On our way to the Myriad, I give Dante a primer on the city’s major factions.

“The Myriad are the guys we’re heading to now, led by Esha, and it probably wouldn’t be inaccurate to call them religious, but I think spiritual might give you a better picture. Spirits are a thing in this setting, and they can embody different culturally-held concepts. In this case, the Myriad are closely tied to the spirit of the city itself, which is distinctly different from the Beast, to my knowledge.”

I glance to Cheshire for confirmation and she nods, saying, “Spirits are inherently tied to groups of people, and this spirit represents the people of this city. It’s a separate existence from the Beast that created this city, and it likely opposes the death game that the Beast has called, since that disrupts the harmony of the city.”

Dante considers that. “So, how religious are they, actually? Are we walking into a convent or a monastery or something?”

I wiggle a hand. “They call it a community center, but it definitely looks like a temple, and their leader is a priestess, but their organization is explicitly open to the irreligious. It’s an odd thing.”

“Huh. Alright. What about the others?”

I crack my knuckles and grin. “Well, the group that we’re most likely to butt heads with is going to be King’s Carnival. The’re a bunch of hunters led by a crazy asshole fae, our fellow keyholder Averrich. You may have seen him during the announcements, and noticed that his patron was one of the cheaters. He was given forewarning so he could try and kill as many of the competitors as possible on day one.”

“Right, yeah, I forgot about that.” Dante pauses. “Wait, wasn’t the other ‘cheater’ the one who chose you?”

I grimace. “Yes, and that’s a long story, but the short of it is that I’ve never met that fucker and I hope I never do. He did not give me forewarning, just used a pawn of his to push me into the path of Averrich. I’m lucky to have survived my encounter with that man.”

Dante looks uneasy. “You really have had a rough go of it.”

I wave a hand dismissively. “Irrelevant. There are two more factions to be aware of: the Voidhearts and the Guild. The latter hasn’t come up much yet, so all I know about them is that they specialize in making magic items. The former group is responsible for a great deal of strife in this city. The Voidhearts are led by Vaylin, a demon, and her hunger for power is what pushed the rest of the city into a cycle of escalating conflict.”

“How so?” he asks.

I hum to myself. I could give him a simple answer, but that’s really not my style. “Are you familiar with the Red Queen’s race?”

He shakes his head. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“It’s from Through the Looking-Glass, the sequel to Alice in Wonderland. In that book, little Alice meets the Red Queen and runs with her. She runs as fast as she can, but it takes all her speed just to stay stuck in the very same place. She’s running and running and going nowhere.”

And, I suddenly remember, her goal in that book is to cross the chessboard and become queen. Fuck me running, is that why the Beast made that reference?

Dante frowns. “So… it’s pointless?”

I set possible revelations aside and give Dante a grin. “Ah, but see, if she stopped running, then she wouldn’t be able to keep up with the Red Queen. And that is why people love to use it as an example. Take evolution: in a given ecosystem, organisms are constantly adapting to become better at both eating and not being eaten, and so every evolutionary advantage in one species is matched by an adaptation in another, and the overall fitness of the system remains at a stable level. Constant adaptation, but no permanent progress. They’re running and running and going nowhere, but if they stop running they’ll starve or get eaten.

“If you take that logic and apply it to international politics, you get something called the security dilemma. Every state is motivated to increase its own security, but doing so represents a potential threat to all other states, prompting them to increase their own security. When the power to the east starts equipping its soldiers with newer, better guns, you cough up the funds to purchase your own such firearms, even if those funds have to come from conquering a weaker state. The states that don’t play the game, that refuse to take part in the arms race, become those easy targets. So everybody has to run, and keep running, even though nobody is getting any safer.”

Dante absorbs all that and takes a moment to chew on it, brow furrowed in thought. “Okay, I think I maybe understand what you’re talking about. So, how does this tie to the demon you mentioned?”

“As it was told to me,” I say, “Vaylin swept into town, rounded up every little gang or group, and gave each of them a choice: serve or die. She never stopped recruiting, never stopped growing her faction, and that’s forced the other factions to step up their own recruitment efforts lest they become easy prey for Vaylin.”

“Why don’t they just work together? Isn’t that what we’re trying to do?”

I shrug. “In theory, yeah. But it’s not that easy in practice. How many concessions are you really willing to make to a supposed ally when you could just take what you want instead? That answer’s going to be different for different groups and different leaders. In this situation… it would seem that Averrich and the Machinist–that’s the Guild’s leader–chose to prioritize their own survival over the alliance they once held with Esha and the Myriad.”

“And that’s why you think this summit won’t work,” Dante guesses.

“Among other reasons.”

We finally arrive at the wide open square that houses the Myriad’s headquarters. This is Dante’s first time seeing it, so he looks pretty impressed, and I have to admit the structure is impressive. Esha insists that her stronghold should be framed as a community center, not a temple, but I think that Bashe was right to call it a shrine.

The temple is a vast structure of ornate architecture and decorative statuary all carved from marble and basalt. The building itself is a work of art, but it pales before the massive tree growing out of it. The trunk is tall and thick, and its branches spread to create a great canopy that casts the whole area in shadow–or what passes for shadow in the Labyrinth. The leaves of the tree are a strange mix of vibrant summer greens and crisp autumn reds, like the tree exists in both seasons at once.

Standing out front are two familiar faces: the jackal-headed guards who were wary of me when I showed up unannounced asking for medical attention. This time they give me a nod, clearly recognizing and expecting me, and they usher us inside with a calm, “The priestess is waiting inside.”

Okay, showtime. Let’s try not to fuck this up.

The last time I was here, I shaped a persona around artificial Truths: curiosity, gratitude, and fear. I see no reason to abandon that groundwork, so I focus on how I can interpret my current feelings along those lines.

I am curious about the Game of Glass, but I am fearful of my competitors. I am curious about the shard, but I am fearful of what it would do to me, and I would be grateful to pass it to someone who can do good with it. I am curious what Esha would do with the shard. I am afraid of the Beast of Lamentation and Euphoria, and anything her hands have touched.

And hey, most of that isn’t even a lie.

Dante marvels at the shrine’s interior while I plot and scheme, and soon after entering we are approached by an attendant who offers to take us directly to Esha. We accept, of course, and are led through the halls.

I was expecting to be led to that central chamber with the glowing pool beneath roots, the room with all the murals, but instead we’re led away and deeper into the temple. The attendant takes us to an open air courtyard that has a nice garden quality to it, the kind of thing you’d see inside a monastery. There are flowers and vegetables in little patches, a tree in each corner, a few benches along the edges, and a fountain in the center. Clean flagstones line the space between patches of rich soil, and the great tree above casts its not-quite-shadow over the whole space.

Esha stands by the fountain, looking the same as ever, and she’s accompanied by her bodyguard, Achaia, who’s still wearing that outlandish power armor. There’s one other figure with them, a person I wasn’t expecting to see and am quite nervous to see: Bashekehi, the imp of Indulgence that I spent my first two days in the Labyrinth bickering with.

They make a fascinatingly mismatched trio: Esha in her plain robes and water globe staff looking perfectly at home in a classical fantasy setting, Achaia in power armor straight out of science fiction, and Bashe in a fancy blue coat but marked by ram’s horns and barbed tail as someone of fiendish nature.

I freeze for a moment when I see them. Bashe and I didn’t leave on the best of terms to begin with, and that was before I sold him out to save my own skin. At least King’s Carnival didn’t track him down, I guess? If that’s the case, he probably doesn’t even know what I did.

He still won’t be happy to see me, and I can hardly blame him, given what fresh hell our two days together were. Except, actually, I can totally blame him, because I saved his ass from eternal imprisonment inside a rock tomb.

The incubus and the priestess are having a friendly conversation when we walk in, but they both pause as I arrive with Dante and Cheshire at my side. Bashe’s expression turns carefully neutral when he sees me, which I return with a quiet nod. Then his gaze flits over Cheshire, becoming briefly annoyed, and over Dante, and after a second of confusion his eyes widen in recognition.

Esha is first to speak, cheerful in that annoyingly peaceful way of hers. “Ah, Maven, it’s so good to see you. I am most grateful that you accepted my invitation.”

I give a friendly wave and a nervous laugh. “Ha, well, how could I say no? I was actually thinking of visiting anyway so we could talk things out and come to some kind of understanding that didn’t evolve trying to kill each other. But, ah, we can get to that later. Did anyone else agree to come?”

Esha nods. “Yes, to my relief. Both Averrich and the Machinist have agreed to send representatives while grace is still in effect. They should be along some time in the next few hours, and then we can–wait, is that the seventh candidate?” Esha turns toward Dante in disbelief, finally registering what Bashe picked up on; the clothing may be different, but that’s definitely the face of the final keyholder.

Dante waves awkwardly. “Hello, Dante here. I, uh, I’m really just following Alice’s lead here. It’s nice to meet you though!”

Esha, still baffled, manages to get out a quick, “Ah, yes, the pleasure is mine,” before turning back to me. “How did you–I mean, it’s not even been half a day, how could you possible have found him in that time and convinced him to come here? He’s the Beast’s own selection, Maven.”

“That’s actually not as long a story as you might think. I was in the right place at the right time, and after that it was just a matter of polite discussion.”

Bashe raises an eyebrow at me and I resist the urge to stick my tongue out. We must be polite in front of the priestess and the boy with the wish-granting sword.

“Anyway,” I continue, “what’s important is that Mr. Reyes here is very willing to join this summit of yours, Esha, and I think he could be a valuable asset in making sure that certain entities like Averrich and Vaylin don’t get their hands on the grand prize. We’re in agreement that the shard cannot go to someone who would misuse it, and those two certainly qualify.”

Dante nods. “I’m still really new here, so apologies in advance if I seem clueless about anything, but I know this ‘Game of Glass’ is important. I don’t know the people of this city, but I know that nobody deserves to be oppressed by a cruel tyrant. Alice tells me that you’re not like that, and I believe her. So, count me in.”

Both Esha and Achaia are giving me surprised, almost impressed looks. Bashe’s expression is still closer to disbelief and skepticism, like he can’t believe I actually won this guy over with my personality alone. Screw you, buddy, I can be perfectly charming when I put my back into it.

Still, we should loop Bashe in before he puts the pieces together on his own. It’s annoying that he knows our origin, but that means we have to extend a level of trust to him. Better he learns from us than figures it out independently and acts on that.

“I have a lot I wanted to talk about with you, Esha, but could I pull Bashe aside for a moment before we have that conversation?”

Esha nods. “Of course.”

Bashe folds his arms, but slowly nods. “What is this about?”

I take him aside and lower my voice. “Hey, uh, we can talk after this, because I’m sure there’s stuff we should catch up about, but I need a favor. It’s about the kid.”

Bashe is immediately suspicious. “Who is he, really?”

“You’re not gonna like this,” I warn.

“I absolutely believe. Who is he, and how did you win his trust in, what, two hours? Three?”

I take a deep breath, preparing myself for his reaction, and then I say in an even softer tone, “Dante Reyes… is from the Zero Sphere. He is also a witch. Like me.”

I can almost feel the pain radiating from Bashekehi right now. A choked noise escapes his throat, but he says nothing.

I barrel on before he can find his voice and interjet. “So, listen: I need you to keep him out of trouble, at least until I’ve filled in Esha on everything that’s happened in the past day. This is important, and you and Cheshire are the only ones I can trust to keep Dante from sounding crazy to everyone else.”

He groans and puts his forehead in his hands, obviously still distressed. He wipes his hands down his face, sighs deeply, and says, “You are such a pain in my ass. Do you know that? Do you understand the pain you cause me?”

“I am extremely aware. But for once, this isn’t about me; Dante’s a good man, and I don’t want him to go through the experience that I had when I was adjusting to this strange new world. Please, Bashe: help him. It’s the right thing to do.”

Hopefully that’s not pushing it too hard. I’m trying to play on Bashe’s precious morals, those rules his past self etched into his soul before he was transformed from human to imp. Manipulating his more hedonistic desires as an incubus has proven largely ineffective, but his conscience is something that he struggles to deny.

And, as predicted, he takes the bait. I see it play out on his face for a few moments before resignation settles in. He sighs again, but nods. “Fine, I’ll do what I can.”

“Thank you. Seriously.”

We return to Dante and I quickly fill him in. “Dante, meet Bashekehi the Ever-Gleaming, an acquaintance of mine. He can help get you up to speed on life here in the Labyrinth and Sanctuary 7 in particular. Cheshire, do you want to go with them?”

Cheshire opens her mouth to answer, but Bashe interrupts before she can. “No, veto, the geist can stay with you.” Cheshire glares at him, and Dante looks between the two of them with confusion and uncertainty.

I bite back my annoyance. Really gonna be like that, huh? Argh. I do not trust you alone with him. I mean, I fully believe you’ll give him some useful information about the Labyrinth, but I also think you’ll tell him about changelings or warn him away from me, which I do not want. Damn it.

The issue is that I have things I need to talk to Esha about that I don’t want to talk about in front of Dante, even if it might be inevitable that he hears about them. It would also genuinely be more efficient to have him get some of his orientation to the Labyrinth from Bashe instead of me, and if Dante makes a good impression on Bashe then he might be able to advocate for me to the incubus.

Bah, whatever. Dante has no reason to believe Bashe over me, and Bashe has no reason to sabotage me if he thinks there’s a chance I’m being genuine about my desire to work with Esha. I’m not lying about my intent, either, so if he does act against me he’ll just come off as paranoid. He probably can’t ruin my plans. Probably.

“Fine. Have fun.”

The incubus leads Dante off and away, leaving me in the courtyard with Esha, her bodyguard, and my geist.

“So,” I begin. “You probably have questions.”

“A few.” Esha is quiet for a moment, leaning on her staff with a pensive expression. “You have proven surprisingly central to recent events, Maven Alice. I admit, when I first heard about you and saw you with my own eyes, I took you for a wayward soul and little more. But… that’s not the whole story, is it? Please, tell me honestly: did you know the Game of Glass was imminent when we first spoke?”

I shake my head emphatically. “Not at all. I did know about it before most of the candidates, but only by about half a day. I learned about the Game of Glass thanks to an encounter with Averrich and his people.”

The priestess frowns. “This was a different encounter from the one that first brought you to us, then.”

“That’s correct.” I relay the broad strokes of my run in with Kado and the owlbear, the sleep spell, waking up in the Carnival’s lair, and being brought before the Goblin King himself. “He questioned me about the scent of a second fae on me, and I was forced to tell him about my encounter with another Rider on my first day here in the Labyrinth. Averrich seemed to think that the fae I met then was acting on orders from one of the Nobles, and in musing the implications of that he revealed that he was in contact with another of the Nobles.”

“Invernus and Kasumi,” Esha murmurs.

I nod. “Averrich’s guess, which we can probably take for truth now, was that I was being scouted by Invernus as a pick for the Game of Glass. He’d clearly been warned about the event by Kasumi, and he was preparing to take measures against prospective opponents. I have a tracking spell active on him, and this morning before the announcement I saw him moving through the city.”

Esha’s face turns grim, but it’s Achaia who speaks up, equally tense. “Of late, Averrich only leaves his sanctum when he’s hunting. If that’s what you say, then you’re right; he wanted to start the killing as soon as the bell was rung.”

“Given the nature of the contest, I don’t think it was in his interest to kill me then and there inside his stronghold; he wouldn’t get my key fragment that way. So he used me to cull some of his own followers, sending the stupid and the ambitious to chase me through a maze full of Celebrants. He sent one trusted lieutenant to secure the kill if I proved too weak to escape, but it’s possible even she was just a sacrifice to strengthen me into worthy prey for his hunt today.”

Achaia’s lip curls. “I see the bastard has only grown more distasteful with time.”

Cheshire laughs lightly. “Are fae ever tasteful? He was rotten from the Fall.”

Esha gives me a sympathetic expression. “I’m glad you made it out alive. I have heard tales of Averrich’s pet maze, and you were lucky to survive.”

I shake my head. “Luck had nothing to do with it, beginning to end. I used [Find the Path] to find my way out, and I bargained that spell from the fae that Averrich suspected of working for Invernus. I asked it to lead me to something that would be useful in defeating Averrich, and the spell showed me a path out of the maze and toward Dante.”

Achaia whistles. “Potent spell.”

Esha says, “So it led you to the seventh candidate… most intriguing. But, if that’s what you asked for, does that mean you intend to face Averrich directly?”

“If I can.” I breathe out, remembering the sense of power I felt from him. “If I have to, which I think I will. If not for grace, he’d already be hunting me down. His plan was to slaughter as many competitors as he could before any of the rest of us had gotten our bearings, and now that he’s been outed, he’ll have to adapt. He’s clearly willing to kill for the shard, and for that reason and personal animosity I don’t think he’ll stop until I’m dead. And, honestly?” I put a bit of fire in my voice. “I feel the same way. He put me through a nightmare, and I know I’m not the first to suffer through his maze. He cannot be allowed to claim the Beast’s animus.”

The priestess slowly nods. “Thought I regret that it has come to this, I agree. I still hold an ember of hope that we can settle things peaceably, due to our history, but I am prepared for his demise to become necessary. He would do terrible things with that shard in his hands.”

“So would Vaylin,” Achaia adds gruffly. “The necromancer, Ulchen, too. The shard going to any of the three of them would spell certain disaster for everything we’ve built here.

“On that matter,” I cut in, “I would like to personally assure you that I have no interest in claiming the Beast’s shard for myself. I want to keep it out of the hands of those who would use it for harmful purposes, but I have no plans of becoming a Noble myself.”

Esha seems pensive at that, but it’s Achaia who speaks up first. “Why?” the bodyguard asks.

I curl my lip. “I have a distaste for the Beast that it belongs to. I’ve seen her idea of paradise and it disgusts me.” I hesitate, unsure how much is safe to say. I don’t want to tell them about my encounter with the Beast; they wouldn’t understand half of it anyway, but I really don’t want anyone to know that the Beast has a personal interest in me. “Cheshire tells me that the relationship between Noble and Beast is much like the relationship between demon and geist, and I don’t want that thing in my head.”

Cheshire gives me a faint smile, which I return.

“Mm.” Esha is soft-spoken. “I can understand dislike for the Beast of Lamentation and Euphoria. She truly is a monstrous creature. But I must admit that your words do not put me at ease as I think you may have been hoping.”

“I’ll swear it on the Weaver, if you want me to,” I quickly respond. “I really don’t want the shard.”

She shakes her head. “You misunderstand me. It’s not that I don’t believe you, Maven, it’s that I was hoping for you to feel the opposite. I was hoping, if we could come to an agreement, that you would be the one to claim it.

Wait, what? “Wait, what?” I am so confused right now. “You wanted me to take it? But, wouldn’t you want it for yourself? So that you could make sure the city is taken care of properly? You want me to take it?” I have no idea what’s going on right now, I have been thrown for several loops. This lady met me, what, literally yesterday? Why the hell does she want me in charge of her city?

Beside me, Cheshire narrows her eyes. “If not you, why Alice?”

Esha watches the changeling carefully, leaning in slightly. “Bashekehi called you her geist. Is that true?”

Cheshire crosses her arms. “What of it?” Okay, the animosity here is really not helping the situation. I nudge Cheshire and give her a warning look, which gets her to sigh and uncross her arms. “Yes, I’m her geist. My purpose in life is to help Maven Alice survive, attain her desires, and reach her full potential.”

“I see, thank you. Then, may I ask: have you told her what it takes to become an archdemon?” Esha turns her blindfolded gaze back on me. “Do you know what that path entails?”

I hesitate. Is this something that I should know? She wouldn’t be asking if it was public knowledge, right? I spare a glance at Cheshire, and her expression is tense. Shit. I don’t think I can get away with lying here… and I have been kind of curious about this myself. “Not entirely,” I tell Esha. “I know it involves a great deal of violence and death, but that’s all.”

She nods. “It’s not surprising that you would lack specifics, as those details are known by only a select few, but it is disappointing that your geist has not yet informed you.”

“We haven’t exactly had a lot of time for that,” Cheshire protests. “Immediate concerns take priority over long-term goals, and that is a very long-term kind of goal.”

“Nevertheless,” the priestess says with an edge to her voice, “I think it is time that Ms. Alice learned the truth. The specific details of the process of demonic ascension are often suppressed even on the worlds where they occur, as the events are so horrific that most would rather live in ignorance. Even the imps of archdemons are only made aware of the nature of their own progenitor’s ascension. But, through my pact with the Sanctuary’s eidolon, I have been granted knowledge that I may share with you.”

Esha takes a step away from me and lifts her staff. “[Recollection of the Myriad]: show me Wonder and Malice.”

When Esha used this spell before, she called light from the pool beneath the roots and shaped that light into color images of Vaylin, Averrich, and the Machinist. They appeared first as motes of light, then gained color and definition, and when the process finished they appeared perfectly lifelike. This time, something is different about the process.

The globe of water within the head of her staff glows bright, as does the water in the courtyard fountain, and light flows from both, but instead of flowing upward it flows downward. Wherever the light touches the ground it inverses, becoming darkness, and then that darkness spreads across the ground like dense fog. Unnatural darkness takes the whole courtyard, then divides into two halves, creating a thin channel between where the four of us stand.

In the half of the courtyard to my left, the shadows give way and form a circular area with high walls, almost like an arena, though open to our viewing. Within the arena I see a figure made of shadow with childlike stature and proportion. The child figure has wide eyes of bright white light and shadowy hair that flows like its submerged in a river. The figure’s form is indistinct, shifting and wavering, but looks to be wearing some kind of frilly dress.

In one hand, she holds a pitcher of water that spills over without end, white light soaking into black sand. In her other hand, she wields a farmer’s scythe that cuts through the neck of second, less distinct figure kneeling in the sand. Behind that second figure is a third, a fourth, more, repeating forever like the inside of an infinity mirror, all with a gap between head and body like parted clouds.

The other half of the courtyard is a hellish sight: red light burns within black fog that writhes with twisting images of fire and ruin, screaming faces and grasping hands, and a sea of fresh blood. It is carnage incarnate, the site of a hundred massacres, and rising from that atrocity, surrounded by numberless corpses, is a creature that truly embodies the word “demon.”

The demonic figure is a juxtaposition between exaggerated femininity and saurian ferocity: her curves are shapely and accentuated, but her limbs are spiked like a horned lizard and her four arms end in wicked claws, her legs in cloven hooves, a spiked tail curling around one leg, and bladed wings spread wide behind her. Two arms caress her body lewdly, while the other two wield weapons: in one an intricate flanged mace, in the other a broken greatsword. Her eyes burn baleful red beneath a crown of jagged horns, and her mouth forms a rapturous red smile.

“Behold, Pandaemonium’s greatest exception and greatest murderer, side by side.”

“I think I can guess who’s who,” I say, my eyes not leaving the form of Malice.

“The path to ascension is always difficult,” Esha begins, “but it is worst for demons. Wizards and exalted alike have ascended in scores, when you add up all the worlds of Pandaemonium, but there have only ever been ten successful ascensions by demons.”

Wait, ten? I thought there were only eight archdemons?

“For a wizard, time is key. For one of the exalted, it is a matter of character and opportunity. In both cases, the path is widely known; wizards prove their worth to dragons, and exalted amass a worthy legend. But all that is known of demons is that they rise through violence. The exact scope of that violence is far greater than anyone assumes.”

Cheshire swallows, and she won’t meet my gaze when I look over at her. What the hell am I about to hear? I mean, Bashe mentioned killing thousands, and that’s pretty bad, but… is it bad enough to evoke this reaction?

Esha continues, “The truth is this: for a demon to become an archdemon, the path is massacre. A demon grows through the consumption of souls, and a great many souls are needed to claim the Throne of Shadow. To acquire the right kind of souls and in the right number, there are two methods, and of those methods the first has been performed only once in recorded history.”

She gestures to the child with the scythe and pitcher. “The first rite of ascension is to devour one hundred souls through one hundred separate throne duels, all with worthy and resonant opponents. This method has been attempted by many, but only one has ever succeeded: Wonder, the archdemon presiding over innocent curiosity, who is also called the Reaper of Memory. Her unique qualities as a demon allowed her to achieve this feat, but it has never been replicated and many believe that it never can.”

One hundred duels. That’s a tricky number, for sure. I mean, I’ve already got one under my belt, but ninety-nine more? It’s a daunting task… but it seems far from impossible, so why does she think otherwise? And more importantly, what’s the other shoe she’s about to drop?

Esha breathes deep, and then she gestures at the other half of the courtyard, to the bestial woman with the lascivious grin. “The second method, which is far more brutal but far easier to accomplish, is to kill some tens of thousands of people within a limited timeframe and consume their gathered souls. This is what we know as a mass harvest event.”

I stiffen. “That’s… that’s a lot. Tens of thousands?”

“On the low end.” A bit of bite slips through, but she quickly recovers her composure. “It’s not as simple as just committing mass murder, of course; it must be a massacre that is resonant to a demon’s Truths. Indulgence drove a city to kill themselves in a violent orgy. Acuity engineered a clash of great armies where both sides were forced to fight to the bitter end.”

Cheshire murmurs, “Glory forced thousands to kill each other for a worthless crown. Muse spread a plague of dreams that made people destroy their bodies as a form of art. I don’t know the specifics for Nemesis, though I can make a guess, and I know nothing about Contrition’s harvest.”

I have all their names, now: Wonder, Indulgence, Acuity, Glory, Muse, Nemesis, Contrition, and Malice. Eight archdemons, mass murderers one and all. Though, maybe it’s ten?

As if in answer to my unspoken thought, Esha tightens her hands around her staff and says, “The demons who became the Wolf Queen and Lich Queen, forging two new Thrones, sacrificed their entire world to accomplish that act. Millions dead, though their world was ultimately small and they filled their courts with survivors. They burned a world, and still they are not the worst monsters to taint Pandaemonium, because the greatest of atrocities belongs to her.”

Esha points at the curvaceous, leering, four-armed demon surrounded by corpses and blood. “There is one monster in all of Pandaemonium that deserves the title of Prime Evil: Malice, the archdemon who presides over transgressive violence and whose three Truths are Odium, Anathema, and Sin. Murder is the essence of her being, and so she required no great scheming or manipulations to perform her harvest; she simply murdered one hundred million people in a single night. When dusk fell, an empire stood. When dawn broke, only blood and ash remained.”

One hundred million people. One hundred million souls. “Gods…” I choke out. I stare at the monster shaped from shadow, with red eyes and red smile, looking for all the world like she’s getting off to the slaughter. The enormity of that act immediately eclipses all my surprise and curiosity at the revelation about the faerie queens. There is someone in this universe who murdered one hundred million people, and she’s still out there, somewhere, probably killing more. Does she enjoy it? There can be no question. She was smiling when she butchered those people. Laughing. Lustful. The highest, purest, greatest avatar of murder incarnate.

Is that what I’m trying to become?

Esha’s voice turns gentle, and she banishes the visions of Wonder and Malice. “Maven… I believe that everyone has good in them. I believe that you have a good heart. There are some who think that demons should be put down wherever they are found, because the risk they pose is too high to ignore. I disagree.”

How? How can you disagree with that? My hands are shaking. One hundred million people. How can you not learn that and put every demon to the sword? How can you talk to one, breathe the same air as one, without being utterly fucking disgusted? One hundred million people, and I was going to call myself by her name. “Why?” I ask dully. “Why take the risk?”

Esha frowns, and she seems to consider her words carefully. “I know that the path of a demon is a corrupting path, and it ends in a terrible, terrible place. But corruption seeks noble hearts, and I believe that you have a good heart inside you. I have heard tales of demons who strayed from the dark path and strived to reclaim their humanity. I do not know exactly how geists choose their demons, but I know they often choose the most vulnerable, and those people should be seen as victims, not monsters.”

Victim. Vulnerable. I hate those words, but are they wrong? I look at Cheshire again, and still she can’t meet my gaze.

“If you take the shard, Maven, you will cease to be a demon. You will leave that dark path for a better one. I believe it would be best for you, and it may be the only way to save your soul.”

Ha. Now that’s one I’ve heard before. Save my soul? That’s rich.

When I was little and my father dragged me to church, was that to save my soul? Or was it some desperate attempt to cling to his dead wife and her last wishes? Plenty of religious types back home will go on about saving your soul, and they’ll say it for absolutely everything.

If you’re gay, if you’re trans, if you’re mentally ill, if you have sex before marriage, if you have an abortion, if you pray to the wrong god, if you pray to no gods, if you live your life in any way that doesn’t fit into a tiny little box, then you need to be “saved.” Well, I don’t need salvation, and I don’t want it.

I’ve met God, and she hates me.

But, I’m not so arrogant to ignore the context here; I do still have my fears about Cheshire, and Esha is playing into them. I hate the idea of being made stagnant by the Beast and her glass shard, but do I hate it so much that I’d kill millions? That’s a terrifying thought.

Of course, maybe she’s lying. I guess that would be the easiest thing, right? Maybe this is all a trick, and I don’t have to worry about it. Maybe.

I open my soul sight, and I peer into Esha’s soul. The world becomes black and white, lines on paper, a realm of jagged ink, and the woman in front of me glows bright. Esha’s true self appears like a marble statue, perfectly carved, unmoving, hands clasped in prayer, robed and hooded. Her porcelain mask is smiling and simple, with bright gold eyes that crinkle at the corners, unlike her blindfolded physical self.

And, all across her soul, she is covered in white and black lines that hurt to look at it, too bright and too dark, pulsating like tumorous growths. The white lines are just like what I saw in Averrich, those lines of splintering lightning that burn white-hot and joyous, but the black lines are a complete opposite; they swallow light and possess infinite depth, and when I look into them they burn cold and lethargic, grasping at me like tendrils from the deep, like hands pulling me down into an open grave.

If the white lines represent euphoria, then the black lines must represent lamentation, which is the other half of the Beast. And Esha is infected with both.

For a moment I panic, but I stop myself. Something is off about this; Averrich’s lines spread like veins, like lightning, like cracks in glass, but Esha’s lines aren’t exactly like that. Esha’s lines are neat, orderly, and criss-crossing in clear patterns. Her mable soul has been divided into clear segments by overlapping black and white lines, and no region is wholly dominated by one shade or the other.

I peer deeper, past the surface, and I find that the lines go only surface deep. Inside, her core is pure and sincere, and I’m assaulted by a disorienting degree of love for all living beings. Is this really what’s at the heart of her? Can someone be this much of a goody two shoes?

I retreat from her soul and blink my vision away. I don’t want to make of that first revelation, but the second… she’s not lying about demons, I can tell that much.

But before I can say anything, before I can respond to Esha’s last statement, Cheshire steps forward, whole body tense, teeth gritted.

“Are you truly so ready to sacrifice the girl she is for fear of what she might become? You, Esha, more than anyone in this city, understand what it means to feel the touch of that horrid Beast. You’ve seen what the other Nobles became as a result of their pacts. You can’t honestly tell me you think you’re saving her by consigning her to that fate.”

Esha flinches, and I remember the guilt on her face when I mentioned the Mourner to her, and suddenly things start to click. A pact. You’ve made a pact with the Beast, haven’t you? Somehow, some of what’s wrong in this city is your fault, and you feel guilty about that.

Still, Esha wipes that aside and says firmly, “I truly believe that Nobility would be preferable to becoming a mass murderer. I think Maven would find it much easier to not hate herself if she became the former than the latter.”

Cheshire breathes the tension out of her body, and she meets Esha’s gaze solidly. “I think that’s a false dichotomy. I think she can do what Wonder did, and meet the alternate condition for ascension. I believe in Maven Alice, and I will help her become an archdemon in that better, harder way, because I think that’s truly what would be best for her.”

Esha frowns, but it’s a pensive frown, like she’s not sure if she should actually believe that. Achaia is more obviously disbelieving, but stays silent and doesn’t interfere.

I clear my throat, getting everyone’s attention. “I think that, no matter what, it’s not a decision to be made immediately. Our priority is still Averrich, Vaylin, and this summit, yes?”

Esha nods. “Yes, of course.”

“Then, let’s worry about who gets the shard after we have the key to claim it with. For now… thank you for the information. I think that I should find Bashekehi and speak with him. We left matters… unresolved.”

“As you wish. Please, do consider what I’ve said. And I apologize if any of it was difficult to hear.”

“It was necessary,” I say dismissively. “Send someone to find me when the others arrive.”

“Of course. And, please, I would be very happy to meet this Dante Reyes before we begin the summit.”

“Can do.”

With that I step away from Esha, Cheshire following along. As soon as we’re beyond the courtyard, back in the halls of the shrine, I pull Cheshire into the nearest empty side room, shut the door, and demand, “When were you going to tell me all that?”

Cheshire winces. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think you needed yet another thing to worry about. Ascension is a very long-term goal, Alice, and it takes a long time just to see what the shape of that ascension might look like.”

I rub my forehead, feeling a headache coming on. “I get that. That does make sense. But… the sheer fucking scale of it, Cheshire. A dozen people, a hundred those are numbers you can see in your mind’s eye. You can put weight and feeling to a dozen deaths, there’s a shooting like that every week in America. Even ten thousand, that’s immense but it’s still possible to picture, like a football stadium getting firebombed. But one hundred million people? One hundred million, killed in a single night? That’s the Mongol Empire at its peak, gone overnight. That’s a higher death toll than the entirety of World War II, condensed into a 12-hour period.”

Cheshire’s voice is soft. “Malice is a monster with no equals, I won’t argue that.”

I laugh, dark and hollow. “I’m so glad I only told two people that my name was Malice. I mean, how the hell does that look? ‘Hi, I’m Ms. Genocide.’ Absurd.”

Cheshire quirks an eyebrow. “How do you feel about your current name still containing a reference to it, M. Alice?”

I rake my hands through my hair. “Fuck, you’re right. Aw man, that sucks. That’s gonna bug me every time I remember it. Ugh.” I lean back against the nearest wall and sigh. “This is what I get for trying to live up to my edgy teen self’s dreams. This universe is so determined to keep me from enjoying things.”

Cheshire leans next to me. “It if helps, I don’t think anyone besides Bashe has noticed.”

“Yeah.” I sigh again. “I’m back to where I was my first day in the city, killing that hunter in the nightclub. I have to ask myself: am I the kind of person that can kill that many people? I know I can kill in self-defense, sure, but that’s easy. Can I kill ten thousand people for the sake of my desires? Am I willing to murder that many people to become a god? And, if not… where’s the line? How many people would make it okay? I’m afraid to know the answer.”

Cheshire pokes my side. “Hey, I wasn’t lying back there. That’s not a choice you need to make, Alice. You don’t need to decide whether you’re willing and able to pull off a mass harvest event, because you have another way to ascend.”

I give her a skeptical look. “A way that, apparently, only one of eight archdemons was able to pull off. Why is that? Why is killing a hundred people harder than killing tens of thousands?”

Cheshire pushes off the wall and starts pacing in front of me, talking animatedly. “It’s all about resonance. See, the trick with eating a soul is that it usually needs to resonate with who you are, who you’re going to become, the challenges you’re facing. If you want to sharpen your self-concept, you need the right whetstone, and those can be hard to find. When you’re just starting out, hey, just about any challenger is going to test something about yourself and help you figure things out, but that happens less and less as you approach your zenith of power. The souls that tie into your identity as a demon just aren’t strong enough to make for good food, and the souls that are strong enough don’t click with your theme.”

I frown. “So how did Wonder do it?”

Cheshire grins. “She cheated. Her signature spells, [Waters of Lethe] and [Tabula Rasa], allowed her to wash a soul down to a blank, newborn existence. Every throne duel fed her, because by the end of each duel her opponent had been completely stripped of memory and personality, and thus made resonant with her core concept of innocent curiosity. Every soul was a resonant soul, because she made them resonant.”

It clicks. “You think I can do the same thing with [Feast or Famine].”

“Exactly! Every soul is food to you, thanks to that spell. You’ll still need a number of throne duels for sharpening your self-concept, but far fewer than a hundred.” Her eyes are practically sparkling and she clasps my hands in hers. “I’m serious, Alice: you can do this. You can become an archdemon, and you can do it faster and cleaner than any demon to come before you. No mass harvest needed.”

I don’t know if I should trust Cheshire, but I want to. I want to become an archdemon, and I want to do it without becoming a complete monster like Malice. So I’ll cling to that spark of hope and use my magic for all it’s worth. “Okay. I’m with you.”

We leave the side room and go in search of Bashe, grabbing help from another attendant. When I find Bashe and Dante, I discover the two of them laughing together like old friends. The hell? Does this kid get along with everyone?

I barge in and wave at Dante. “Things going well?”

He looks over at me and waves back. “Huh? Oh, yeah, Bashe’s great. He’s been a big help in wrapping my head around this weird world, and he has some really funny stories too.”

I have to suppress the scowl that wants to sprout on my face. “Right, well, that’s good to hear. If you think you have a handle on things, the priestess would like to speak with you. Probably a good idea, given what we’re planning.”

Dante nods a few times. “Yeah, makes sense. I can go do that now, if she’s waiting for me.”

“Appreciated. Cheshire, you should go with. I think Bashe would prefer we have this conversation privately.”

Cheshire very pointedly does not give any kind of menacing look at Bashe, but I’m sure she would if Dante wasn’t here to see it. She takes my fellow Earthling and leaves to go find Esha again. And then it’s just me and Bashe.

The silence is tense and awkward, the two of us just sort of standing there, staring at each other, neither willing to make the first move. When Bashe opens his mouth to finally break the silence, I interrupt him.

“You were right,” I say. “About becoming a demon, I mean. I can already feel myself changing. I can feel certain ways of thinking getting easier, more natural. And it’s hard to be scared about that when it feels so good to have this much power. But you were right; one day I’m going to stand at the end of this road, and I won’t recognize who I was at the start.”

I don’t know where the line blurs between truth and lie. I have fears, and desires, and they intermix. I want to change. I’m afraid to change. I want to be a monster. I’m afraid to be a monster. I’m a mess, and becoming an archdemon is supposed to sharpen me into something focused, and there’s a part of me that hates the idea of losing all my chaotic, messy tendencies.

“I love so many of my little imperfections. I love the weird traits that make me who I am. I’m me, and I don’t want to stop being me. I don’t want to die, in whatever form that takes. So…” I take a deep breath and lift up the anatomical heart locket around my neck. “...I made this.”

Bashe frowns. “What is it?”

“It’s an artifact,” I tell him, “that collects the pieces of my soul whenever they’re shorn off. Every time my existence as a demon sharpens my soul into a more perfect form, the imperfections will collect in this locket.”

He stares at it, eyes going wide. “How is that possible? How the hell did you do that? Where did you get that?” He’s looking somewhere between shocked, baffled, and hungry.

Time for the big one. “I’m a witch,” I say flatly. “I’ve been a witch since I entered the Labyrinth, though I didn’t realize until after we parted ways. And my power as a witch is the ability to create artifacts without using Throne magic.”

I taste fear in the air, and I see the faintest trace of it cross his face before being replaced by skepticism. “So you and Cheshire both… but, that locket. It really works?”

I nod, and then I open my soul sight and stare into the locket. I see a beating heart, and I hear its perfect rhythm, and when I look deeper I can swirling red color trapped inside. My soul. I’m looking into a fragment of my soul.

“Look,” I say. “Use your sight and peer into the locket. You’ll see something familiar.”

I end soul sight and watch Bashe focus his gaze on my locket. Slowly, his whole demeanor changes from fear and confusion to fascination and then envy. “You really did it. You really…”

“I listened. I always listen, even if it seems like I’m not. And now I have a way to beat the game.”

He whistles and shakes his head. “You really are something. I admit, I’m envious of you. All my rules can only ever make me just a simulacrum of a human, never the real deal. Bairam Dara is dead, and I’ll never be him again. But you found a way to cheat. Maybe.”

“Maybe? It works. You can see my soul inside it.” And the hum of it, the resonance, tells me that if functions exactly as intended, trapping those fragments and then returning them when I activate the artifact again.

Bashe scratches his chin. “I’m not arguing it doesn’t function, but I’m not sure it’ll work the way you think. If you really do approach Royalty, or even achieve it, and then try to activate that locket… well, there’s no precedent, so I don’t know what’ll happen, but I know basic oneiric theory. To be Royalty is to be living Truth, the embodiment of a pure concept. To suddenly reintroduce humanity after walking toward that pure state could have unforeseen consequences, putting it lightly. You might become some new kind of Royalty entirely, or you might rip in half from the stress on your soul.”

I grit my teeth and almost snarl at him, so infuriated by his comments. I speak with scorn as I tell him, “How much humanity do you think I had to begin with? It’ll work, I know it will. The core of me is what I’m evolving toward, this will just let me hold to some sentimental imperfections. It will work, Bashe.”

He looks down on me, dismissal in his eyes. “Don’t delude yourself, you’re plenty human.”

I roll my eyes. “Whatever.” I tuck the locket back under my dress. “I just wanted you to know, that’s all. Cheshire and I are working toward having our cake and eating it too. And, for the record, we’re fully intending to help Esha in this death game.”

He gives me a calculating look. “What do you think you’ll get out of that?”

“An ally, for one. Help killing Averrich, for another. He’s after both of us, you know.” And I totally threw you under the bus to him, but luckily it seems you were smart enough to come here before he could follow up that lead. “His goons dragged me to his maze and I had to kill a bunch of them to get out of it. So, I’d expect the same to happen to you eventually if you don’t stick to safe areas.”

“That’s the plan,” Bashe mutters. “I do not want to get dragged into any of this.”

Cheshire ducks back in. “Hey, heads up: Averrich’s people just arrived. Imlashi, Kado, and the werewolf.”

Bashe’s expression tightens at the sight of the changeling, and then further when he hears that name. “Imlashi…”

“Right, you two have history. Well, shall we say hello?”

The three of us move toward the entry hall. Finally, enough recap; it’s time for the main event.