A/N: Sorry this is late. While the last few weeks haven't been explicitly bad, they have been very difficult. To everyone who reviewed, you really gave me that extra inspiration and push that I need to get this out now, before I lose computer access for a week, so thank you. And it seems my beta is MIA, so this'll be a little rougher than usual. Oh, and I got a lovely fanart! Link is on my profile.

Chapter Nine

"I found you," Arlya said, grinning to herself. "I'll always find you, dearest."

Alfred stood, wincing a bit as his stiff muscles woke up. He glanced at Arthur, who still slept, oblivious. He turned back to the goddess, whose eyes shone with an odd glazed look and Alfred could see the heavy scabbing on her temple where Natalia had thrown her into the granite.

"Arlya," he said softy, so not to wake Arthur, "Why are you here?"

She reached out a hand for Alfred to take. He stared at it but stayed between her and Arthur, who was beginning to stir. Arlya looked at him, hurt when he did not take her hand. "You vanished," she said. "No one could find you, and I could. The Daemon took you."

"He didn't take me."

"May as well have," she said, raising her husband's sword and twirling it. Alfred looked at it, suddenly anxious. All of Arlya's threats toward Arthur ran through his head. Something was off about her, and it made her all the more dangerous.

"Arlya, please. Take me home. Take me home, now."

The goddess ignored him, looking past at Arthur's sleeping form. She grasped Alfred by the shoulder and made to move him to the side. Alfred held his ground.

"Take me home."

Arlya examined him. Despite the firmness of his voice, he stood before her, shivering in the morning air with his bandages dotted with dried blood. She pulled him into an embrace.

"It's time to end this my sweet," she whispered.

Alfred gasped and pulled away. "No, just take me home."

She tightened her grip on the sword and tried to step around Alfred, who blocked her.

"Alfred, move."

"No. Please, just—"

"I said move," she hissed and shoved him to the side. He fell on his shoulder and his vision whited out for a moment. Rolling onto his back, he panted as he watched the goddess approach the sleeping Daemon.

"Aryla!" he shouted, more as a warning to Arthur than any attempt to stop her. The Daemon's eyes shot open and jerked his head up to face the goddess. He came face to face with tip of her sword and only just managed to twist out of its way as she lunged.

Staying close to the ground, Arthur dodged around Arlya and searched for something he could use for a weapon. Arlya whirled after him, swinging her sword in great, uncoordinated swoops. He ducked under them easily enough, keeping low to the ground, but the only weapon he could find were burnt out logs from his fire, which crumbled into ash as soon as he touched them. Undeterred, he circled Arlya, waiting for an opening.

He waited for one of Arlya's swings to go wild, and finally she over-swung. But as Arthur stepped back out of reach of the blade, he tripped over Alfred's crumpled body. He fell into the remains of the fire, coughing as a cloud of ash rose around him.

Arlya regained her balance and stood over the Daemon, sword raised above him. She smiled calmly and tilted her head to where Alfred lay on the ground. "It's over now, my baby. You're safe now." She received no response but erratic gasps.

Arthur's hand clenched the fine powdered ash below him. As Arlya turned back to him, still gazing with those serene yet glazed eyes, Arthur hurled the ash into her face. She reeled, coughing and stumbled away from him.

Arthur regained his footing and rammed Arlya as hard as he could against the cliff-side. She screeched and clawed Arthur, and he recoiled a step, hissing in annoyance. Alfred moaned behind him.

Chancing a look behind him, Arthur turned to glare at Alfred, eyes burning with fury and hurt. But as Alfred pushed himself up and looked up at Arthur, the Daemon's anger fled as he took in the sight of the boy: trembling and white-faced with fear and pain.

"Arthur?" Alfred asked. Arthur opened his mouth to reply when Arlya lunged at him. He sidestepped and sent her sprawling to the ground. He looked down at her, with what looked like cold apathy. He turned from her and met Alfred's eyes once more before vanishing into thin air.

With a groan, Arlya forced herself to her feet. She glared around the clearing until she found Alfred, who was fighting the pain in his shoulder with everything he had. She knelt beside him and examined him, trying to reassure him. When he made no response, she placed her hand on his side and took him to his room in Caelei.

Francis was already there, pacing and when he saw them appear, he gave an irritated huff and vanished, reappearing a moment later with Heracles and Kiku.

Heracles looked over Alfred and Arlya sleepily before stepping forward and taking Arlya but the arm.

"I thought I told you not to move," he said with a sigh and the two vanished.

Kiku hurried to Alfred's side as he lowered himself onto his bed.

"Is there anything I can get you, Alfred? Something for the pain?" Kiku asked.

"Yes, and some water, maybe?" he said, and then shuddered as his stomach reeled. "Or a bucket."

Francis sat beside Alfred as he tried to keep his stomach contents down. He raised a hand, as if to give Alfred as reassuring pat, but dropped it when he could find no safe place to touch.

"Part of me believes you deserve this for running off last night," he said.

"I had to. I would have died if I hadn't."

"The melodramatics are unnecessary."

"I'm not being melodramatic," Alfred said, lifting up his scarred palm.

Francis huffed and waved the hand away. "I wish I could rid you of that burden. You could have died last night, I'm surprised you're not in a worse condition, to be honest."

Alfred looked up, surprised. "I was a bit of a mess last night, but Arthur took care of me. Built a fire, lent me his cloak, fed me—"

Francis looked horrified at that last prospect. "And yet you live?"

Alfred scoffed and rolled his eyes. "He didn't cook it. Got it from some town nearby. But that's beside the point. I was fine this morning, maybe a bit of a chill, but fine, better than the past week for certain. I don't understand it. It's like you want to hate them."

"Perhaps I want to hate them, but it seems with good reason. Despite how well he took care of you, you are here, fighting not to vomit whatever nice food he gave you last night due to sheer pain."

"That is entirely Arlya's fault, not Arthur's," Alfred defended. "She threw me into the ground."

Francis was taken aback. "Why?"

Alfred shrugged with his good shoulder and shook his head just as Kiku arrived with a pitcher of water and a cup of some medicinal tea.

"Drink this, it'll help," he said, handing over the tea.

Alfred took a sip and winced. "This is terrible."

"It'll help," Kiku repeated, and watched to make sure Alfred drank the entire cup.

The tea did help, and Alfred felt better as the day progressed. By nightfall, he was even better than he had been the night before. Just before he went to sleep, Arlya entered his room. She looked tired, but lacked the glazed, fevered look she had had that morning. Not knowing what to expect, he regarded her cautiously as she sat on his bedside.

"I tried to save you, you know that."

"I know," Alfred began, "But Arlya—"

He was interrupted by her sigh of relief. She looked up at him, a small, grateful smile gracing her lips.

"I'm so glad, my baby. This time was a fluke. He'll be dead next time. You'll see. I promise, this time was just a fluke."

Alfred stared at her gleaming, adoring eyes. He couldn't bring himself to tell her that he didn't need saving. She did love him, he knew. She threw herself between him and Natalia, unarmed, and had saved his life by risking serious injury to herself. He surely could give her this little piece of assurance in return. So he kept his silence.

After a moment, Arlya spoke again. "I've been thinking, Alfred, the summer solstice is only a few days away, and I believe it would do you some good to help with the preparations," Arlya said. "It would certainly keep you busy, and the summer heat will be good for that cold you seem to be catching." Alfred perked up, attention immediately caught. The summer solstice was the grandest holiday of the year for the all of the mortal realm, especially those faithful to the gods. The longest day of the year was when Pakram's power, and the rest of the gods by extension, peaked. Before the resurgence of the Daemon War, it was the only time Alfred was allowed to venture into the mortal realm.

Alfred grinned from ear to ear. His fear that the recent events with Arthur and Natalia would make Arlya keep him in Caelei subsided. He couldn't believe his luck; Arlya was asking him to spend the next week or so working in the mortal realm. He threw his arms around her.

"Thank you. Thank you, Arlya. That would be wonderful," he said as she threaded her fingers through his hair. Finally, she pulled back, smiling.

"I will wake you early tomorrow then, and we will go."

Alfred nodded, then asked, "Will you be with me the whole time?"

"I'm afraid not," she said, and Alfred could barely conceal his relief. He would not be babysat then. "There is so much to be done, and I have to make the preparations at my temple, so I will be busy. My dedicates could use your help, of course, but there will be so much work to do that I'm sure you can find other people to work with. Now sleep, dearest, for we rise early." And with a final kiss on his forehead, she left.

Alfred was awoken the next morning by Arlya. He dragged himself from bed and only managed to wake himself up once he remembered where they were going. The main entrance of Aenea was already packed with traveling merchants beginning to set up their booths along the road. Though the solstice was a few days away yet, most of the merchants had already arrived to claim the best spots along the road. Many were chalking out their spaces, marking where the sturdy frames of their makeshift shops would be placed.

As Alfred and Arlya passed, many people stopped their work and turned to bow, once to Arlya, then again to Alfred.

"Word of our victory has spread quickly," Arlya said.

Alfred nodded and met every beaming gaze with a twinge of guilt. A small part of his mind whispered of Katerina and her innocence. But the longer Alfred met the adoring faces, the smaller that whisper became, until it was quiet enough to forget.

They walked along the High Road and up to the towering temple that marked the center of the city. Over the heavy wooden doors hung the wrought iron, twelve-pointed star, the symbol of the gods. To its right was a brass sun, polished and gleaming, to the left hung an equally bright silver moon marking it specifically as the temple of Pakram and Arlya. Dedicates streamed in and out, dressed in either gold or white robes, all busy with some task or another.

As Arlya and Alfred passed them by, they would incline their heads in respect and continue about their work decorating the temple or carrying decorations and messages across the polished floor. Along the doors and walls dedicates stood on stools, hanging circular plates of yellow stained glass where they might catch the sun and scatter the light across the dark interior.

Arlya grasped Alfred's shoulder and steered him towards a group of white-clad women with black sashes around their waists unloading crates full of the sun-catchers. Upon their approach, the women turned and bowed, once to Arlya and once to Alfred. In return, the goddess approached each dedicate in turn, placed a pale palm on her forehead, and whispered some sort of blessing in her ear.

"These are beautiful," Arlya said, picking up a sun-catcher from the crate. She examined the rippled glass, veined with dark iron in an elaborate spiral. "I believe they get better every year."

The dedicate in charge dipped her head low and flushed a deep red. "The Lady Arlya is very kind," she said. "But our decorations are modest, nothing in comparison to those of other temples."

Alfred stepped forward and took one in hand; he turned it over, admiring it. "No, she's right," he said. "These are amazing. I've never seen anything like them."

"It is a tradition to scatter the solstice's light throughout every house and temple, our designs are effective."

Alfred nodded absently, looking over the temple. "Do you need any help hanging them?" he asked, as all the sun-catchers hung low on the walls or doorways of the towering temple. "I could get up to the higher places. Hang some more up."

"Oh, we cannot ask such menial work from the goddess' charge," one dedicate said, fidgeting with her sash.

"Of course you can," Alfred said, rising into the air, sun-catcher in his hands. "I'm happy to do it."

Arlya looked at the scene with pride. Her baby, happy and helping her dedicates. Nothing could have pleased her more. With satisfaction, she turned and moved along to her own duties and preparations that she needed to make, leaving Alfred to flit amongst the towers of wood and iron, hanging the yellow-stained glass far out of any normal reach.

The sun rose higher as noon came and went, and the temple was strung with little golden plates hanging from every crossbeam and every window. Alfred and the dedicates admired their handiwork before leaving the temple to take their noon meal. The dedicates shared their plain bread and butter with Alfred and chatted as they ate.

For the most part, Alfred was content to listen as they talked about their duties in and out of the temple. However, as Alfred was finishing his meal, a young dedicate with light brown hair and a pretty, open face settled beside him.

"Thank you for everything you've done," she said.

Alfred grinned and leaned back onto the warm stone that made up the temple's courtyard. "It was nothing," he said, and then asked, "So what's your name?"

"I'm Dedicate Selena. I know who you are, of course," she said, blushing, and then stammered, "How is it being the charge of the Lady Arlya? Is it wonderful?"

Alfred hesitated. "Well, I don't really know how to describe it," Alfred replied after a moment. "I've never known anything else. It's fine, I guess."

"I envy you. She holds you in such high esteem." Alfred snorted at that. Selena frowned, dismayed by his reaction. "Do not doubt it, we all do."

"Thanks," he said, though inside he grimaced. If Arlya indeed held him in high esteem, she had an odd, contradictory way of showing it. Embarrassed, they silently chewed their bread and stared at the ground.

The tension was broken by a shadow passing over them and a familiar chuckle.

"I see you've found a lovely lady friend, Alfred. Care to introduce me?" Francis said, approaching them. Alfred stood and introduced Dedicate Selena, who looked positively scandalized. Francis stooped and took one of her hands, delicately kissing it. Selena jerked away and stood, backing away from Francis, face blooming scarlet with a mixture of embarrassment and fury.

"How dare you?" she gasped. Alfred, completely taken by surprise by the whole exchange, looked to Francis for help. However, he didn't look at Alfred; his eyes, which danced with delighted mischief at the woman's reaction, focused only on Selena.

"Oh, come now, you beautiful woman. There is nothing to be frightened of, I am a good man. In fact, there are many things ways in which I am good. And I so do wish to show you all of them," he said, smirk never faltering.

The other dedicates saw the commotion and hurried over. The head of the crew Alfred had been helping put herself between Francis and Selena. She clutched the black sash around her waist, holding onto it as if it would shield her.

Francis laughed at the display. "I assure you, there is no need to be so pushy dedicate," he said. "I have more than enough love for everyone, if you'll just be patient with me, I'm sure—"

The dedicate spat at his feet, and lead the others away. A hand grabbed Alfred and pulled him along; it was Selena's.

"Do you have to deal with that often?" she asked.

Alfred shrugged glancing between Francis and the dedicates in bewilderment. "He gets like that sometimes. Though I think a while ago Arlya somehow threatened him and he stopped doing it to me. Mostly. Though I never really noticed to begin with—" he stopped when he saw Selena's horrified face staring at him.

"He… he did that to you?" she stuttered.

Alfred shifted uncomfortably. "Like I said, I never really picked up on it. Kiku—a friend—pointed it out sometimes though."

She stood, silent, gaping at him. Finally she spoke again and they continued walking. "But you're Arlya's," she fussed. "That shouldn't happen. How could she let it?"

Alfred just laughed, earning an affronted glare from Selena. "It's Francis," he said simply. She kept staring at him in disbelief, which Alfred found unnerving, so he excused himself from Selena's company and joined the other dedicates in the temple where they resumed decorating.

Once again, he found the dedicates and the others who wandered in and out of the temple good company. Most, if not all, desired to speak to him, and Alfred found himself enjoying their attention more and more. Never before had he been treated like this, almost with reference, by anyone. As such, he was annoyed when shouts and a commotion coming from down the temple road disrupted the atmosphere.

The dedicates that Alfred was working with left the temple to investigate, and Alfred followed. The disturbance came from the down one of the main roads, running from the south-west side of the city wall to the Temple of the Sun and Moon, which was Aenea's center. Curious onlookers had gathered around the source of the uproar and the dedicates could get no closer. However, Alfred jumped into the air and drifted over the crowd.

On one side of the road stood a temple, not as tall or majestic as the central temple but impressive nonetheless. Above its open doors a twelve-pointed star marked it as a temple to the gods. However this star was held by a great polished steel swan, great wings curved up and away over the doorway, its head bowed. Francis stood in the courtyard, facing a woman in the scarlet robes that marked her as his dedicate. Behind her, in the doorway of the temple, other women in similar garb stood, listening.

"My Lord," the woman said, "I assure you your dedicates are always working in your name. Though if you have concerns, I must beg of you to talk of this in private—"

"No," Francis said. He stood, unmoving, arms folded across his tunic. "I have told you, Dedicate, I wish to speak to all my dedicates. I must insist."

"And I simply cannot allow that. It is written that only the head dedicate may speak with the god. So if I may escort you—"

"I said, no," he said, voice rising. He glanced over at the temple entrance. "You," he said addressing the dedicates, "gather you sisters, for I wish to speak with all of you. In person."

Some of the women began to move; however the head dedicate shouted, "Stop, my children! It is a test. He is testing your loyalty to the laws he laid down," she said, getting frantic. The dedicates glanced between her and Francis, torn, though they yielded to the dedicate's orders. With a final glance at Francis, the head dedicate disappeared into the temple and shut the doors behind her.

Francis seemed to slump, then turned to the throng gathered silently in the street. With a final glare, he walked through the crowd, who parted for him, and up a less crowded side street. Alfred, who had watched the exchange with bewilderment, followed from above. Both he and Francis were startled when a woman dressed in a red robe dashed out towards Francis. Alfred hovered above, unnoticed, as she addressed him with a bow.

"Hello," Francis said cautiously.

"My lord. I know it is improper, but please, I would like to hear what you have to say. You have met with the Temple leaders often, but they never tell us what is said."

Francis looked at the woman as if heartbroken. Her hair was pinned back in intricate curls that trailed down the back of her simple robe and her face was decorated with subtle yet defining paint strokes. "My dear," he said, "you are lovely."

The dedicate looked at him, confused. "I'm sorry, do you want any of my services…?" she asked.

"No! No. Just an observation."

She paused. "Then what did you wish to tell us?"

"I wished to tell you that I cannot approve of what the Temple does."

"But we do it for you," she said, confused.

"No," Francis spat. "How could I ask anyone to give away their bodies in my name? No, you do not do it for me. You do it for the sake of order; you do it to maintain the balance in Aenea."

"Then what would you have me do?"

Francis looked around the clean-swept street down to the towering walls that closed Aenea off from the world. "I would have you travel, as my other dedicates do. Travel, create, music or art, whichever you should prefer, perhaps have a family, love whom you will."

The two stood in silence. Finally the woman turned back to Francis, "That sounds lovely," she said. Francis beamed, but she shook her head sadly and said, "But where would I go? Albion? To be just another refugee? Drachma? The city those refugees flee from in the first place? Even if there was a place worth getting to, the roads are stalked by Daemons. I'm sorry, my lord, but here I am warm and fed and safe. You ask too much for me to give that up."

With that, she walked away, slipping back into the temple. Francis stared after her, and Alfred touched down beside him.

"Francis?" he ventured. When no response came, he laid a hand on his shoulder. "Francis, maybe she's right. Things aren't really so bad here. Look at the dedicates; they're happy for the most part."

Francis shrugged off Alfred. "They are content, though how long their fragile stability will last remains to be seen."

"What do you mean?"

"The Daemons will destroy this city if given the chance. They tried once already last winter. Who knows when they will strike it again."

"So we have to stop them," Alfred said with conviction. "We need to—we are already protecting them."

"Yes, I suppose we are."

"And that's a good thing."

"Is the stability of one city worth murdering for?" Francis asked.

"What?"

"Katerina was the just the first. To protect this city, the others will have to die. Are you willing to pay for this city with their lives?" Francis turned and walked down the cobbled street, Alfred following a step behind.

"Look at this city, Alfred," Francis continued. "It is the center of the worship of the gods, the center of life for many of the most devout dedicates. From here the gods can reach into the world."

"And do what?" Alfred asked nervously.

"Many things. Do you wish to see?" Francis stopped in the middle of the road. He stared ahead into the center of the city as he awaited Alfred's answer. Alfred looked around at the city, clean and orderly. The buildings stood strong in the summer light and despite the heat, the air was fresh. Aenea was a pleasant city, and Alfred had assumed most cities were like it, though apparently that wasn't the case.

"Yes," Alfred answered finally. "I want to."

"Then it is time for you to see Drachma."

A/N: As always, reviews are the most inspirational thing you can give. Especially for this chapter, as it was never formally edited, so please, if anything stands out, say so, and I'll keep it in mind when I go back and revise this chapter.

That said, the link on my profile to the maps has been updated, and now there's a revised map of the Mortal Realm, one of Aenea, and another of Drachma, which will be useful for the next chapter. Genius bonus for those who know what Drachma means and how it might be significant~

I'm camping this week and moving in and starting college next week, so the next chapter will be a bit delayed. Sorry! But I'll work as much as possible.

~Kitten