The Church of Deals is nearly empty at the crack of dawn.

I step into Orzhova with a strange sense of calm, boots soft against the tile as I take long strides towards the coffin. The stone pews pass me by, falling back in the wind of my cape—a bold red made gentle by the hall's tinted lighting. Guildmage Sharikov sits in one of the middle rows as the morning's only other visitor, and I bow in greeting as he acknowledges me with a nod. Following the exchange, we go back to our own little spaces, the sound of his tapping foot echoing in the large hall as I head towards the platform.

I pull to a stop just a short distance away. Jace Beleren's coffin sits raised on a long table draped in satin, its surface embossed with intricate detail and trimmings of nacre. The walls circle around it with a wide berth, full-length windows of stained glass reaching towards the ceiling. I push my helmet back a little and glance up. A beam of light filters through the glass of the dome-shaped ceiling, crowning the coffin with a halo.

There's always light in the darkness, is what Manakel once said. Even the devil plays with fire. Before I stopped honing my magic, she was a teacher of mine for years. Not that it matters anyhow, but it gave me something to think about. Seven trials in and I face the eighth, home waiting at the ninth. I dread it as much as I don't. Despite all I've done, I'm here as their representative—the title no longer sits right, but it kindles the same sense of duty I'd always been known for having.

And as a representative of Boros, I bring its customs with me.

My fingers close around the handle of a borrowed sabre. With a light tug, I pull it from my sheath. Then, swiftly, I drop onto my left knee with the right one bent in front of me.

In the first of two steps, I lift the blade and position it vertically in front of my face. Up and forward thirty degrees, then down towards my right foot in a diagonal sweep till the point touches the floor. A mark of respect. Reserved only for soldiers who die in the line of duty, but in this case a statement of noble sacrifice.

All in all, I have to do it thrice.

I lift the blade again, the edge before my nose, bringing it down till I hear the same clink of metal against tile. An expression of gratitude. It is appreciation for what was done by the living, for the life that served rather than the sacrifice of death. I found it more meaningful than the first in all its ways, though the third outranked it by a mile.

One last time, I raise the sword, cutting the blade downwards till its tip strikes the floor. A measure of courage.

I look up. Somehow, I have to let the moment linger before pushing myself to my feet. Courage. The part of my head I let run too far amuses itself with symbolism—the courage to stand up again. There is a lot of courage revolving around the word. It requires bravery to stand up for what is right, or to make a stand against the wrong. There's courage in standing guard against a threat or standing up for a friend.

I know because of this that Jace Beleren had courage. There are more things than "standing up" that command it. It takes guts to steal, cheat or lie. What form of bravery caused his death? If a worthy Guildpact was one who'd proven himself capable of lethality, there was definitely much more corruption between the guilds than I dared to imagine. Was he silenced by the Dimir for working against their favour, or reaped by the Orzhov for being unjust? It seems that for a Guildpact, there's never a solution. When picking one side over another, the decision can only ever be half right.

I turn away. If Jace Beleren's responsibility landed on my shoulders, I'd be left without a clue.

A voice croons next to my ear. "Mikaela Gavreel. Aren't you charming in that uniform?"

Whipping around, I find nothing but air.

The voice turns into a chuckle. "I'm right here, darling." Something chilly brushes across my cheek as a blue-tinged transparent figure sweeps into my line of sight. Eyes widening, I pull back half a step. "Calm down, won't you?" she says. "I'm only a ghost. Children here grow up around things like me."

It takes a long moment for me to find my composure. "I—" My eyes flit across the room, now holding a handful of people. Heccan in the far corner, a couple I don't recognise and Guildmage Sharikov still seated in the fifth row. "I assume you're a representative of the Syndicate."

"Oh, that I am." If the lady's skin was pale before death, it's of a shocking transparence now. Dark rings rim the eyes, cheeks sunken in to create a picture of something...empty. "Listen, lady. Anyone who knows the Orzhov is aware that we make...the best deals. Don't you agree?"

She waits for a response, so I nod.

"So the Orzhov have got us a deal."

"I don't think I came for any—"

She cuts me off with a laugh. "You came for the signet, silly. We're offering it to you."

It takes a moment for her words to register, but when they do, I find myself freezing over. "The signet?"

"Why yes, of course. That little thing."

I frown. "Shouldn't we have to earn it?"

"Whatever for?"

"Isn't there a trial?"

"Well, they're just not interested!"

I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. The lady had made it sound like a bit of an exchange. In Boros terms, a bribe.

I'd never wanted to be a part of a deal from the Orzhov.

A ball of wax crawled down my throat. "What might the Orzhov be interested in?"

"Hmm." A giggle. "Promise us your soul for two thousand years after your death and we'll hand it right over."

For a long time, I think she's joking. And then she giggles again. "Alternatively, swing your first judgement of an Orzhov case in our favour and we'll grant it just as quickly."

"You're out of your mind," I say firmly. "I'm fairly certain one of these terms goes against the law."

"That would be why we offer the other one, wouldn't it?" She smiles. "Make your choice quick, darling, before the sun goes down." With that, the blue tint fades into transparency.

My head reels. A few deep breaths later, I stumble into the first pew on the hall's left and keep sit down heavily, trying to focus my thoughts. My eyes close. Selling my soul. Selling the trust of nine other guilds, and my own in the process. What kind of a deal was that?

It's probably only minutes after I sit down that I feel his presence slide into the pew next to me. I turn my head left to see Elijah dressed in his usual attire of a singlet and fraying denim with the same dishevelled hair, this time a deep black. The corner of his lip quirks up in amusement and I roll my eyes with a shake of the head.

"Fancy outfit, soldier."

"Same to you."

He seems to find nothing else to say, leaning back against the backrest.

I sigh, doing the same. Words skip around in my head like voices fighting to be heard, but none stand out. After a while, I ask, "Great to be here, isn't it?"

"Best day of my life," he drawls. "From the bottom of my heart, waking up at dawn has been the most pleasant experience."

I chuckle. "What did you come for?"

He turns towards me like I've asked the world's dumbest question. "To sell my soul," he jokes.

I feel my smile slip a little, but try to brighten it again. "I meant—here. In that seat. You could be anywhere else—outside, in the corner."

"Oh." He turns away to face the front, gripping his chin a little too tightly in thought. A short chuckle escapes him as he folds his arms. "I couldn't miss a chance to bug you, could I?"

I laugh too. And then words form in my mouth that I don't understand. "I could reach out and burn you right now, couldn't I?" I lift my hand, fingers uncurlign to expose my palm. "Easily, from such a distance. You know what I can do with them. Shouldn't you be scared?"

Elijah sits up, angling his body towards me. "No. They're not scary."

My mind takes it as a challenge. "You know what I did in Rakdos. I'm probably mentally unstable. You know what happens when you tick me off then."

"Well, I do." Pause. "And?"

"I could blow up in your face. Turn you into soot and ash. It could be—"

He reaches out to hold take my helmet in both hands, slowly lifting it away from my face. Then he turns it over in his grasp, examining it, before setting it on the bench to his right. When he looks back at me, there's a new seriousness in his grey eyes. "You do not intimidate me, Mikaela."

I take a breath, but it hitches. There's a struggling in my chest that won't seem to go away, even as something begins clawing at my throat. I try to laugh. It comes out strained. "Then what does?"

"What does?" He gesticulates, then runs a hand through his hair. "You—signing that contract."

I fall back against the stone. "What can we do about that?"

"Make a choice."

"I wish it were that simple."

"Look," he says, reaching out to hold my chin and pulling my gaze towards his. "It really is." Pause. "I mean, it was for me. And I know—I know—how different we are and how different—how things might not work out for you the way they do for me—" Muttering a curse under his breath, he yanks his hand away. A chuckle brushes it off. "I know what it's like to protect a reputation, even if I do it for the wrong reasons."

A smile grows across my lips. "The wrong reasons, huh."

He grimaces. "I know I'm not really the kind of guy people listen to but, trust me for a moment, will you? Because I can see that scary look in your eyes that tells me you're about to do something incredibly stupid and I don't want you running off on another suicide mission like I've seen you do so many times..." Elijah sighs. "Just pick the path that makes sense. Okay?"

There's something about the look in his eyes that tells me he thinks he's the one who's done something incredibly stupid, and I can't help but laugh a little. And there's something about the earnesty in his voice that makes me stop and listen.

Outside, the sky brightens, sending its rays through the stained glass. A soft myriad of colours falls around us, a beam of yellow upon his face.

"If it's certain that I'm going to die one day, but my chances of becoming the Guildpact are a fifth, I know what option I'm going for," he says. "If everyone thought of self sacrifice, they'd have five souls by the end of the day."

And selfish as it is, it occurs to me how badly I want to stay myself, to live a life that's solely mine despite the consequences it's bound to bring.

"Thank you," I say, "for telling me what it was that I wanted."

It takes courage to think for oneself.