Since his return to Brook Hold, countless nobles and knights had come to swear their fealty to him.

And yet, Azazel was hollow inside. He knew that any king who had so many people hailing him as a hero and swearing their lives to his service should have been overjoyed. Yet, in the castle of the woman to whom he’d promised his heart, he felt cold. As his mouth smiled his soul wept.

During the time he was away, architects and masons had worked together to build for him a room of his own. For the time being, it was a small, wooden shack on the very top of the tallest tower, on the roof over Lady Calimei’s room. So, after a long day of settling disputes between disgruntled citizens, accepting oaths of fealty, and approving the passing of new laws, Azazel would retreat up to his room to be alone.

None but the servants and Lady Calimei knew this, but in that solitary shack, solitude wasn’t the only thing in which the young king sought comfort.

Azazel closed the door to his room behind him, released a painful sigh, and flopped onto his bed. The blankets were made from the pelts of foxes, deer, and mountain lions, and the pillow was stuffed with goose down.

After a moment of laying upon his bed in silence, with the setting sun peering in through his western window, Azazel turned over. He reached under the bed and produced a seized for himself a large bottle of whiskey, imported from Avlo Wydrin in the north.

With his teeth, he popped the cork and spat it across the room, taking some amusement in the way it bounced off the wall and rolled on the stone floor.

Just as he was about to raise the bottle to his lips, there was a knock at his door.

He paused a moment, considering whether he should pretend to be asleep so the visitor would simply leave. After a moment, though, he decided that there had been enough lies recently, and keeping silent would, itself, be a lie.

“Who is it?” he called out at the door.

The visitor knocked again, with more fury.

“Who is it?” he called louder.

Splinters flew as a steel fist punched through the door. Azazel jumped and dropped the whiskey bottle, which clattered on the ground for a moment but landed upright.

Did I just hear a steam engine whistle?

The automaton hand reached over to the door handle and forced the door open. Azazel stood petrified as the door creaked open and glowing, white eyes stared back at him from a cloud of black smoke.

Bang!

Azazel ducked at the sudden blast of flames and smoke from the pipes on the automaton’s back. The automaton marched into his room, a dented, iron colossus towering over him while he took cover behind his bed. Those white, glowing eyes blinded Azazel’s as it inclined its neck to lean in closer to him.

From within its steel visage came a muffled, metallic voice. “I need to speak with you, your majesty.”

“Ember?”

“Yep,” came the girl’s gruff reply from within, and the automaton’s back straightened, drawing its terrifying mask away. The glowing eyes dimmed until Azazel could see that they were mere lanterns, but glowing more brightly than any he’d seen before. “The hick who taught me how to make automatons built me this one. His name’s Zoot, and I can ride around inside him.”

The automaton’s hands reached up to a series of latches on the right side of its chest and undid all three of them. The thick chest-plate swung open on hinges on the left side. Ember stood inside the chest cavity, where a gleaming adonium orb floated just above her head, with gold and silver wires hovering around it. Ember stepped down, out of the automaton, and the empty shell stayed behind, perfectly still. Ember shoved her gloved hands into her overall pockets and shrugged.

Her eye met his, and she smiled. “You know, that eye-patch suits you,” she said as she slipped past him and took her seat in a chair next to his dresser.

“I think you’re a bit biased,” said Azazel, pointing to her own eye-patch.

“Maybe.” She shrugged. “Did you ever think mine was unsightly?”

Azazel shook his head and sat on the windowsill across the room from her.

“Well, there you go,” she said.

“You smell of cigarettes,” Azazel chastised.

“And you reek of booze and melancholy. And I think I can guess why.” She pointed to the still-open bottle of whiskey standing upright on the floor. Azazel looked down at the floor and scratched the back of his head. “So, how about we make a deal? You quit drinking and I’ll quit smoking.”

Azazel chuckled, but said nothing.

Ember tilted her head to one side. “Hmm… whatever’s eating you must be real bad. Normally, you’d jump at an opportunity to encourage me to quit tobacco.”

Azazel folded his arms. “Well, maybe I’ve decided to back off and let you live your own life.”

“No.” Ember shook her head. “That’s not it. C’mon, now… don’t bullshit me.”

Azazel groaned and looked away. “I’ve already ordered you to quit, so the fact that you persist is insubordination. Maybe even treason.”

“Put me on trial, then,” said Ember with a smirk. “A public trial would be great. ‘But, your majesty, even you have your vices to comfort you from the suffering of life.’ Ha! Once everyone heard about it, you’d have a lot more than just me coming to ask you what’s wrong.”

Azazel grunted.

Ember stood and crossed the room to him, then took both his hands in her own. He turned his head to face her, and his eye met hers again. “Ozz, we’re friends,” she said, “and being friends means we can trust each other.”

Azazel bit his lip and forced down the lump in his throat. “Maybe… maybe you’re the only friend I’ve got…”

“Because Jasper and Neji abandoned us?” Ember asked.

For a fleeting moment, Azazel wanted to tell Ember that Neji had done far worse than that, but he couldn’t imagine explaining the situation to a ten-year-old.

“There’s more…” said Azazel, his eye finding a spot on the wall to stare at. “This stays between us, you understand? Not a soul is to know about what I’m about to tell you.”

“I swear to keep your secret,” said Ember. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Hope to die…

That was a sentiment Azazel understood more and more these days. The death penalty might have been a far better sentence than the charge to make himself king after all.

“Lady Calimei…” Azazel began, then hesitated, then continued, “...she knew about what was happening in Godsmouth, and she kept it from me. She sent her agents to deal with it and never said a word. Because of what she did, I wasn’t able to get the sangrel who’d taken the city to peacefully retreat.”

“Why didn’t she tell you?” Ember asked. The black smoke from the automaton had finally all settled to Azazel’s floor, as a gentle white soot that would surely track all over the castle. As if Azazel needed to make it even easier for his subjects to watch his every misstep.

Azazel sighed. “Because she didn’t trust me. She thought I might… well, she thought I’d be like Metorael and solve all my problems by burning them.” He rolled his eye. “That woman… did she learn nothing about me when I took back this castle?”

Ember nodded. “She should have trusted you. But… to be fair, you don’t know what it’s like to be human, you know.”

Azazel tilted his head to one side. “What do you mean?”

Ember scratched the back of her head. “Well, forgive me for speaking plainly, your majesty, but being human is a bitch sometimes! We live under constant fear from demons, angels, and the gods.”

“Angels are here to protect you,” Azazel said.

“Really?” Ember asked. “Cuz that priestess Metorael burned didn’t look very ‘protected.’”

A chill made Azazel shake as the priestess’ screams haunted him once again.

Ember continued, “And, as you were right to point out, he didn’t even give her a chance to prove her innocence. An accusation from his zealot was enough to condemn her to death then and there.” The girl shifted her stance, clearly uncomfortable and nervous even talking about it. “And he’s certainly not the only angel to do such terrible things. Raphael, the Archangel of Ashtoreth, he’s known for far worse abuses. There’s a popular story of him accusing a woman of heresy and having her beheaded after she refused to fuh… to, umm… go to bed with him. And there are some rumors that she… well... wasn’t yet a woman... when it happened.”

Now it was Azazel who shifted uncomfortably, avoiding eye contact with Ember.

“The story’s been dismissed as a lie spread by heretics,” said Ember. “But, knowing what you know, do you think it’s a lie?”

Without hesitation, Azazel said, “No. Raphael is known for his… insatiable appetite. He’s a licentious bully. How that bastard became an archangel I’ll never know…”

Ember nodded. “And those are just two examples. There are many rotten angels with equally rotten reputations. Shoftiel is an angel known for her cruelty. Ramiel for his destructive rage. There’s really a list. Sure, there are angels who have a reputation for heroism, like Mitzvael, Azriel, and Metatron. And there are many angels who have a reputation for being bumbling fools. But encountering an angel is sometimes like encountering a strange dog. You never know if it’s been trained to bite, if it’s rabid, or if it’s just a big puppy. So, regarding Lady Calimei’s mistake, are humans so wrong to be afraid of you?”

Azazel rubbed his eye. “I suppose not. But haven’t I done enough to prove myself?”

“Maybe not.” Ember shrugged.

Azazel glared at her, a mix of irritation and disbelief in his eye.

Ember raised both her hands apologetically. “Or, maybe… just maybe, it’s not about proving yourself. It could be about how quickly Lady Calimei comes to trust people. Think about it, Ozz. The woman you love has a lot of reason to fear, and she doesn’t just fear for herself, she fears for her people.” Ember pointed at his chest. “As a good ruler should. Is it really so bad that she should be extra cautious when so many lives are at stake?”

Azazel rubbed the back of his neck. “She wants to spare her people harsh judgment from the gods.”

Ember poked him in the chest. “Exactly! So, maybe she did wrong. Maybe you proved yourself to her as good as ya could. Maybe she screwed up by not trusting you, and maybe ya can fully blame her for that. But, answer me this, can you forgive the woman you love her blunders?”

“Of course I can!” said Azazel, jumping to his feet.

Ember threw up her hands. “Then just do it already! Stop moping about it and step up to finish the matter, damn it!”

Azazel laughed, reached out, and ruffled Ember’s hair. “How did a girl so young get to be so wise?”

Ember shrugged. “When you run away from a home where your Dad’s a drunken ass you grow up quick.”

Azazel’s heart sunk. “I promise I won’t drink so much anymore.”

Ember smiled. “If it means so much to you, I promise ta quit smokin’.”