The caravan left well before dinner. We left just before the gates closed. Boe took the wagon down the road, until it twisted out of sight, then we got to work. Terese stayed with the wagon and Boe crept with us to the base of the fort's road, cutting through the wood on Elyvia's guidance. A brisk walk from the fort, Boe cast magic to increase our odds.

"Good luck," he said, then made his way back to Terese. We had an hour. I followed Elyvia up the path, through the wood and the thicket, then she followed me to the spot I had mapped out earlier.

The spell helped enormously. We timed the guard rotation and I tossed up a grappling hook to haul my way up. Elyvia was wearing a false Zhentarim uniform, carrying the papers stolen from Reyne's desk. A helmet hid her face. I hoped it wouldn't be needed.

We scaled the wall and dropped down to the ground. We twisted around a weapon cache, avoided a dog kennel, and darted across an open space in a break between patrolling guards. The closest door was on the tower, and we were not about to enter through the main doors. They were locked. Elyvia kept a lookout and I went to work on the lock. It gave with a spring and I crept inside. Elyvia shut the door behind her. She brought up the rear, letting me take point on this heist, which I appreciated. The first landing, at a peek through the doorway, led to the main cathedral hall. A thin man in a long robe was lighting black candles. It smelled of incense.

Up the flight of stairs of the tower. The first landing looked again out on the cathedral, from a walkway that wrapped around the cathedral. I assumed it was a viewing platform, for whatever reason. There were a few alcoves dotted along the sides. I headed back to the stairs. The door was locked.

I knelt and removed a pick. A door below us opened, then closed. Elyvia and I shared a look, and she stepped down the stairs to meet whoever it was. I cringed. Elyvia was bloodthirsty at the best of times.

I waited for the inevitable murder, but instead, voices.

"Oh, sorry. Thought I was the only one on patrol tonight."

"No. It was a last minute adjustment, but I'm guarding this tower."

The lock clicked. I put the picks away.

"I see. I'll just make the rounds then, shall I?"

I slipped inside. A curtain hung over the single window, drawn to one side. On the desk was a stack of papers. On the floor was a crumpled letter. The chair was utilitarian, but finely crafted, the bed comfortable but not the dominating feature of the room. It looked like it hadn't been touched in days. A sturdy-looking chest sat at the end of the bed. A rug absorbed my footfalls. There were almost no personal touches. Every bit of furniture looked standard issue—with one exception. A portrait of Reyne Andrews hung on one wall.

I was actually happy to see the painting. I knew he had painted it. Anything else would be an unspeakable amount of narcissism. Not that I would put narcissism past him exactly.

It was my letter crumpled up and tossed on the floor. By the neatness of the room, it had been the last thing he had done before he left. The armoire was mostly stocked. Under the bed, I found a loose board and after I pried it out, found the hammer we had seen him collect from the tomb, wrapped in a linen cloth. I replaced all of it, glanced at the chest. Attractive distractor, I thought, and left it alone. A few letters on the desk that, at a glance at each page, told me nothing of value.

The drawers were similar to the rest of the place—more writing paper, an inkwell, quills, a small set of writing knives. One drawer made me smile, once I got the wooden box within open. It was a small collection of paint jars and a variety of horsehair brushes, a sketchbook I longed to rifle through, but I didn't have the time. Drawing pencils in a smaller box.

The wardrobe beside the painting had, unsurprisingly, all black attire. Formal attire, a heavy cloak, and the like. All of it without a trace of personality, down to the socks. A mirror and a basin served as personal grooming implements.

He had an alarm attached to a hidden wire around the portrait. I was able to detach it in a way that I could reattach it, and I carefully lifted the frame free. I didn't see it at first, but I ran my hands along the stone blocks and found two loose stones. I pulled them out. The cubby hole they created was large. The blocks had been whittled down a bit to accommodate the space. Within, a doeskin pouch with perfectly round onyx stones. I replaced that too, then removed the slip of paper. By the thickness, it felt like his sketchbook paper.

I unfolded it, and my heart fell, a little. Guilt made my tail droop down to my ankles. It was the picture he had drawn of me shortly after we met. I had only seen it half-finished, but he had finally completed it.

I had an expression like I was just about to smile. He hadn't drawn any of the tattoos, or the collar. My fingertips touched the drawing's face. Was this really what I looked like? Was this what I could be? What he saw when he looked at me?

I felt sick.

We shouldn't have come here.

I replaced the drawing carefully, put the stones, the portrait, the trap back in place.

I locked the door on my way out. Elyvia said, "Anything?"

I shook my head. "Let's try the other tower."

The largest central tower had an access door on the balcony. It was locked, but not for long. It opened to what looked like a library, then a set of stairs led up again. I stopped short when I saw the creature on guard. It looked like a normal suit of armor, but my master had one in his study, and I knew it wasn't. I whispered back to Elyvia, "Helmed Horror. I don't see a way around it."

She said, "Think we could take it?"
"It wouldn't go unmissed. And it would make a lot of noise." I shook my head. "I'd rather they never suspect we were here, in case we need to break in again."

That at least appealed to her twisted sense of logic. We looked through the library. They had a few display pieces behind locked glass doors. A few of the books in those cases had a type of leather that made my skin crawl. Elyvia said some of the locks were magical. A few books were open. We were careful not to disturb the pages, skimming what was upon the open pages, the titles. The windows were leaded glass, expensive, and not made to open.

They seemed to be researching artifacts, but I suppose we had known that they had gone into the ruin specifically after one such artifact. There was a map of the surrounding area on one table. It was interesting, but didn't tell us a great deal about whatever they were planning or anything about their religion.

Elyvia stared up at a painting. It was some horrorshow of a bloody conquest. I recognized Reyne's work, but I didn't mention that. A matching piece beside it depicted a gruesome torture scene. It reminded me of the way that other orders painted those kinds of things as a display of what some saint or other suffered.

Elyvia said, "You still don't think they're evil?" She gestured to the paintings.

I frowned at her. "I could see similar in a church of Ilmater."

She rolled her eyes. There wasn't anything else here, so we went back to the balcony. The man in the robe was standing in front of the altar in prayer. We crept past to the last tower.

It was a mirror of Reyne's tower, except when I peeked through the keyhole, I saw a light. I didn't hear anything, though. I hesitated, but we had come all this way and still had nothing. The lock popped open. I pushed the door open slowly. Staring out the window was a skull. It floated about eye-level and was wreathed in flickering fire. It didn't notice me yet. The desk was at the center of the room, filled with inks and quills. A large tome sat open upon it. I stepped forward, barely breathing.

The hinge on the door creaked.

The boots muffled my footfalls, but it did nothing to dampen the sounds of anything I moved. It swung its head toward the door. I ducked behind the desk, and I thought it might not have seen me, but there was no chance it did not see the open door. It loomed, bright and visible as it loomed toward me.

I was paralyzed in fear. They had these in Thay. One of my master's friends had one in the library.

Elyvia darted in. I thought she was coming in with her silver axes bared, ready to attack, but she grabbed me by my belt, as my shirt collar was hidden behind a mass of hair, and yanked me out one handed. It turned toward her, jaw falling open. Its eyes blazed. She shut the door.

I squeaked, "Run. There's no way it can open the door, right?"

We hurried down the steps. I stopped on the first landing, and I heard the distinctive creak of the door opening. We stared at one another, eyes wide in the dark, the light at the top of the stairs unwavering. I pressed against the stone, trying to control my fear. Then the light receded. The door closed. I let out a breath. Elyvia said, "And we still don't have shit. You want to try again?"

I shook my head. "It'll be patrolling now. Let's try another room."

She nodded, and we moved down the stairs to the main cathedral hall. Sneaking around the hall while the robed man was in prayer was not as difficult as it seemed. It had some strange acoustics built in and he was deep in some kind of holy rite. The first door had an odor, a sound like dogs. I passed it, tested a handle on another door. Inside looked like private quarters, someone clearly of higher rank than Reyne or the other private quarters, by the trappings. Everything was neat and well-organized. Somehow, I felt like the clock was ticking. It had to be getting close to midnight.

We left this room and moved on across the hall, carefully behind pillars and pews. A locked door. I had it open in a heartbeat. Another set of private quarters. I guessed middling—somewhere between the two tower rooms and the other set. There was a book on the writing desk. Someone was careless about their journal. Or arrogant.

I flipped through it, toward the back. Elyvia said, from the door, "Hurry. There's a sound outside."

I didn't like the way she said that.

There.

The writer had spent an entire page venting a frustration about a cult of Cyric and a fortress, how the giants were a nuisance—which was interesting because we had thought that the giants were their largest obstacle right now, but they clearly didn't see it that way.

I didn't have the time to keep reading. I plucked a knife from my belt and carefully cut out the page. I tucked it into my shirt and closed the book. We made our way back to Reyne's tower. We had been lucky, and hadn't come across the patrolling guard. We had barely made it through the doorway when the great main doors opened. Something large that I caught only a glimpse of moved outside in the dark. Elyvia's eyes bulged.

The man in the robes turned to greet the newcomer. I recognized the dragonborn as he strode confidently down the aisle. The robed man knelt, kissed the man's ring, and went to his feet.

They spoke to one another using terms each understood for their order. They spoke of sacrifice and a ritual. Elyvia said, "We need to go."

I passed her the note. "Then go. I have to know what they're doing."

Her lips pressed together. "I'm not going to argue. Try not to die, tiefling." She turned and left me. I went to find a better spot to hide. Up the stairs, on the balcony, behind a pillar between two empty alcoves. It was dark.

I didn't wait long. The dragonborn went to the nicer room I had suspected of being his, and two Zhentarim came through another door. They each tightly gripped the bruised arms of a naked elf. She staggered when she walked, but she didn't throw her weight against them or drag her feet.

The robed man said something to the two Zhentarim I had to strain to hear. I caught the words 'cleanse' and 'prepare'. They took the elf into another side room. I felt the weight of the dark pressing down against me.

I had to strain to hear, but the acoustics around the place made sounds on the dais louder.

I waited. Minutes ticked past. The dragonborn, the High Terror, came back and the two prepared the ceremony. There seemed to be some great importance placed upon it, but they weren't exactly calling a midnight mass of witnesses, the way the cult of Asmodeus had done in Thay. Of course, we hadn't had a war on our doorstep and needed most of our forces on guard, and I think Asmodeus is more showy than Bane.

The High Terror said, "You are sure of its lineage?"

The priest nodded. "A descendent of the Ascalhorn elves. Caught live with great care. Such a specific offering." The last sentence was a tacit inquiry.

It was hard to read facial expressions on a dragonborn, especially in the dark at a distance, but by his posture, he seemed annoyed. "If the Dark Lord wills you to know the answer, you will, priest."

Everyone told me Reyne was evil. I knew that too. I just had refused to believe that it was as bad as it was.

I had to see this. If I didn't, if I looked away, if I fled, I'd never know for sure. It would give me the ability to doubt. I couldn't. I had to know.

I didn't understand all of what they were doing. Chanting. I understood the Infernal tongue they used, but it sounded like prayers. As they chanted, the doors opened and a few more trickled in to fill the pews near the front. Not many, I noticed. Probably any who were not on active duty, and many must be. They were quiet and solemn, joining in the chant.

Dread settled down on me like a blanket and threatened to choke me. Doom weighed heavy on my mind. And all the while, the chanting. The air felt thinner, or maybe it was something else. Something stretching the veil between the planes so thin it felt a hair's breadth away. I could not have ran if I wanted to; I was rooted in place by terror.

The two human Zhentarim brought back the elf. Her hair was wet and she wore a loose black robe that clung to her still damp body. Strangely, she had looked more dignified nude, the way a newly caught slave might fight having the collar pinned, and when they were finally wrestled down with the iron clasp bolted on, they despaired—in a way I never had. I had gone from a leather collar of my youth to holding my hair out of the way for the smith to fasten the simple iron piece in place, to the adamantine. And those new slaves had pitied me for thinking little of it, and I pitied them for the same reason.

The woman was cowed, but started to panic, then the robed man said some words over her, and she went limp as if in a trance. She had broken through it, for a moment, and then went under again. I wondered if she were locked in, watching and internally screaming while her body remained complacent. I hoped her mind was in a trance, but by the cold fear in my heart, I knew that wasn't true. They wanted her fear and her terror. They just needed her to be still too.

They made her kneel before the altar.

The dragonborn and the other began guttural chanting. Some piece of fear leaked through the woman and she trembled. I wondered what her name was.

The flames on the candles flared, and turned a poison green.

The two acolytes bowed their heads in prayer.

The dragonborn offered a prayer in Infernal. His voice boomed and echoed. The construction of the place had been made to amplify his voice from the dais and I shivered hearing the prayer. He said, "Serve none but Bane. Fear the Black Hand. Inspire terror in those that do not follow him, for the Black Lord strikes down all who stand against him. Defy him and face his wrath, and know that even in death, he will compel your loyalty eternally."

I grimaced. The flames danced and flickered.

The High Terror went on, "True power may only be gained in service to him. Submit to his will and the will of his clergy. Spread the dark fear of Bane. The unloyal will let power slip through their hands, and so they will be revealed as traitors and weaklings, to die rather than to rule. Those who cross the Lord of Darkness will meet their doom."

He raised his hands high. Green flame wreathed around his black spiked gauntlets, swirling about in twisting patterns. Waiting.

I whispered, "No." It was inaudible even to my ears, barely felt as air escaping my lips.

The dragon was in a state of near ecstasy. "Lord of Darkness. Black Hand. Black Lord. The Accursed. May your fire birth fear in our offering. May the offering during your favored hour give the answers we humbly seek."

The fire bloomed to a blaze of green light. It descended around the elf woman like a halo. For a moment, she was only in shock, without pain or feeling, then it burned.

I could smell her burned flesh, her smoking hair.

I could taste her terror and her pain the way I could the smoke. I hated myself for savoring the way it tasted. The self-disgust kept me from revelling in it. It repulsed me enough to be sickened at it, like eating live oysters; it's not about the taste, but the thought of what it was.

The fire enveloped her, searing through the damp robe and expanding outward to cover the two acolytes. The priest gasped, astonished. The dragonborn was delighted, but stoic.

In my mind, I had gone far away. Detached, like I was watching a play. Like I was reading that this happened long ago in a history text, and my master was trying to see if I might get a vision of it, as he tested the limits of my abilities.

The elf screamed. Between her shrieks of pain, she said words in elvish. The ritual was pulling answers out of her. Answers she probably refused to give.

The smell of her burning body mingled with the incense.

Fire had also been the preferred way to sacrifice to Asmodeus.

One of the Zhentarim screamed and collapsed. Dead. The other was exuberant, grinning with a flow of power and energy. The flames extinguished. I thought the woman, baked and twisted, had to be dead.

The priest took the living acolyte to another chamber. The dragonborn knelt in front of the woman. He had a dagger. He said something quiet, I thought in Elvish, and plunged the dagger between her ribs. Bright blood flowed. Living blood blossomed over her. She had lived through that.

Red blood and green flames and black robes. Red, green, black. My skin, my eyes, my hair. Undead. My affinity for the dead. Drawing answers from beyond the veil. My oracle visions. Suffering, pain, submission, the will to strive.

My breath caught in my throat.

No fucking wonder Reyne was attracted to me. I was a living and ignorant embodiment of his whole damned religion.

I grimaced. I had endured. She had to live through that. The least I could do is remember her.

The dragonborn gave some orders and the watchers moved about to cleanse the altar and removed the bodies. The dragonborn went back to his chambers.

I was rooted in place, trying to remember her as she had been. I was glad her death was quick, but I worried about what her last days must have been like.

I was angry, and frustrated at my own helplessness. Reyne had a room in the cathedral. He knew, had probably participated in this before. Maybe this had been similar to his own initiation.

Killing someone with a stab to the back and raising them as a zombie was radically different than kidnapping someone, brutalizing them, and killing them in some vile ritual. Tremors ran over my body.

I needed to get out, but I couldn't control my shaking hands. I felt sick, the way I had felt in Thay at the temple of Asmodeus when I had been helpless watching the suffering of others, when I was able to come back to myself from that faraway place and process what I had been a witness and a party to.

My collar felt like it was choking me.

A hand touched the small of my back and my spine went rigid. My eyes widened. I expected it to contain a dagger, but it was Reyne. I guess that didn't mean much these days either.

He looked exhausted and smelled more like horse than anything else. He hadn't had time to bathe in a while. There was a pine needle caught in his hair. I longed to rake my fingers through his dark curls and fish it out, and I longed to slap him hard enough to feel the sting all the way to my shoulder. Caught between the two, I did neither.

He inclined his head. "Keep your voice down." His eyes flicked to the altar. "Enjoy the show?" His hand fell away from me and he leaned against the banister. "I prefer to watch from up here."

My voice came out weak, not just quiet. "I feel lied to, Reyne."

His lovely brown eyes flicked toward me. "Do you?" He smirked. "I never lied. You just never asked."

My heart was breaking all over again. "You fought Malar with me." I felt like I was drowning. "You helped me save Bryn Shandor."

"And it was beneficial for me and my order—the Zhentarim, I mean. Not the church. Though Bane is no friend to Malar."

My hands trembled. I crossed my arms in an effort to control them. I couldn't deny this. He had been inducted the same way as that new acolyte, I realized. Maybe he had never presided over it, maybe he had never conducted it, but I knew damned well he supported this horrific structure.

His tone was curious. "Did you see what you came to see, Val?"

I swallowed. "The humiliation, torture, and death of an innocent? Sure, Reyne."

He shrugged. "You knew who I was, Val."

I turned. My fingers wrapped tight around the rail and gripped until it hurt, to hold back tears.

Reyne stepped toward me, closing me in against the rail or comforting me, I couldn't say. His gauntleted hand rested on my arm. "Valac. I haven't changed since you knew me."

I wanted to punch him in the gut, but I worried about the sound, about him just shouting about an invader. I was angry he was doing this now, of all times, when he had been looking at me with that dead-eyed stare for so long. I felt trapped and drowning. "Reyne. Back off."

He stepped immediately back, hands falling off of me. I was grateful. I stepped back behind the pillar. My fingers clenched. "You going to capture me?"

A pause. "They're cleansing the temple. Literally, there's a dragon outside. Why don't you come back to my room until it's gone and it's easier for you to escape?"

"You're not worried I'll go back to Loudwater with what I saw?"

He shook his head. "No. You care about me. You wouldn't want me put to death."

Guilt twisted up my insides to choke me. I had to tell the others. Whatever I could remember of what that elf said, I had to communicate to them—it could be vitally important.

I was going to betray Reyne and he trusted me not to.

I was going to get the only person who saw me for who I was, not the tattoos or the collar, killed. He looked past the trappings I was adorned with and saw me, and as broken as I was, he didn't hold that against me. Even after how I had hurt him, he was protecting me now.

And I was going to betray him.

Footsteps. Reyne started to step toward them, to shield me from view, and I understood that some part of him still cared too.

The others had a plan to get him killed. I was going to get him killed.

The entire thing made me sick. I couldn't tell Reyne about it, because he'd plan a counteroffensive that got the good people of Loudwater killed. But if I said nothing, he'd die. I hated being caught in the middle of this. I was as trapped as that woman had been.

Her fear still hung in the air and I could taste it the way I could practically taste sizzling bacon by the scent.

Reyne sent the acolyte down the other side of the wrap around balcony, then inclined his head to me toward the doorway.

I slipped past, to the empty room by the stairs. His eyes flicked up the stairs, rested on me. I was trembling again, and deeply bothered, and my blood was up and I wanted to fight and scream. I wanted to strike back at the injustice of what I had witnessed. Surely she had called out to her gods, and they had not helped her.

What good was anything?

When Reyne bent his head to kiss me, I met his kiss. It was the despair, the agony, my own helplessness, and my frustration that Reyne was this way and I could not change it. I wasn't magic; I couldn't fix him by caring about him, but I did really believe that he had been getting better in some way by being with me, by doing good things.

I had told him I wouldn't make him choose between his faith and me. But I wanted to be more important to him than his god. I wanted my ideals, my belief in justice and truth and kindness, to be more important than whatever Bane could offer. Which was egotistical, once again thinking myself superior in some way to a god, and that was exactly what Reyne rightly criticized in me.

After what I had seen and heard, I knew it wasn't possible for Reyne to do, and I understood why my demand that he did made him so angry.

I wondered if I wasn't just a fun lay to him. In my frustration, I pushed him against the wall. His armor rattled. My hand twisted in his unwashed hair.

The door opened. Reyne moved quickly, flipped around, shoving me to the wall to cover me with his larger frame. I was wearing dark clothes, but my skin was clearly red. The acolyte must have only seen a glimpse. She turned away. "You know you shouldn't sneak your beaus in here," she chided.

"If I wanted your opinion, acolyte, I'd ask for it." He sneered, then looked back at me. Still addressing her, he said, "Out."

She jerked. "Sorry, sir." She hurried to the door and shut it behind her.

I didn't think she had seen me clearly. Humans didn't see well in the dark. Reyne moved to kiss me again. I pulled back. "I should go."

Reyne sighed, frustrated. "Now?"

I thought of the others waiting for me. Every minute that passed was a minute I could be dead as far as they knew. I sighed. "I'm sorry." He tried to block me in, but I was nearly as strong as he was, and I was more limber. I pushed, then ducked under his arm. I was just past him, stepping toward the stairs when he caught me by one of my horns. My teeth gritted. "Reyne."

He spun me back around and I was ready to knock out teeth. "Valac. I might not see you again."

He was worried. He had to defend Orlbar in a month and a half, and he might die. And he knew it. And if the others' plan succeeded, he would.

Somewhere, in his evil, twisted little heart, he genuinely did care. It was why he tried, when it was against his nature. It was why he did things contrary to what he was taught and trained, because he knew it would make me happy. For someone else, it wasn't enough. If I were anyone else, I would have told him so, would have walked away and that would have been it. But I was me, and I was a fuck up, and I destroyed everything I touched. I had an affinity for the dead that only Reyne really understood. And I understood that what made someone act like this was rationalizing trauma.

I was going to do something to get him and a lot of other people killed. Not all innocents, but somehow in his deranged way, I suspected he cared about me, even a little. There were so few people in my life who had ever cared about me that this hurt more than I could say.

My damned compassion overruled my logic, and I kissed him again, let him gently take my hand instead and lead me up the stairs. He locked the door behind us. I pretended to notice the note on the floor and picked it up. I uncrumpled it.

He said, "Don't—" Then he stopped.

I looked at the words, at him. "Did I piss you off?"

He snatched it out of my hands. "That's… not it." He tossed it back on the floor. "It wasn't your writing."
I searched his face as I tried to understand. "Whose hand did I borrow to write it, Reyne? I'm illiterate. I had to let a spirit possess me for it."

He grimaced. "I don't want to do this right now."

Someone who knew him. Someone dead and personal, and had reached out to me and let me borrow their penmanship for a chance to reach someone that they had once known too. I wanted to hold him and kiss him until he was smiling again.

I undressed him. I guided him to the bed.

He was tired, so I suggested oral, and before he could get his head between my legs, I went down on him, touching myself. His fingers wrapped around one of my horns. His other hand touched my face. It needed to be quick, or I was going to lose him to his exhaustion, which he apologized for, but he was half-asleep even while I was swallowing the salty liquid. He forced himself awake enough to help me, then all but collapsed back onto the bed. I could not be angry.

I sat up, sliding my legs off the bed. The floor was cool against my toes. "I shouldn't linger anyway."

He blinked slowly, tired gorgeous eyes fixed upon me. I had taken off his gauntlets; he had trusted me enough to handle his holy symbol. They lay now on the desk. I could have taken them from him, but I didn't. I dressed and listened at the door for footsteps. Only Reyne's steady breathing.

I wondered what he had been up to. He had smelled like horse. His boots had dried mud on them, and it hadn't rained in days here. He was sunburned, as if he had been out traveling.

Footsteps, in the hallway. I took a step back. Purposeful. Large.

I backed up, to the bed. I gripped Reyne's shoulder, a little harder than I intended, and he woke with a start. I said, "Someone's coming. Quick pace."

He swore, looked around the room, at the window, then dismissed it. He opened the wardrobe and pushed me into it. I went, uncomplaining. He shut me inside and I heard a scramble as he opened the window, lit a candle so the smell would mask the scent of sex. Incense.

A voice, coming up the stairs, "Captain."

A muffled curse. "What is it?" He opened the door.

I hunkered down, staring at the door. "The Dark Terror invites you to meet him in his chambers for your report."

He took a breath. "I see. The ceremony is finished then."

He had just gotten back when he found me. Probably came in through the tower door, like I had, and had just planned to look out at the ceremony. And found me. If he had been here previously, he would have been involved. "Yes. Um. That's all, sir. Sorry to interrupt your rest."

"Dismissed."

The door shut. Reyne sighed and opened the wardrobe. He held out his hand for me. He was still entirely naked—hence the messenger's awkwardness, I didn't doubt. He was a lovely sight nude.

He stepped past me and selected a set of more casual garments, all black. I stepped toward the door, listening. I heard nothing, nor did I see a light through the keyhole. Outside all was darkness. Reyne glanced at me. He said, quietly, "I'll go down first. You slip out through the tower door." A pause and he looked up. "And if I ever see you back here again, I only know you as the tiefling who pals around with people that proudly call themselves enemies of my church."

I flinched. "Got it, sir." It wasn't vivacious, or a prelude to sex, as it often was.

Reyne pursed his lips. If not for that he was naked, a perfect image of some displeased military officer. "I mean it, Valac."

"I know." I lowered my gaze. "I wasn't being playful."

He sighed, sliding into a pair of breeches. "Val. It's just how it has to be."

"I know." I watched him for a moment, then went to him and helped him dress. I was impassive, a servant to my master. He sat to put on the boots and I knelt and did it for him. His fingers touched my hair, slid down to my cheek and felt a wetness.

"Valac?"

I touched his wrist, and guided his hand to my throat, to the collar. I looked up at him. I blinked at the wetness, wanted to swipe at my face. "If we weren't who we both are, we could've been together."

Frustrated, he leaned forward, crushed my lips with his so hard it threatened to bruise, then he pushed me back as he got up. He went to the door. "Follow me down. Then you need to go."

I didn't argue. I didn't see any gain in that.