sebastian. I can't stay here in good conscience any longer. But if you'll meet with me tomorrow night, we can talk more then."

"Of course—"

"And we can't meet here," the priest interrupted. "I will give you an address. Come and meet me there."

"Certainly." Julian reached into his pocket, pulling out a ratty old notebook. "Bartender! Do you have a pen and ink?"

"My name is Dimiter, by the way," the priest introduced himself. "Watchman Dimiter."

"Watchman?" Julian echoed. "Is that your first name, or a title?"

"I received a new name when I took my vows. You can call me Father Dimiter, if you like. Now, here's the address…"

Julian had no memory of how he spent the next day, apart from a vague impression of having drunk himself into a stupor. He awoke on the floor of an unfamiliar room, his back propped up against the side of a bed. Though his curse had mercifully cured him of his hangover, for a few moments he had no idea where he was or how he had gotten there.

Using the bedsheets for leverage, he hauled himself to his feet. A grumbling voice prompted him to look across to the other side of the bed, where a feminine figure lay sleeping. Julian's eye was drawn to the mane of dark curly hair spilling across her pillow. "Marena?" he whispered in the dimness.

The figure stirred and rolled over on her back, giving him a glimpse of her face. She wasn't Marena, and this was no dream. Through the walls, the animalistic sounds of a brothel in full swing reached his ears.

Julian glanced down. He was partially clothed—missing his shirt and jacket, and with his pants undone—but he supposed it was better than waking up naked next to a stranger. He'd had that experience a few times in his younger years, and had always felt less than proud of himself in the morning…

To her credit, the woman in the bed really did bear an incredible resemblance to Marena. From a certain angle, that is, and with the benefit of alcohol altering his perceptions. He suspected he had been too drunk to indulge in her, er, iservices/i, but he pulled a few (genuine) gold coins from the pouch at his belt and left them on the bedside table for her trouble.

Of course, he relayed none of this shameful, sordid episode to Marena. As far as she knew, he did nothing noteworthy between meeting the priest in the tavern and finding the address he had provided the following evening.

Julian walked the streets of Vesuvia at twilight, deftly evading the guards on patrol, until he reached a familiar building. He paused, staring slack-jawed at the cracked fresco facade.

"There you are," a voice said.

Julian jumped and whirled around, coming face to face with Dimiter.

"My apologies, I didn't mean to frighten you," the priest said.

"It's all right," Julian rasped. "I was just… musing on the past. This place used to be a tea shop. I came here often."

"Is that what it was?" Dimiter grunted. "I never knew. During Count Lucio's reign, I held church meetings in the back room every week. We had to gather in secret in those days." He held up a ring of keys, rattling them together in his gnarled grasp. "The owner, bless him, gave me a spare key. I should still have it here. Hopefully they haven't changed the locks..."

He managed to open the front door. Checking for guards one last time out of habit, Julian followed the priest inside.

"Well, it's not a tea shop anymore," Dimiter mused aloud. "What is it now, some sort of… junk shop?"

"I believe it's been turned into a community theater," Julian replied. His gaze was drawn toward the spot where he and Marena had shared a kiss, before he quickly looked away. "They keep the stage props in here."

"That makes sense, I suppose." Dimiter hummed to himself. Picking his way across the clutter, he seemed to be searching for something among the mess of props and sets. "Well, you came here to learn more about the Rolands. Normally I wouldn't air out the dirty laundry of my friends to a stranger, but since they're all dead now, I suppose it doesn't matter."

Julian wondered if Dimiter believed Marena was dead as well, but decided it was best not to tell him regardless. There was a chance Dimiter would try to seek her out, and if Marena could barely handle hearing the names of her relatives, she probably wouldn't react much better to meeting an old family friend. "I thought you said you weren't sure if Marcus was dead," Julian pointed out.

"I'll probably never know for sure," Dimiter replied grimly. "The last time I saw him, Count Lucio had condemned him to the Coliseum."

Julian winced. He had mercifully vague memories of witnessing the slaughter of condemned criminals in a gruesome public spectacle at the Coliseum. "What did he do to deserve that?"

Sighing, Dimiter sank down into a prop throne and folded his hands in his lap. "Marcus was a pious man. His sister-in-law Livia, on the other hand, was a witch. In the old country, magic was forbidden. So she was banished, and settled here in Vesuvia, where she opened a magic shop and continued to practice witchcraft. When Zantium fell, the Rolands had no choice but to move in with Livia. It was supposed to be a temporary arrangement, but they were plagued with money troubles.

"They wound up living with her in that haven of sorcery for nearly ten years. In that time, relations between them broke down. There was already a great deal of antipathy between them, which then festered into outright hatred. Then, tragedy struck. Marcus' wife fell ill and died. She may have been an early victim of the plague, but Marcus got the idea into his head that Livia must have poisoned her. She was a witch, after all, and she had loathed her sister passionately."

Dimiter stopped talking abruptly, seemingly lost in the past. Julian hesitated before gently prompting the old man. "Did Marcus… do something to Livia?"

"He was mad with grief," Dimiter murmured. "It was a crime of passion. That's the only explanation I can understand." After another lengthy pause, he spoke again. "Marcus murdered Livia. He was arrested and probably would have been hanged, had not Count Lucio learned of the crime and discovered that Marcus had once been a knight templar. That was when the decision was made to send him to the Coliseum."

"Then what makes you think he may still be alive?" Julian asked. "The Coliseum is a death sentence."

Dimiter hugged his arms. "I visited Marcus in the dungeons after his sentencing, but I couldn't bring myself to watch him die. I assumed he was killed in the arena. But over the years, I've heard strange rumors. Whispers of a black rider in the desert who wears a crimson sash tied around his waist. A templar's sash." He closed his eyes. "Perhaps it's only the hopeful dream of an old man, but I can't help but think it must be Marcus. That somehow he survived the Coliseum and is still out there somewhere, atoning for his sins…"

"... and that's all he told me," Julian finished.

Marena was silent for a long time. Then she stood up, gazing out at the shadows around them. Her expression was inscrutable in the twilight.

Setting Pepi down, Julian approached her. "I'm sorry," he said sympathetically. "I wish I had something better to report. But I figured you should know."

"I loved Aunt Livia," she whispered. Slowly her hands lifted to her face, her palms pressed over her eyes. "I remember…"

Tensing, Julian moved in close, ready to catch her if she fainted. Sensing his presence, she reached out and grasped his arms.

"I was so angry with Papa," she said. "But I didn't want him to die. Not so soon after Mama. I couldn't bear to lose him, too…"

Her fingernails dug into him, her grip tightening. On a sudden impulse he pulled her into an embrace. She clung to him desperately and began to sob.

Stroking her hair, he murmured soothing words, but felt a stab of guilt. He knew that he had done the right thing—it seemed Marena was beginning to trust her father over Asra, and while Julian was suspicious of the magician, Asra was no cold-blooded killer. Julian just wished she didn't have to suffer for their sins.

Her sobs were beginning to fade into sniffles. Julian offered her a handkerchief, and she took it gratefully.

"Julian," she said his name in a voice hoarse from crying. "Thank you. You've helped me a great deal. I want to help you in return."

The stab of guilt began to feel more like he had been impaled through the heart. "You don't owe me anything," he murmured, his brow furrowing. "I've hurt you, too. I pushed you away. You must be very angry with me." In fact, he was surprised she was willing to help him at all after the way he treated her.

"I'm not mad at you for that," she said softly.

Julian blinked. "You're not, huh?"

"No," she reaffirmed, with a slight shake of her head. "The last time I saw you, you were helping me. But then I fainted, and you weren't there when I woke up…"

"Asra kicked me out. I didn't have much choice in the matter. But oh, my dear Marena, I wish I could've stayed."

"So that you could've at least fulfilled our deal, and given me the rest of the night?" she muttered.

"No. Well, yes, but—" Reaching for her hand, he clasped it between his. "I'm sorry. I don't know what I was thinking, rejecting you like that. Temporary madness…"

At that, she actually smiled. "Then I'm glad your lunacy has passed. Are you quite sane now?"

"I suppose I am," he answered sheepishly. "But really, you have every right to not want anything more to do with me…"

"But I want to," she said. "I can see that you've been punishing yourself enough. No, I want to forgive you, completely and unconditionally."

"But—"

Surging forward suddenly, she silenced him with her lips.

His body drawn tight as a bowstring, Julian froze up. But soon he could no longer remember why he was resisting. He kissed her back eagerly, then ravenously, his needy mouth working over hers. The fingers of one hand grasped the nape of her neck, while his other arm wrapped around her waist, holding her tighter, itighter/i, his heart pounding against his ribs.

Still, he wrenched his lips away. "It's not safe for you to love me."

"Not this again," she groaned. "We've been over this. I made my decision."

"But maybe it was a bad decision," he babbled. He didn't believe a word he was saying—he was too full of longing for her to truly think they shouldn't be together—but he still considered separation the most rational route. "Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe we should—"

"So many maybes!" she interrupted. "You're talking too much."

"It's what I do. I…" He broke off as she pressed kisses to his jaw, nipping lightly at the skin there. A noise escaped his throat, heat blazing through him. "You don't understand—" he pleaded in vain, before plunging his fingers into her thick black hair and capturing her lips again.

The passage of time eluded him so long as she was in his arms, but eventually she broke the seal of her mouth over his. "I have to go," she said. "I don't want to worry Asra."

"I suppose you must go," Julian rasped, trying to force his arms to open and set her free. She didn't make things any easier, resting her head against his chest and clinging to him as though she couldn't bear to be apart. "When can I see you again?" he asked, pressing his lips to her brow. Of course, he needed to meet with her again if he was to get into the Palace, but he was thinking less about that now and more about simply being with her.

"Not tomorrow," she replied. "Asra and the Countess have made plans for us to investigate Lucio's private rooms."

Her tone suggested that she wasn't looking forward to the endeavor. "Sounds like you have a busy day ahead of you," Julian said. "No wonder you were so reluctant to stay up late."

Marena pressed her cheek to his. "I'm afraid. Asra taught me to use magic for all these years, but now if I so much as utter a spell, I'm afraid I'll lose everything. What if something goes wrong, and only magic can fix it? I can't stand the thought of being helpless."

"Hey now, it's not so bad for us ordinary mortals," Julian said. "Lucio wasn't all that bright in life, and I sorely doubt he's gotten any smarter in death. If you find his ghost haunting his rooms, he should be easy enough to outsmart. Especially for a woman as intelligent as yourself."

That at least coaxed a chuckle from her. "I wish you could be there with me. There are answers to be found in those rooms, I can feel it…"

iI wish I could be there to protect you,/i Julian thought, but did not say. It would've made him sound stupid. "You'll just have to bring me the news of whatever you find," he said instead. "We can meet the day after tomorrow, yes?"

She nodded. "I will fly straight to you."

"Ah, but didn't you say you couldn't fly?"

"I can't change into a bird, that's what I said." She rolled her eyes playfully, then grew serious. "As long as Asra lets me go…"

Julian cringed at the mention of Asra, but managed to hide it behind a reassuring grin. "I don't see how he can control your movements. If he cares about you, he'll want you to be free and happy."

"If he cares about me, he'll want me to do the right thing," she countered.

"And what is the right thing to do?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I wish I knew," she murmured. Rising to her feet, she held out a hand to help him up. "Will you help me?"

He took her hand and stood. "Any way I can."

With one final kiss goodbye, they went their separate ways.