The queen's mandate carried a powerful compulsion, and the clamor of numerous conversations steadily arose. Azora burned to protest but held her tongue. The queen would not forgive a guardian challenging decisions in public. Lucinda handed a bottle of vintage blood wine to the swordmaiden and left to let her nurse her sorrows alone.

* * * *

Jacobin sipped his beer. "Wow, this is depressing. Our fearless leader's forming a rain cloud."

Cronk scowled. "Let it be."

The two were playing a round of poker with a deck the archer had procured from gods-only-knew-where. Cronk was dealing in between bites of a mutated turkey leg as thick as his thigh. They had conned one of the damned into joining them, a seedy individual puffing on a toke, almost certainly in a conspiracy to rob the dead man blind.

The archer caught sight of the sorceress as she walked past, and, thinking fast, jabbed his friend beneath the table. It was supposed to be a stealthy warning but turned into a metallic CLANG! The golem jumped and the cards went airborne, landing impressively amongst the soup and other dishes.

"What was that for?" the golem snapped.

Wincing, the archer signaled for the golem to turn around.

"Oh." Cronk choked.

Trying to salvage the situation, Jacobin waved. "Hey, Lucy. You want in on this? We've got room for another player."

"Ahem. A tempting offer, but no, thank you."

The sorceress hurried along. Cronk and Jacobin were of a decent sort, if slightly clumsy, but she already had different company in mind. She reaffirmed that the tall, sophisticated silhouette of that man hadn't moved an inch, cheering herself on mentally. A rare opportunity like this couldn't be missed.

Tapping on a shoulder, she smiled politely at the toothless octogenarian who scrutinized her in complete befuddlement.

"What? What is it?"

"Excuse me, Sir. Would you mind trading places with me?"

The old man blinked uncomprehendingly. "What?"

Lucinda patiently repeated herself. "Excuse me, Sir. Would you mind—"

"What? Speak louder, girl. I can't hear a word you're saying!"

"I said! Excuse me, Sir! Would you mind! Trading! Places! With me!" Lucinda shouted. Mia, Lia, Tia, and Ria, who were gossiping across from the old man, broke into a fit of giggles.

"Ohoh." Picking the wax out of his ear, the old man nodded sagely. "Well, I suppose it's time for my afternoon nap."

Plodding slower than a tortoise, he retrieved his walking stick. Lucinda thanked him and sat, mortified. Courage eviscerated, the flirtatious phrases she had practiced in front of the mirror stuck in her throat. In the end, she managed a simple greeting.

"Good evening, Relius."

The assassin tipped his glass coolly. "Lucinda."

He resumed brooding, and that was that. Returning wasn't an option, so Lucinda pulled out her grimoire and pretended to occupy herself while listening to the maids in a desperate attempt to distract from her own cowardice.

"Lucky bitch."

"Yeah."

"Why does she get to hog the best ones?"

"It's so unfair..."

"We're her clones. They shouldn't be able to tell us apart!"

"It's her name, isn't it?"

The girls stopped to consider this. There did indeed seem to be a superior quality about the name Sophia.

"Probably."

"It's so unfair..."

"I'd get all the attention, too, if I had a name like that! Tch."

Fortunately, the musicians began to play, saving Lucinda from having to listen to any more of the girls' petty squabbles. Each musician had reached the peak of their craft in life, the result of a demonic bargain, and the queen let them retain their skills with the caveat that they entertain the court. For this occasion, they played an assortment of popular ballads and romance songs.

Couples stood to dance. A festive atmosphere emanated, bringing joy to almost everyone. Out of the corner of her eyes, Lucinda watched as an armored figure stalked out of the throne room.

* * * *

Sitting on the steps outside the castle, Azora swigged from her bottle as she gazed at the stars. She couldn't stomach the callous celebration indoors. She was still in mourning.

So what if they had tried every conceivable course of action? So what if her insistence had leeched the lives of her brothers and sisters in arms? A stubborn, selfish part of the swordmaiden wanted to exhort the other guardians to keep trying even if it led to their undoing. She fought that urge down.

They'd never understand. They were created by the masters, too, and served with dedication, but their love was for one another while hers was split in favor of the one who had nurtured her. He who had rescued her, a slave, from the barbaric world of men and raised her up into an indomitable warrior. He who had kept her at His side constantly, the sole proprietor of His affection, indulging her childish whims and ensuring she never wanted for anything. He who had done more for her than her fleshly sire ever had. The only one who could possibly sympathize was Bart, and, well, he didn't count.

Ironically, that ignorance now worked in the other guardians' favor, for all the time in the Inferno couldn't alleviate the pain caused by His loss.

Deep in thought, the swordmaiden didn't hear the quiet footsteps approaching until the hunchback stood mere inches away. Frowning, Azora set the empty bottle down and glared.

"What is it, Gretchen?"

"I, I'm really hungry. I was thinking... Since the queen said—"

"You know the rules."

"But i-it's supposed to be a new era."

Emotionally exhausted and unwilling to resurrect an old argument, Azora switched the topic. "Have you seen Bart?"

The hunchback slumped in disappointment, and the voice coming through its mask became even more muffled. "He's in the workshop."

The swordmaiden shook her head. "Of course he is."

A desire to see the boy sprouted. At the very least, he was bound to be tinkering with something interesting. She jogged down the steps, leaving Gretchen behind. The wind whistled around her as she urged her body to go faster, the burn in her muscles a needed diversion. She had always found exercise cathartic.