"Nice sword," said the bookkeeper. "Win some more bets like this and I can recommend you a good bodyguard."

Offering a fake smile, I accepted the pouch of coins. Eighteen golden sols, a smattering of silver denarii, and a few coppers I set back on the counter as a tip. Altogether more than a skilled laborer would earn in a year. The odds against my winning horse had been long even if he was part of some bloodline reserved for high-ranking officers. One chance victory with a modest investment would go unnoticed. I had been tempted to slap a small fortune on the counter but that much attention would have been unwelcome.

"A pleasure doing business," said the bookkeeper.

"Of course."

I took my leave, resting my hand on the pommel of my new sword. This piece came from Bakkel, the same smith who created Felix's sword of choice and that of most serious combatants within the city. Their distinct handles were something of a mark of pride; mine was hatched white-and-gold with a matching scabbard. Any blademaster who saw a teenager walking around with one would likely challenge me to a duel over its ownership, but such bets were illegal with anyone under eighteen. As long as the officials found out, of course.

Three days had passed since I encountered the woman in dark robes. The sword did little to soothe my worries. More powerful weapons did exist, of course. Legendary blades with names and blessings that granted powers to their wielders. Their cost, though ludicrous, would not have been a problem if I utilized the full potential of my power. The issue was random blacksmiths did not stock them on their shelves. A few may exist within Odena, jealously guarded by their owners, but most were lent out by the Archons to promising warriors on the Frontier.

I found myself drinking more than usual, even brushing aside the occasional temptation to see what the fuss was about opium. If I had simply seen that woman's pale skin and strange eyes I would not have been so paranoid. But for her to disappear like that, I was either losing my mind or had encountered a being that should not exist this deep within human territory.

But even then, my biggest worry was not for myself. Not directly. If that woman was truly a demon, her presence in the city meant nothing good. Wards existed against her kind, not to mention the Archon himself. While Odena had no official counterpart to the Magisters, there would be powerful enforcers within the city with a duty to prevent something like this.

So how was there a demon walking around?

Part of me wanted nothing to do with her. The more mischieveous parts wanted to find her. That plan went down some dangerous paths. The greatest question was whether to go to the authorities and reveal the sighting. Amelie in Yellow would be closed. Likely nothing would be found. But I was part of the city of Odena now, a citizen of this glorious mess.

I sighed. The choice was obvious in the end.

A street merchant directed me to the closest guard station. I adjusted the sword at my waist before approaching.

The man at the door inclined his chin as I approached. His cuirass and helmet looked battered but at least he was no teenager with an expensive blade.

"I have a report to make," I said, "to your superior."

My Bakkel and fine clothing must not have impressed him.

"You can tell me first."

I took a deep breath. "I spotted what I believe may have been a demon at the establishment Amelie in Yellow last night."

The timing was off but there was no great explanation for why an innocent civilian would wait so long to report something like like this.

The guard looked up at the sky as if seeking an answer there. "Amelie in Yellow. Are you telling me you smoked some opium and wish to report a demon sighting?"

"I don't smoke opium," I said. "I gamble. It's legal. If you don't believe me, I'll go around telling every guard until one does. And when it's true, I'll spread the word you thought I was lying. What's your name?"

"Yarv. In that case, we should report this to Barrow. Let me find a replacement and I'll take you to him myself."

"Thank you."

The guard didn't move. "Barrow is one of the Four Winds. The Archon's youngest son. There are severe punishments for lying to the man. Meaning if you stop wasting my time I'll let you walk away and forget this ever happened."

Ah, so that was his game. Trying to scare me off with naming one of the highest authorities in the city.

"Well," I said, "it did happen. So I would appreciate you taking me to him."

After a few minutes of Yarv conversing with his companions and all of them sending dirty looks my way, the guard led me down the street, silent.

The Four Winds. The Archon's half-divine children, blessed with mastery over air and to some lesser degree sound. Barrow was the only one I knew of; Caedius had mentioned him as a former fixture of the Amphitheatre, deadly with the spear without even using his magic. Such a man having authority over the city guard made sense.

Barrow resided in a manor next to the Archon's palace. We passed the training grounds for the soldiery along the way, formations of shabby soldiers plodding away. All Great Cities maintained their own force, some with more attention than others. While I was loathe to praise Velassa, at least the legions there looked impressive during their demonstrations. When I was a child I even once blabbered to my parents about how I wanted to be a soldier, entranced by their performance at a parade.

Yarv slowed his pace the closer we came to the manor. The guard at its gates looked like far more like the ideal soldier, fully clad in gleaming plate, halberd planted at his side.

Yarv explained the reason for our presence, carefully emphasizing my insistence on coming. The other guard stared at us for a few moments before unlocking the gate and disappearing within the manor. Yarv took his post, refusing to pay attention to me. From the look on his face he seemed to take pride in his temporary promotion to gateboy.

I waited for over ten minutes. Did they expect me to just leave if I was ignored long enough? Should have brought a book.

Eventually several figures filed out of the manor and approached. Two men flanked by soldiers. The first man had delicate features and an emerald-green flower tucked behind one ear matching the exact color of his eyes. Spotless white suit, expensive shoes. At his hip he wore a white-handled sword with a green ribbon sprouting from the pommel.

The other was Barrow, the North Wind. His skin was deeply tanned like most Narahvens, head shaved like a monk's, with a square jaw and high cheekbones hinting at his highborne lineage. Simple but finely crafted clothes clung to a muscular frame. His legendary spear was nowhere to be seen, at least.

They stopped a dozen paces away. Barrow whispered with the guard from the gate before addressing me. His voice was deep and husky, each word enunciated precisely.

"I am Barrow, the North Wind, lord of this manor and commander of Odena's legions. I am told you have some concerns about a potential infiltration within the city. What is your name?"

Should so many people be present while discussing such a sensitive topic? If he thought it was appropriate, who was I to question him? After dealing with Yarv my respect for authority could not fall much lower, but at least Barrow seemed willing to listen.

"My name is Leones. I'm an acolyte of the philosophers."

The man with the emerald eyes muttered something in Barrow's ear. A bolt of panic shot through my chest. Could they possibly recognize my name? The search for Jansen's lost son was never mentioned in any news source within the city, but if the Magistrate made my escape known to the surrounding Great Cities, Barrow would be one of the first people made aware.

I already regretted coming here. Hell, I should have changed my name when I first came to the city, but it was too late now. Reversing time seemed like the smart choice but I should at least discover where this conversation led. As long as I was not executed with no warning, I could use my power to escape the city, as loathe as I was to leave.

"Greetings, Leones," said the North Wind. "I have much respect for the philosophers. I am told you believe you sighted a demon inside of Amelie in Yellow?"

"Well," I said, "not inside, but close. She was leaving as I was walked toward the building. I noticed how pale her skin was. Then I saw her eyes. Black and inhuman. Just looking at her terrified me. I fled, unsure of what she was until I asked one of the philosophers. Lakken. He said that sounded like a demon."

That last part was true enough. Last night I had visited Lakken and confirmed my suspicions with him. The old man could verify at least that much of my story.

Barrow rubbed his jaw. "You waited so long to report this?"

"I thought about it all night and day. I meditated. Thought back so many times on what I saw. I didn't want to waste anyone's time if it was just a mistake. But I figured it was best to let the authorities decide."

The North Wind thought for a while before gesturing. "Come."

Yarv stayed behind, happy to return to his original post.

The inside of his manor was simple and tasteful. A suit of ancient armor decorated the wall; an heirloom, perhaps. Four cushioned chairs had been arranged in the side room for a proper discussion. I settled into one. The man with the emerald eyes unbuckled the scabbard from his waist and rested it across his lap after sitting. Barrow sat with his legs crossed, fingers steepled under his chin, face blank. A pair of guards loomed behind them.

"Tell me," said Barrow, "did you imbibe any mind-altering substances before your visit to Amelie in Yellow?"

"No. I'm certain of what I saw."

"We will, of course, investigate the establishment to determine how something like this can occur. Did you inform anyone else?"

"No. Only that man, Yarv, and the guard at the entrance."

The North Wind turned to his companion. "How could something like this happen? Leones, this is Champion Jokul, a seventh-legato blademaster. The greatest swordsman in Avanche. He will personally investigate this matter until we discover the truth. I will also look into it, but so many responsibilites spread me thin. For now, I must take my leave. Tell Jokul everything you remember."

The Champion nodded slowly, unblinking eyes fixated on me. His intensity was unnerving, not to mention the blade across his lap. Barrow departed, and with him went the guards.

"Tell me, then." Jokul's voice was high-pitched, almost feminine.

I spent the next five minutes rambling about everything I knew, which wasn't much. The Champion mostly remained silent as I talked about bringing my suspicions to Lakken, how I had never noticed any demonic activity before this, and attempted to verbalize my initial certainty that the woman was no human.

"That is enough." The Champion stood and held out a hand towards the exit. "You may leave. Remain within the city. Tell no one else what you saw while I investigate. I will not mention your name to Sensi so that there are no repercussions to yourself. That woman very much does not appreciate being questioned."

I brought my power to the forefront of my mind as I turned my back to the Champion to leave. Half-expecting his sword to pierce my heart from behind, I hardly breathed until I made it past the gates, out into the public.

Was I being paranoid? Both of them were attentive and polite. I may have imagined the tension between us while trying my best to keep my story straight. Men like the Champion had a natural aura of intimidation. I knew of Jokul, of course. The most talented blademaster within a hundred miles, undefeated in the Amphitheatre and in personal duels. Caedius' hero. While him acting as Barrow's personal blade seemed somewhat bizarre, even the greatest warriors often had patrons.

I relaxed the farther I walked. The matter of the demon woman was out of my hands. Perhaps I should have sent an anonymous letter instead of revealing myself, but that seemed far more likely to be ignored. If they discovered nothing, at worst I would suffer a verbal reprimand, maybe a fine. But if demons were roaming through the city, it was my responsibility to do something about it. Right?

I needed a distraction. My feet carried me in the direction of Lyra's residence, a long-term rental at a fancy inn called The Mellow Heart. While she had some degree of fame, being an artist did not pay nearly as well as gambling with magical powers.

"I'm here to see Lyra Incada," I said to the woman at the front counter.

She may not want to see me, of course. But we hadn't spoken in weeks. If my presence offended her for whatever reason I could always turn back time. Crossing my arms, I waited as the employee went to speak with Lyra.

From where I was standing I could see the large mural she had painted in the main room. A lovely piece, very unlike her usual morbid art. Some knight and a rich lady lounging beside a river, presumably a scene from some romantic tale. She painted it as part of an agreement with the owner in exchange for six months of rent, no meals included.

The woman returned with bad news. No response to her knocking. As far as she was aware Lyra had not been seen for at least a week now. No meals in the common area, no word of her departure, though she may have said something to the owner.

"Can you at least check to make sure she's alright?" I said. "I haven't heard from her either. A girl like her, what if some obsessed stalker broke in?"

"The door is locked," said the woman. From her expression she likely suspected I was an obsessed stalker myself.

When I refused to leave she glanced at the sword at my hip and, with a sigh, grabbed a ring of keys.

Intimidating some random woman into helping me was not my proudest moment, but after I talked with Lyra it was probably best to reverse time and pretend this never happened. Felix's words from that night at Amelie's came back to me: Jealousy is ugly. I knew coming here to bother her was pathetic but at least I could find some closure.

I tried not to loom over the woman's shoulder as she unlocked the door. Already I could smell something offensive. Spoiled food and something deeper, putrescent, a thick wrongness. After she opened the door I had to cover my mouth and nose against the stench.

A cloud of flies assaulted a half-finished meal and the bowl of dessicated oranges on her dining table. While Lyra was never the cleanest person, it looked as if she had ceased caring altogether. Random clothes littered the floor as if she had tossed them aside.

"Disgusting." The employee stumbled out of the room, dry heaving.

Deeper into the suite the smell only worsened. The dining area branched off into her bedroom and the larger, open area she called her studio. Coughing against the miasma of rot, I pushed open the door to her bedroom. An absolute mess. The contents of an overturned bottle of wine stained the bottom of her bed.

She was in the studio.

Congealed splashes of blood. An empty easel dominated the center of the room. In the corner, a heap of flesh I could hardly consider a person. Decapitated, clothes in tatters. I looked away. Usually she kept several of her favorite canvases along the walls for inspiration. All of them were missing.

I vomited, leaning against the wall for support. The smell of her decomposing invaded my nostrils and the back of my throat. I kept going until only splashes of burning bile remained.

Lyra.