Naturally, not even assassinating the head of one of the most powerful Imperial organizations could sate Ash’s hunger for power. The very next morning, with Edwina still passed out in one of our spare compartments, he turned to our personal Ascendent and asked, “Faith?”

She flicked a glance at him over the rim of her pink, rose-patterned teacup. “Mmm, yeeees, Ash dear?”

“Is there a safe way to do this crazy thing the Church is doing?”

She cocked her head, blinking as hard as if she’d gotten a speck of dust in her eye.

I groaned to myself. It was much too early for this. But I stepped in anyway to clarify, “Which crazy thing the Church is doing?”

Ash waved vaguely. “You know, the fusion. Of demons and humans. Or however you want to phrase it.”

“Oh!” cried Faith, pretending that she’d only just figured out what he meant. “Yes! There’s a very safe way to do it, which has been developed over millennia of practice. I hear it’s very reliable. All you have to do – ” (from the way she was observing me out of the corner of her eye, I was not going to like the rest of her sentence) – “is go to Iruvia and go to one of the spires of the Demon Princes, and I’m sure Isha can tell you the rest!”

Whatever she saw on my face made her preen.

Ash, on the other hand, scoffed at the simplicity. “Sell your soul to a Demon Prince for extraordinary power?”

“That’s not how it works!” I burst out before he could rush to Gaddoc Rail to catch the next train to U’Duasha. “That’s not what they do!”

Oddly enough, he nodded in agreement. “Yes, I thought they only did that to family.”

Images of Sigmund, Mother, Father – even the Patriarch – flashed before my eyes. Demonic fusion was not what any of them done. None of them would dream of doing anything so morally and arcanely repulsive.

“The two processes are entirely different! Ours is more like a binding – a connection,” I sputtered. “It’s not – it’s not tearing out your soul and merging it with demonic essence!”

Ash swiftly reprimanded me, “I’ve never been sure why you’re so opposed to that.” His voice turned into a sneer, not directed at me. “I mean, the rest of the Imperium is fine selling their souls to the Immortal Emperor and getting shackles placed on them by everything in this city. How is selling your soul to a demon any different?”

At the same time, Faith raised a hand to her throat, clutched the strands of a pearl necklace that I’d bet she’d gotten for this exact purpose, and gasped, “Isha! I was talking about the Gualim! However, I note that it’s very interesting how sensitive you are on the subject of demonic possession.”

As Ash burst out laughing, I exploded, “Haven’t I been like this all along? How is this news to you?”

Reining himself in somewhat, Ash shrugged, “I don’t know. It’s just that you seem to have derived a lot of benefits from your demonic connection.”

Donning her inquisitive-scholar act, Faith followed up with, “So how close are you to having your soul taken over?”

Grandfather’s smoky presence at the back of my mind had never felt more invasive.

“Uhhhhh, not very?” I spoke slowly, widening my eyes and staring at her as if she were deranged.

“Being permanently bound?” she asked even more hopefully.

“No.”

Getting bored with teasing me, she slouched back down and sipped her tea.

Ash, however, wasn’t done just yet. “Mmm, so what if you wanted to subjugate demons instead of getting enslaved by them?”

“Oh. You’re so picky,” Faith complained, puckering up her whole face. She waggled a coquettish finger and scolded, “Ash, dear, you know that a lady needs to have her secrets.” (Whichever one she was referring to here.) “It’s not nice to pry.”

Obviously, Ash had no intention of doing so. “Fair, fair, fair. It just feels like there are a lot of demons, and they’re all quite powerful. Personally, I’d prefer a version that didn’t involve Ascension. But I have to say that it’s not a bad overall effect. Isha?”

Although I cringed inwardly, I met his eyes.

“Isha, wouldn’t you prefer that the Demon Princes be enslaved better?” Before I could even start to feel confounded by the notion of the Demon Princes being enslaved to anyone, he specified, “Such as, to a trustworthy U’Duashan?”

I was so stunned that I blurted out the first, most honest thing that came to mind. “There are none.” At his shocked and Faith’s delighted expressions, I amended, “You can’t trust anyone with that kind of power.”

“It’s probably still better than leaving the Demon Princes to their own devices – ” he began, but Faith had found a much more entertaining (i.e. novel) conversational twist.

“What if we infused the demon into you?” she cried. “Would you trust yourself with that kind of power?”

The answer, unfortunately, was a resounding, “No! I would not!”

“Why not?” demanded Ash at the same time that Faith pointed out silkily, “But you trust the Demon Princes with that kind of power? I mean, their having that kind of power is strictly worse than you having it.”

In that moment, she sounded exactly like Ixis whispering that everyone was better off with the Demon Princes “bound” in their spires, so there was no need for House Anserekh to experiment with any new and improved containment vessels, because we all knew that human creations tended to fail, especially the arcane ones, and why would we ever court that risk….

“Yeah,” Ash seconded Faith matter-of-factly, shattering my thoughts.

“Why are we even having this conversation?” I snapped, shoving my chair back from the table and standing.

“Because this is an intervention!” she explained. “You place way too much trust in the Demon Princes! For example, you believe that they’re better at using their power than someone who is much nicer, and kinder, and more beautiful and clever than they are.” She paused for dramatic effect. “Such as myself!”

Very, very drily, Ash commented, “I was actually thinking Isha here, but – ”

But I had no intention of staying and letting them torment me one second longer. I stalked out of the common room and into the hallway, letting the door slam behind me without caring whether it woke Edwina.

“Have a nice walk!” Ash called after me. “Pick up some mint crisps for us if you pass by the Forge Street Bakery!”

I flounced towards my compartment – then tiptoed back to eavesdrop.

Ash was saying, “We have a very strong asset in this sword with vast demonic powers. It seems like we’re wasting it.”

Faith heaved a thoughtful sigh, although whether it was directed at him or me, I couldn’t tell. “Well, first we’d need to steal it,” she pointed out. “Because I don’t think Isha would permit us to use it on our own.” (Of course not. I wasn’t even permitting Sigmund to hold it, and he was already bound to Ixis.) “Conveniently, however, we’re an Assassins crew, not a Shadows one.”

Because they could murder me and then take Grandfather? Somehow, I thought Ixis would appreciate that.

“It’s for her own good,” protested Ash, who’d obviously mentally inserted the “in-” prefix in front of “conveniently.” “I’m sure we could get the sword if we really needed to. This was more of a hypothetical regarding Ascension, which is not…terrible?” To his credit, his speech slowed near the end and lifted up into a question mark. Perhaps he was remembering that poor Tycherosian girl Kallysta, whom we’d let the Church Hollow so her soul could serve as a carrier for the motes of That Which Hungers. But then he rationalized, “I mean, we know you, Faith, and you’re lovable and powerful. If we remove the stupid parts of Ascension – ” (if he did that, there would be no ritual left) – “it doesn’t seem that bad to subjugate the Demon Princes to human souls.”

Except that subjugation wasn’t the end goal of the ritual. Ascension murdered the demon involved. The demon would be gone afterwards.

And, since I was being honest with myself, the revulsion I felt was all mine. Grandfather seemed merely amused.

“You make a very good point there,” Faith answered, raising her voice to ensure that I caught every word of what she was about to say. “We might want to test this on a smaller scale first. I know Isha has been trying to get closer and closer to that Demon Prince shard in her sword. So maybe we should complete that! We could kill the shard and infuse it into Isha! And then she would be as close to him as any loyal subject could hope to be!”

If that were how the Akorosi viewed loyalty to liege lords, it was a wonder the Immortal Emperor had survived long enough to construct the first lightning barrier.

“I don’t think it’s a matter of loyalty if her ultimate goal is to kill them all,” Ash pointed out nonsensically, because I had never once voiced any kind of desire to slay any of the Demon Princes, not even Ixis who’d caused me and my family so much grief. “She does keep saying that she distrusts them and hates them and all.”

“That’s fair.”

“But you can start by trying to gain their power, I guess.”

A vigorous rustle suggested that Faith was nodding her emphatic agreement. “So, let’s see, we should start with preparations for the extraction ritual then.” Raising her voice even more, she sang, “Iiiiiiisha, are you still going to the store?”

I declined to answer.

Undeterred, she rattled off a long list of disturbing alchemical and arcane ingredients that sounded like they’d be ideal for, but not necessarily specific to, a demonic ritual. It did not, I noted, include mint.

Probably because Ash had already mentioned it this morning.

“Ash, you can prepare the ritual circle! Here, let me you show you the runic diagram. And then we’ll just wait for Isha to get back with the supplies!”

Since it looked like they weren’t planning to discuss anything important, I finally went to my compartment, changed into a Brightstone-level outfit, and left the railcar with my pouch of stolen soul gems.

By now, Sigmund must have told his staff some cover story about me, because none of them raised an eyebrow when I let myself in the backdoor and strolled through the kitchen.

“His lordship is in the breakfast room, miss,” called the cook. “Should I send up a second tray?”

That was perfect. I hadn’t managed to eat anything before my crewmates destroyed whatever appetite I might have had. “Please do.”

Without bothering to tiptoe or change my usual gait, I ambled into the breakfast room, pulled out a chair, and plopped down next to my brother. He glanced up from the Doskvol Daily and rolled his eyes.

“You could at least knock.” But he didn’t bother to put any heat into it, and he did fold the paper tidily and lay it next to his plate.

“What’s the point?” I used my most aggravatingly careless tone. “You heard me coming. I hope.”

Needled into reacting, he rebuked me with a look. “I did.”

“Isn’t that enough of a knock?”

He rolled his eyes again, then gestured at the headline, which screamed, “Commander of the Spirit Wardens Heinously Murdered in Bellweather Crematorium!” Underneath was a giant portrait of Rowan wearing noble attire and looking sober and responsible.

“So apparently you were busy last night.”

“Uh huh. You should be happy about this,” I informed him, dropping the pouch right under his nose. “Happy early birthday.”

Since our birthday had only passed, this present was very early indeed. With another reproachful glare, Sigmund opened the pouch. His eyes widened. “Stars.”

Lounging back, I said casually, “Thought the House might be interested.”

Sigmund seemed not to hear. He pushed his plate away so he could tip the soul gems across the tablecloth and examine them one by one. “I’ll send them south.” Then he ran an assessing look over me. “You’re okay? You’re not hurt?”

I shrugged, trying not to tear open the slice across my collarbones. It had stopped bleeding (mostly) but probably needed stitches. “Eh. I’m fine.”

His gaze settled on my blouse, which had a rather higher neckline than normal and was dark red and patterned instead of my usual stark white. He arched a single, skeptical eyebrow.

“I’m fine,” I insisted. “It’s just a cut.”

“Signy.” He reached out, then thought better of it as a maid brought in a second breakfast tray. After she’d served me and left again noiselessly, he leaned forward and asked, “You’re going to get it looked at, right? I know some excellent doctors.”

And I knew some…doctors. If you counted Danfield, who hadn’t received his medical license yet, and Sawbones, who’d never tried to get one. “I’ll be fine.”

Even as we’d been speaking, Sigmund had been sorting through the soul gems, studying and slotting each one into some sort of mental catalogue. Soul gem classification must have been part of Patriarch training, because his education seemed to have encompassed a lot more arcane subjects than mine.

Although I supposed it was my own fault for refusing to learn anything related to the supernatural.

But speaking of that – “Ugh, I just had to get out of the railcar.”

Sigmund’s fingers stilled. He cocked his head to one side, his full attention on me now.

I fumed, “Do you ever have to work with people who are just insufferable? People who figure out what annoys you most and then just keep hammering away at it?”

In his absolute driest tone, my brother replied, “I do have a sense of what that is like, yes.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, trying to decide whether he was referring to Cousin Anya and her Faith-like habits – or to me and his favorite desk chair.

He returned a level, pleasant smile.

I went back to complaining. “Now they’re talking about killing the Demon Princes and fusing their essence with me.”

“I don’t think that’s a thing they would be able to do,” Sigmund mused, giving it much more thought than it deserved. (Faith would be delighted if she ever found out. Which was why I was never going to tell her.) “That would be on par with killing the Immortal Emperor.”

“Yes, I know. They’re just annoying!”

All of a sudden, he swept the soul gems into the pouch and fixed me with a serious stare. “Signy, when all of this is over, do you intend to continue your assassination career? What will you do in three weeks? Or however long it takes to kill Dunvil?”

“Uhhhhh.” I had no answer at the ready, so I temporized, “Ummmmm. I hadn’t thought that far. It’s a long way off.” Then I demanded, “Why? Why are you giving me that look?”

Wisely, my brother opted not to bring up my tendency to run off with half-baked plans – or no plans whatsoever. “I would be happier if you were thinking about the future.”

My voice grew shrill with irritation (and defensiveness). “I’m not planning to go out in a suicidal blaze of glory, if that’s what you’re worried about.” My fingers were shredding a croissant, so I forced them to stop.

Sigmund’s eyes lingered pointedly on my plate before they rose to my face. “I’ve noticed that there are two sorts among our operatives.” His tone shifted as he spoke in his capacity as a House leader. “There are the sort with long-term plans, and there are the sort without, and the survival rate is much higher for the former.”

“I’m not one of your operatives,” I retorted, sullen at the reminder of how different our ranks were now. And of how Ash had once thought I reported to my own brother.

“No,” Sigmund agreed smoothly, “you’re not. But it’s a somewhat analogous situation.”

He was right. It was. And who knew when Grandfather would decide that I’d served my purpose as lab rat and stop meddling to save my life? But I didn’t want to make any career-changing decisions before consulting my crewmates, so I tossed out a distraction. “Here’s a long-term plan for us: After this mess, how are we going to reconcile Akoros and Iruvia?”

Falling for it, Sigmund chased after it much as Sleipnir might a new ball. “That’s an excellent question.” His face distant, he mulled over his options. “Careful diplomacy. And a lot of intelligence.”

I went quiet. After a moment, I reminded him softly, “I meant something I can help with.”

He went quiet too. At last he said, “Well. It does occur to me: You’re an instructor at the Red Sash Sword Academy, where you teach both the children of Iruvian diplomats and ambitious Akorosians of the merchant class and above, yes?”

“Yes.”

“It does seem like a forum for encouraging friendships between the two groups. Admittedly, those seeds will take some time to sprout, but….”

“Huh.” That wasn’t a bad idea. Compared to his cross-isle operations, the scale of that project left something to be desired, but it was definitely an area in which I could help. In which I was uniquely positioned to help. In fact, I’d already gotten plenty of practice at Strathmill House, where the orphans now treated one another like siblings regardless of ethnicity. “Yeah. Yeah, I like that.”

I was going to have to spend time making lesson plans now, the way Faith did, wasn’t I? Instead of just showing up at the academy once a week and playing everything by the ear?

Sigmund, luckily, didn’t question my teaching skills – or lack thereof. He continued to tick off ideas. “Beyond that, I think promoting sympathy for Iruvian culture, as you did via Ian Templeton’s play, will be useful. Obviously, dealing with Dunvil and his lackeys is critical, but you already knew that. Let’s see, what else? Making sure that no one ever finds out that these high-profile murders were committed by the sister of a scion of an U’Duashan House – but again, I know that you already knew that too.”

“Well, yeah.” I rolled my eyes, but I wasn’t really offended.

Groping for the right words, Sigmund reflected, “I think that, too often, U’Duasha and Doskvol pretend that they’re on, well, metaphorical islands separate from each other. If we can encourage people to build bridges across that gulf…. The more we can do that, the better.”

That was true, and would also take decades, if not the rest of our lives, to accomplish. Only half-jokingly, I asked, “Is this long-term enough for you, brother?”

“I know you hate it when I worry, but I hope you understand why I do.”

The love and complete sincerity in his voice forced me to look down. I fiddled with my croissant some more as I thought about the other man in Doskvol who spoke to me that way, and the one long-term project that I had come up with on my own.

Sigmund cocked his head at the remnants of the pastry. “Is something else wrong, beyond the obvious?”

“Well,” I mumbled, not daring to meet his eyes, “I was thinking of inviting both you and Bazso to dinner. In Silkshore. Sometime.”

He was silent for much too long. “Ah. That Lampblack.”

To Sigmund – and probably Father and especially Mother – Bazso looked like a crude, lowborn, leviathan-blood-mutated street thug who’d latched onto a lady from the highest echelons of Iruvian aristocracy.

“Well, I mean, he is a Lampblack, but…that’s not all he is.” In the face of my brother’s disapproval, my defense of Bazso wavered.

Sigmund stared at me until I started squirming. At last, he granted, “It – I suppose it would be good for us to meet.” He nodded to himself, then scrutinized my expression as he allowed, “Yes. Let me know. My schedule is flexible enough this week.”

“Okay. I’ll organize something.” I let out a tiny sigh of relief that he noted and filed away.

“All right.”

The finality of those two words warned me to turn the conversation to lighter (i.e. other) topics, and for the rest of breakfast, we reminisced about childhood escapades while savoring the good food and even better coffee. Here I’d been thinking that Mylera splurged on coffee, but hers couldn’t begin to compare to Sigmund’s. When I asked for his purveyor, he replied that the beans arrived at the Iruvian Consulate by diplomatic pouch once a week, although he did promise to split them with me next time. I figured that I could give some to Mylera to ensure that she renewed my teaching contract, and some to Odrienne Keel and Ian Templeton to promote sympathy for Iruvian culture.

And save the rest for myself, of course.

My good mood lasted all the way until I returned to the railcar.

In my absence, the floor and walls and ceiling and furniture had all gotten covered in demonic runes and summoning circles. I didn’t even have to wonder who the culprit was – because all of them were drawn with bright pink chalk.