Sinith was dying more quietly than Iavor Beaufort would have thought possible for a city of its nature.

The early evening painted the world with red shadows. Iavor walked through familiar streets turned strange, his face hidden beneath a wide-brimmed hat. He bore the burn of the fading sunlight with ease – after a decade trapped in his own body neither alive nor dead, this mortal pain was almost a relief.

Sinith was city of commerce. Merchants of all ilk occupied every corner, buying and selling everything that could be had with money – and many things that ought not. The market was the city and it rarely slept. Yet, just a few hours past dusk, vendors were shuttering their businesses and closing their stalls. The late-night establishments that ordinarily kept the night bright and noisy remained curiously dark.

Iavor had seen Sinith livelier in the midst of war.

The evening crowds were thin and lacked the exuberance of men in search of entertainment. The few pedestrians to cross Iavor's path did so in a hurry, taking no note of their surroundings or the predator in their midst. The result was a curious dissonance between mind and body: the body feared, but the mind was muddled and knew not how to put up a sufficient guard. It was a subtle state, easy to miss or cast aside as inconsequential. Iavor perceived it without trouble, too acutely aware of the spell that blinded Samodevia's human residents to the extraordinary aspects of the kingdom not to pay close attention to such divergences. If this phenomenon was not isolated to Sinith, the spell itself could very well be in flux or fading.

Iavor's lips hooked at the edges. The day the kingdom discarded its veil of willful ignorance would be a good day indeed.

The dour surroundings doused Iavor's good cheer before long. Sinith's human residents were scarce on the ground; the city's supernatural inhabitants were absent entirely. While the two did not mix casually, their lives often ran in parallel lines. Sinith was an old city and its non-human communities had deep roots. To find them all gone did not point to good things.

Iavor deemed the reconnaissance at an end. His path changed, weaving through a neighborhood that was only ever lively at night and ending at a brashly-painted building. A casual onlooker would have no trouble identifying the place and its purpose.

The front doors were open. Warm light spilled into the yard, flickering with the wind. A woman waited in the foyer. Her age was difficult to discern, the traces of time skillfully hidden behind delicate cosmetics.

"Good evening, Madam Byrd," Iavor greeted.

Madam Byrd responded in kind. "Any difficulties?" she asked.

"None at all," Iavor reassured.

The woman nodded in acceptance. She looked at Iavor, expression considering.

Arya had arranged Madam Byrd's establishment as a shelter for Iavor and his party. They could not remain at Gondin Manor after all, and all connections Iavor had once had within the city were either gone or likely to be under surveillance. Whatever arrangement existed between the Amith Capil and the Madam, it currently worked in their favor. Few would think to seek men wanted by the Queen's Court at a place that was by all appearances under the Amith Capil's protection.

"A letter arrived for you," Madam Byrd said. "And a horse."

The letter was expected – Iavor had sent Horus to Elsendorf, just for that purpose. Zenith's arrival was also not surprising. The beast always seemed to know when his presence would be needed.

"Thank you for your trouble," Iavor said.

"Sir guest is too kind. In truth, the staff found the beast somewhat fearsome. One of the young men in your party settled it in the stables. He should be there right now, in fact," the woman said.

Iavor nodded in acceptance. "What of the red-head?" he asked.

"She is upstairs, with her own young man. I must say, if I could, I would keep her – my girls find her company endlessly enjoyable."

Madam Byrd sent Iavor a sly smile. Iavor nodded politely, greatly amused. Gabriel could well unravel Arya's efforts where Madam Byrd and her girls were concerned, if he put half his mind into the task. The vampire would wager that half of the building's inhabitants had already lost their hearts to the demon.

Iavor bid their host a good night. He considered going to Valeri first, but in the end turned to the stairs, choosing the smaller of two evils – and the bigger of two headaches.

Gabriel's voice drifted down a hallway heavy with the scent of perfume. The door to the demon's room was open. Iavor stopped in the doorway, brow raising at the sight within.

A red-haired woman sat atop a narrow bed. She was surrounded by maidens, their smiling faces turned to her like flowers toward the sun. Her regal demeanor and otherworldly beauty, along with her devoted audience, left one with the impression of a queen holding court.

Gabriel caught sight of Iavor. She paused whatever story had so enraptured her visitors and beckoned the vampire in with an elegant wave of a finely-boned hand.

"I am afraid that would not be appropriate," Iavor said, barely containing a grin.

The maidens laughed and cajoled, watching Iavor with bright eyes. They were not nearly as wary of their guests as the Madam. Nonetheless, they were of good sense and departed rather swiftly. Iavor decided to ignore the giggling and ogling. They were rather young, after all.

"Ready to go?" Gabriel asked.

Iavor closed the door behind himself. He did not approach nor answer, simply studying his friend for a moment.

"You look happy," he said at last.

Gabriel shrugged. A smile budded over her lips, as if in reply. "Is there a reason I should not be?"

Iavor considered broaching the subject of Dimitri Radev. The man carried Gabriel's soul, yet the demon had spoken not a word of what she meant to do about it. Iavor could clearly see the changes the soldier's existence had wrought. He was not entirely certain it was for the best.

"The Dvor has been unusually quiet," Iavor said instead. "I mean to settle things on that end before approaching the Queen's Court."

"Miss Hale has been in their hands for many days," Gabriel reminded carefully.

An image flashed through Iavor's mind – a young girl with dark eyes and a sweet smile that dimpled her cheeks. He quickly shifted his thoughts away; that child was gone. If he was to help her at all, he had to keep his calm.

There would be time for revenge yet.

"She went into the trap willingly. I trust that she had a purpose," Iavor said, though Ira's actions pained him greatly. He knew well what it was that his daughter sought. Had he been a little more vigilant, a little less arrogant and sure of his invulnerability, she would not need to search for answers of her mother's death by such desperate means.

Nonetheless, he could not blame her. He meant to do exactly the same.

"I believe they are waiting for an attempt at a rescue," Iavor continued. "The more we delay, the more time she has to accomplish her goal."

Gabriel did not appear entirely convinced. She sighed, then waved the man off, warning, "Do not delay unduly. You may be content playing the long game, but there are two members of our party who are about ready to hack their way to the Capital, plan or no."

"I do not mean to wait a moment longer than I must," Iavor said.

"Valeri is waiting for you downstairs," Gabriel told him.

Iavor nodded. He meant to bid the demon farewell, but found his feet reluctant to move. Gabriel, noticing his strange expression, lifted her brows in question.

"Talk with him plainly," he said; there was no question as to who he was. "Sometimes, things are simpler and the way forward clearer once spoken aloud."

Gabriel looked startled. She let out a chuckle, expression turning soft and somewhat pleased.

"I will keep it in mind. Now, go, before Valeri throws a tantrum. I only just put one temperamental man to bed. This one's all yours."

Iavor bowed in obedience. He departed to the sound of Gabriel's quiet laughter.

The stables were secluded behind the building. As there were currently no other visitors and Valeri had no need of lanterns, the back yard remained unlit. Iavor navigated the dense darkness with ease. He paused before he reached the stables, catching sight of the man he sought leading a large shadow towards him.

"Apologies for the wait," Iavor said.

Valeri did not respond. Iavor watched the man closely, finding comfort in the familiar face despite its dark cast. Aside their initial reunion, they had mostly avoided one another over the past few days. The weight of all the things unsaid between them had simply been too heavy to bear.

Iavor straightened his shoulders. He decided to take his own advice, and set down this imagined burden.

"I will depart for the Dvor shortly. You are welcome to accompany me," he said.

Valeri's expression twisted. The shock in his eyes was somewhat painful to see; Iavor wondered if he had truly been that unreliable, for such a small concession to have this effect.

"What of Ira?" Valeri asked at last.

Iavor's lips pulled into a small smile. "This journey will be of help," he said.

Valeri looked unconvinced, visibly wavering. Iavor was somewhat gratified to see the man that concerned for Ira's safety. At the same token, his inability to trust Iavor as easily as he had in the past was not a pleasant thing.

"Are you angry with me?" he could not help but ask.

Valeri snorted, incredulous. "Angry? Yes, Sir Beaufort, I am very fucking angry."

Iavor blinked. He did not think the had ever heard the man swear so openly before.

"You died," Valeri said. He was walking closer, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, "You knew you might, otherwise Gabriel wouldn't have known to go and find you and drag you to goddamn Hel, and you never thought – you never thought to tell me –"

The man choked on the rest, so furious he was shaking. He had reached Iavor and had his hands fisted in his coat, tight enough to strain the seams. His eyes were wild and streaked with red and firmly on Iavor's.

Iavor spoke carefully. "It was for your own good –"

Valeri let out a snarl and snapped forward. Iavor could have pulled away, but he was too focused on keeping still and looking contrite to react promptly. When Valeri's teeth pierced through his coat into his shoulder, he could only blink in astonishment.

Valeri withdrew. His lips were dripping red. "Try again," he said.

The pain of the bite hit with some delay, easily ignored. Iavor swallowed. "Are you going to bite me every time I say something you do not like?" he asked.

"Maybe," Valeri said.

Iavor laughed, a spark of sound unburdened by darker things.

Valeri growled. He unclenched his hands from Iavor's coat and let him go, passing a hand over his own mouth as he did.

"I am sorry," Iavor said, a small, happy smile on his lips.

"You are not forgiven," Valeri told him, "But it is a start. You better not keep anything from me again. If I hear, for your own good from you, I will not – I will not remain."

Iavor nodded, expression turning somber.

Valeri studied him for a moment, then turned on a heel and headed for Zenith. The horse was already saddled, Iavor realized. He was also watching the proceedings like a bored noble might some amusing play.

"Are you coming?" Valeri called.

Iavor laughed again. Valeri, already in the saddle, narrowed his eyes and puffed up in anger.

"Coming!" Iavor hurried to call.

The journey to the Dvor promised to be entertaining indeed.