Do you have any idea how weird it is to break bread with these people not even a full day after they tried to kill us?

Seriously. If it weren’t for the truce and our audience, I’m pretty sure I’d be drawing Vorpal on those assholes.

Gods, are we going to have to be polite? I hate being polite.

There’s a certain tension building in my body as we make for the entry hall; it sings in my blood and breath. It’s been far too little time for me to have forgotten how Kado humiliated me in the streets, or how Imlashi tried to fucking mind control me in the heart of Averrich’s lair.

Nothing boils my blood hotter than an insult to my pride. It may have just been a test of my strength as a demon, but that wretched imp still demanded that I worship her, and I cannot forgive that. Maven Alice worships nothing and no one; others should be worshiping me.

…Okay, that might sound a little megalomaniacal, but I am trying to usurp the divine creator of most of the universe, so, uh… I guess it is megalomaniacal. Oh well. I don’t mind a bit of megalomania and vanity; they make such lovely music together.

Cheshire raises the excellent point that the hunters haven’t met her and it might be advantageous if they never did, so I return her to my shadow and send her anchor to my throne world. Dante won’t be joining us until the summit proper, which is probably for the best; it’ll be a whole mess of explanation and it wouldn’t to do to explain it all twice. So now it’s just Bashe at my side, the incubus looking tense, though he makes an effort to smooth away that tension as we get closer.

I’m tempted to take a peek at his soul…

…and I’ve never been one to resist temptation, so I go ahead and do that.

My vision shifts and I see a world of paper drawn with ink and charcoal. I’ve gotten quite used to the background noise of the world through soul sight, but it’s always a unique experience to look upon a new individual’s sense of self. And I don’t even have to feel bad about invading Bashe’s privacy like this, because he tried to read my soul the very second he saw me.

At first glance, something’s off about what I see, but I can’t put my finger on what; the image of Bashe is very similar to his physical appearance, just more exaggerated and sexual. He has the suggestion of horns and hooves and tail, all those little signs of fiendish nature, but the emphasis is on supple flesh, lines and curves, a body on display. His face is a mask, like nearly everyone I’ve looked at, but there’s something insincere about his mask. It’s made of bone and porcelain like the others, with smoldering eyes of lilac and black, but it’s so detailed, and it’s painted to resemble his face, smiling and winking. The closer I look, the more the whole image looks painted on, a calculated persona to hide something deeper. His semblance is detached, calm, confident, but that’s not how he’s really feeling.

So I go deeper, pushing through that outer layer of his soul and peering within. The paint washes from his mask to reveal a softer, plainer mask. Lilac and black eyes burn away, and underneath are eyes of natural brown with white sclera, perfectly human. The shape of his body becomes less exaggerated, and his fiendish traits wither away until he is entirely human… though not entirely normal; his skin peels all across his body, and writing etches itself into his skin, vivid red against rich brown. I can’t make out the words, but I can make out the meaning: restraint, rules, and conscience.

This Bashekehi stinks of loss and regret, and I see a deep ache within those brown eyes. His life has been marked by loss, and the woman he’s going to meet could share in some of that loss… but he fears she will not, because that is not her nature. Even among friends, allies, or whatever they really were, he is alone.

If the outer layer of his soul was Bashe as he presents himself to the world, the image that he has cultivated, then this second layer is Bashekehi as he once was, as he yearns to be again: Bairam Dara, the human man.

It, too, is a lie. Bairam Dara is dead and gone, and these rules are just phantoms. I push deeper, seeking the heart of him. Show me your animus, Bashe.

This time, his whole body burns away until only a mask remains. This mask is wholly different from either that came before, and nothing about it resembles Bashekehi himself; the mask is that of a woman’s face, lilac-eyed, with ram’s horns, sensual features, and bright blue lipstick.

The mask is bound tightly in bloody chain, the rules of Bairam straining to hold their prisoner. The eyes of the mask burn with the promise of sex and wine and million dollar debt, and there is something so much vaster than Bashekehi lurking within. This is the heart of an imp; this is a reflection of Royalty.

Indulgence, archdemon of want. Indulgence, who murdered a city to claim her crown.

I retreat from his soul and flicker my sight back to realspace, or what passes for it. Bashe either didn’t notice my intrusion or didn’t care, because he’s still got his gaze locked forward as we step into the entry hall and catch sight of the new arrivals.

Esha is greeting them, of course, with Achaia at her side. Though I still find it silly to wear a full suit of power armor and not wear a helmet, I respect the healthy paranoia that I see Achaia displaying in how closely she watches the trio. I have no reason to think the Beast won’t back up her promise about smiting anyone who breaks the truce, but that’s no reason to get sloppy.

Kado, Gretchen, and Imlashi look mostly the same as they did last time I saw them all. Imlashi, the blue-skinned imp with curling horns, a pointed tongue, and violet eyes, is still wearing that revealing dress and all those jewels and gold. Gretchen, who I know to be a werewolf, is a mountain of a woman with matted hair and amber eyes, dressed in rags I’d only charitably describe as clothing.

Violet eyes and amber eyes… I wonder if eye color has meaning in this world. Reska always paid close attention to eyes, and they always seemed to match that person’s affinities. Do Truths function similarly? It certainly seems like Bashe’s lilac eyes are a direct consequence of Indulgence.

Kado, the gangly hunter with laugh lines, a choppy beard, and dark eyes, is the only one to have changed his outfit. He’s dressed down from his hunter’s gambeson for a scruffy tuxedo that’s definitely not nice enough to be anything other than an act of mockery. I also don’t doubt that he’s got a knife or two hidden somewhere in there, but otherwise none of them appear armed.

So they think the grace will hold… or they’re confident in their magic being strong enough to fight it out anyway. Considering they have a werewolf and an imp in the ranks, that doesn’t sound completely arrogant.

It’s also interesting that Averrich didn’t come himself, given his apparent history with Esha. I can’t imagine him being afraid for his safety, even without a trace, so is this a calculated insult? Or perhaps he has something else occupying his attention, like scouting and spying on his rivals.

We do, after all, have to assume that he’s only entertaining this little summit to gather information before continuing his original plan of killing everyone.

Imlashi is the first to look away from Esha, locking eyes with Bashe as he comes to a stop a healthy distance from the group. I keep walking, and I smirk at all three of Averrich’s minions.

“Well, here we are again. I’d say it’s nice to see you again, imp, but I don’t like lying in front of the nice priestess. Afternoon, Kado. Looking healthy, wolf; have you come for a second round?”

Imlashi wrinkles her nose at me, but the other two have more interesting reactions; Kado hesitates for a moment before forcing a chuckle, while Gretchen pivots to face me with an intense expression, her nose and ears twitching. And from all three of them I smell the faintest trace of fear. The imp, the hunter, and the werewolf are all afraid of me… and they definitely weren’t before.

Is this just because I killed the hunters? I didn’t think any of them were that impressive. I could see Kado getting worried over that, maybe Imlashi, but the werewolf? Really?

Wait, no, this isn’t about the hunters; it’s about the Reveler. Bashe was terrified of its cousin, and I kicked its ass. They must have noticed its death, and my survival. Perhaps, since that maze was the creature’s throne world, it started to collapse after I killed it and left.

Well, that’s a fun bit of news. I must admit, I’m delighted at this information. My smirk widens. “I see I made quite the impression on you and yours. I don’t suppose you’d consider surrendering now, just to get it over with?”

Kado eyes me up and down. “You really like poking the bear, huh?”

“I genuinely can’t help it, my brain is broken in so many ways. Speaking of bears, where’s the owl?”

“Around,” he shrugs.

To the side, I see Imlashi slip away after a final quick murmur to Esha, and Bashekehi follows. Oh, I simply must spy on that conversation.

Kado shakes his head at the two imps as they leave together. “That’ll be an interesting one. Really hope he makes the smart choice. Would hate to see a guy like that go to waste.”

Esha watches them go and asks, “A waste of the man, or a waste of his talents? Your huntmaster has ever valued one over the other.”

“Heh. You’re just the same as ever, priestess.”

I roll my eyes. As if that moralizing loser would even get involved.

Gretchen rolls her shoulders. “Enough talk. If we’re not starting now, then I want something to eat.”

Esha smiles politely. “I’ll have an attendant show you to our dining hall. Kado, you as well?”

The hunter shrugs. “Beats standing around.”

An attendant is swiftly summoned and leads them off, and now I’m really itching to go spy on Bashe and ‘Lashi. “Who else are we waiting on?” I ask Esha.

The priestess turns back to me. “Just the Machinist, now, or rather whatever contingent he’s sending.”

“Great. In that case, I’m going to–”

My plans are interrupted by a sudden commotion from outside. I hear yelling that sounds like the jackal guards, and mocking feminine laughter. Esha and Achaia move immediately, tension crossing their faces, and I follow behind at a slight lag.

Outside the shrine, the two guards are facing off against a woman that instantly reminds me of Malice as I saw her in shadowy projection: four arms, powerfully built and ending in claws, one hand holding a long, wrapped object; a wicked smirk below burning red eyes with black sclera, a crown of horns above; cloven hooves for feet, a spiked tail and bladed wings arrayed behind her; and a body completely unclothed, her ample figure kept from absolute indecency by red-black scales that cluster thickest around her chest and waist (her abs, for the record, are very well-defined). Her skin, where it isn’t covered by scales, is a deep crimson, which really puts the icing on the cake of “most demonic looking creature so far.”

Of course, I’m pretty sure this gorgeous abomination is actually an imp, not a demon.

I’ve seen Vaylin twice now, so I know this isn’t her, and I’ve not heard of any other demons in the city. I know there’s an imp of Muse with the Myriad, but that person wouldn’t evoke this reaction, and really, “Muse” isn’t the vibe I get from her appearance.

No, this is an imp of Malice, there’s no question about it. Is she the third member of the triad that Bashekehi and Imlashi were two thirds of? Would Bashe really associate with someone sprung from a monster like Malice?

The imp came with two companions: a man and a woman in ethereal black shifts, their black eyes glassy and unfocused. Their hair is neat, their faces clean, each with pierced ears and a pendant of black stone against skin that seems unnaturally pale, though at different shades.

My curiosity is piqued, but I hold off on activating soul sight to watch whatever’s about to go down between Esha and the imp.

The priestess comes to a stop behind her guards, paladin at her side. When she speaks, it is with unexpected venom. “Avaya’ari,” she nearly spits. “What are you doing here?”

Well, that confirms the imp’s identity: Avaya was the name that one of the hunters teased Bashe with. So the third member of the Coiner tribunal really was an imp of Malice… fascinating. There’s clearly no love lost between Esha and Avaya, but is that because of ancient history or something that happened after the Coiners were destroyed?

Avaya keeps her smirk, clearly enjoying the tension. “Come now, Eshie, is that any way to treat an old friend?”

“I won’t play this game,” Esha warns. “You can’t bring two of her victims here and then pretend there’s any good blood between us, even in jest.”

My interest in the imp’s companions skyrockets. Well now I simply must take a look.

I flicker my soul sight and take in the three of them in sequence. Avaya’s soul is menacing but matches up well with what I was expecting; she is prickling thorns and lascivious curves, a thing of blood and flesh and bone. Her mask is exactly like the silhouette of Malice’s face, complete with baleful red eyes that promise carnage, ruin, and the perversion of all that is pure.

The other two are far more interesting, as their souls are the first I’ve seen to be completely eyeless. Even figments, those mindless things, have pinpricks of color within each mask, but there’s only swirling blackness within the eyes of the masks before me, and the edges of the eyeholes are cracked and bent as if someone had gouged out the eyes of each soul.

Their bodies are chalky, naked, and nearly featureless–almost doll-like, in an unnerving mirror of my own chosen form–save for the red thread that wraps around each limb and cuts in and out of the skin. The stitching is purposeful, patterned, and densest around the wrists, ankles, and throat.

Just like a figment held up by strings, these souls are bound by thread that passes through the hands of another; I see lines of thread emerging from the back of each neck and leading away from here, but before I can follow that line to its origin I see again the soul of Avaya’ari, her hands clutching the threads that bind both of her companions.

I pull away from the threads and refocus on the hollow-eyed masks. I push deeper, searching for an inner world, and in each of them I find scattered echoes of memory and meaning, vague impressions that have been darkened, muddled, shattered. A yearning unspoken, a love forgotten, anger made impotent by the lack of a target. Faceless friends, voiceless conversations, scenes missing details. All of it muted, broken, and bound in pulsating red thread that seems to numb and deaden.

“...every soul in the Sanctuary will be turned into a puppet on her strings.”

Now I understand the Beast’s warning, and I am fascinated and horrified in equal measure. These were people, once, but now they’re more like figments. Their souls have been mutilated and brought under Vaylin’s control. Imlashi, Averrich, and even Kado all had spells that could affect the mind, but this is what real mind control looks like.

I asked for a spell like that, when Cheshire led me through the process of shaping my Truths. She didn’t offer one, probably because I lacked the power as a demon to make any version that would be useful–my criteria were, after all, rather restrictive. Now I’m at full capacity with only [Carrion Swarm] and [Feast or Famine]. I wonder… if I ate Vaylin’s soul, could I steal whatever magic she used to do this? Do I want to?

Esha told me that Vaylin gave everyone in the city a choice: submit or be made to submit. I had assumed that the demon ruled through fear, or perhaps some kind of binding contract, but this is so much worse. Is her whole organization filled with empty husks? Is Avaya the only other person in her circle to retain free will? And is that really how I want to rule when I start to gather my own followers?

I told Cheshire that my desire for corruption magic was driven by a cocktail of fear and desire: fear of being abandoned or betrayed, desire for intimacy and connection. Cheshire suggested that I wanted more than that, and said that more than anything I wanted control. When the Beast dragged me to her lair, she told me–no, she showed me–that I could be offered paradise and would turn it down because someone would still be above me on the cosmic ladder.

I wonder how these people felt before they were hollowed out. I wonder what ambitions they dreamed of before all of their dreams were replaced with this binding numbness. There is brutality in the scene of these thread-wrapped bodies, in the shattered fragments of memory and self, but the closer I look, the more I find an odd sense of peace overlaying it all.

There’s no fear, no anger, no doubt, no grief. They feel neither pride nor insecurity, neither loss nor gain. I don’t think they feel anything at all. They’re just empty.

Fixation pulls me forward and I reach out to trace my porcelain fingers down the side of a porcelain mask, unsure of which body it belongs to. Warm to the touch, but only just. “What’s it like inside that head?” I ask softly.

Empty, gouged eyeholes stare back. An extinguished flame.

I shudder and blink away my soul sight, becoming aware of myself and my surroundings once more. My hand is touching the cheek of the black-clad woman, and her doll-black eyes stare right through me. She’s smiling.

I take a step back and wipe my hand on my dress with a grimace. Shit, how much did I just miss?

I glance back at the others and catch a quick wink from Avaya before she’s back to smirking at Esha and Achaia. Esha’s expression is severe and tight-lipped, while Achaia’s expression is downright murderous, and they’re both still completely focused on the imp. I wasn’t paying proper attention to whatever Esha and Avaya were saying to each other while I was looking at souls and getting lost in thought, but their conversation appears to have been significant.

“Very well,” Esha says through gritted teeth. “If those are your conditions, and if you swear it on the Weaver, then I will allow you to join our summit.”

Wait, what? Seriously?

Avaya’s grin widens. “Then we have a deal. In exchange for a seat in your meeting and a chance to speak with Bashekehi, I’ll do no harm to you and yours, Esha of the Myriad, for the next two days. I will also use my influence within the Voidhearts to prevent Vaylin or any of her servants from taking hostile action against you, Esha of the Myriad, within that same timeframe. This and these I swear by Azathoth, Dreamweaver, All-Mother, Origin. Weaver take me if I forswear.”

Unlike most, Avaya doesn’t even react as the presence of Azathoth passes over the area. I only feel it as a brief chill in the air, perhaps because I’m not involved in the pact, but even still I can’t suppress a shiver. Nyarlathotep may be a thousand times worse than Azathoth, but the Weaver is still a capital-G God.

Esha clenches her staff tighter, then slowly relaxes her grip with a sigh. “Then you may enter. Bashekehi and Imlashi are both inside. I suppose I shall have to fetch more chairs.”

The imp gives a mocking half-bow. “I look forward to our reunion, and to this quaint little meeting you’ve set up. I’ll be along shortly; you’ve come with a lovely creature that I simply must introduce myself to.”

Avaya turns her attention on me, red eyes burning into me with keen interest. Esha stiffens, but I wave a hand and tell her, “I’ll be fine.” Esha nods slowly, then departs with Achaia. The two guards, seeming relieved to not have to fight the imp, return to their posts.

As soon as the priestess is gone, the four-armed monster takes a few steps toward me and leans in, lower set of arms folding across her chest while her last free hand strokes her chin. She murmurs, “Now that’s very unusual. I don’t think I’ve ever met a witch demon before.”

I tense, gaze flitting to the guards at the temple entrance, but Avaya spoke quietly enough that neither of them appear to have heard. I glance back at the imp to find her winking at me again, and she actually titters when I grimace. That’s two that have recognized me as a witch, and of course it had to be the faerie and the murder devil.

“Perhaps we should take this conversation somewhere more private,” the creature suggests. “I think that you and I have a great deal to discuss.”

“Privacy is good.” I look around for the nearest alley and start walking in that direction. Behind me, I hear Avaya order her minions to stay put. Once we’re out of sight of the community center, I put my back against a wall and cross my arms. “What now?”

Avaya bows to me, deeper than she bowed to Esha, and when she straightens up again she says, “Oh, don’t worry, I have no intention of revealing your little secret. I simply wanted your attention, as you very much have caught mine. Ah, but first, I have a request to make: I’d like to hold this conversation somewhere even more private than this quaint alley.”

I raise an eyebrow. “What did you have in mind?”

She smiles. “Your throne world, of course. I’m dying to see it.”

I tense further, muscles stiffening as my thoughts race. My throne world? Why the fuck do you want to see that? Is this a trap? “Why?” I ask to stall for time. “Hoping to learn some precious secrets you can bring back to your master?”

I feel a warm prickling on my neck, and then Cheshire is whispering in my ear, “Be careful. This one is sharp-eyed.”

Avaya taps her chin, expression contemplative. “I do understand the precious value of information. Perhaps you would be interested in a trade? If you show me your throne world, I’d happily share whichever of Vaylin Kirinal’s secrets you might like to know.”

I’m taken aback at the ease with which she makes that offer. Does she think it won’t make a difference to the outcome of the death game, or is she working some other agenda? Still, though I’m certainly curious about my demonic counterpart, something about that trade doesn’t seem advantageous. “Is that all?”

The imp hums to herself, looking away as if in deep thought, and then she snaps her fingers and leans in. “I’ve got it! I know exactly what I can trade.”

Avaya unwraps the object she’s been carrying and reveals an impressively edgy greatsword, its black blade emblazoned with glowing red runes. She touches one of the runes lightly, then pulls her hand away, and red light arcs between her fingers and the blade like crackling electricity before solidifying into a shimmering red gemstone. She lifts the jewel and shows it to me with a smile on her face, and there’s suddenly the most wonderful taste in the air. My body is begging me to snatch that gem and devour it whole, my every instinct hungering for it.

“I offer you this soul, to consume as you please. Is that a fair bargain?”

I want it, I need it, I have to have it. I am so, so hungry. I can feel myself salivating, my stomach suddenly empty despite everything I’ve eaten. I don’t care if it’s a fair bargain or not, I just can’t bear to let that soul get away from me. “Deal.”

The imp holds the gem out to me, but then she pauses and holds it back just out of reach and I want to rip her fucking hand off, that teasing bitch. “Ah, one little detail: I don’t know for sure if it’ll be compatible with your palate, so you may have to settle for forging it rather than eating it. I hope that’s alright?”

I almost laugh. Compatibility? That means nothing to me. I’m the demon of [Feast or Famine], so I can eat whatever the hell I want.

…But revealing that would be giving away information, wouldn’t it? A cold splash of reality wakes me from my hunger fugue and I get a hold of myself. Shit, that was embarrassing. I can’t afford to lose control every time a soul is dangled in front of me.

I force a more neutral expression on my face and say, “Perhaps. Geist, what do you think?”

I feel Cheshire’s warm touch on my shoulder. “She’s obviously dangerous, but I don’t sense hostility or deception. Devouring another complete soul… I don’t need to tell you how huge that would be for our game plan. Even if it’s not fully compatible, I have ideas that would be valuable to test. Still, you should see if you can get the soul gem and one of Vaylin’s secrets.”

I nod. “Alright, let’s try this: give me that soul and a secret about your boss, and I’ll show you my throne world and let you poke your head around while we spend a few minutes chatting.”

I hold my hand out and Avaya gently drops the soul gem into my open palm. As soon as the crystallized soul touches my skin I teleport it to a storage room in my throne world, just to stop myself from trying to eat it then and there. And now… wait, how do I bring her into my throne world?

I am spared the indignity of having to admit ignorance by Cheshire whispering to me, “Take her hand. I’ll take care of the rest.”

So I do, finding Avaya’s skin hot to the touch, and in moments we are transported into the world of my soul. We arrive on the cliffside path leading to my castle, the red forest stretching out below us and the black sun burning above. There’s no sign of my battle with Mahiri, though a glance at the castle gate finds a distinct lack of my skeletal servants.

“Interesting,” says Avaya, looking around at the geography of my soul. “Very interesting.”

I take the opportunity to get a closer look at something of hers; I flicker on my witch sight and peer into that strange warblade she apparently keeps souls in. As with my precious Vorpal, the imp’s weapon is more vivid to my second sight, from whispering souls surrounding the blade to the blade itself looking carved from empty night.

A bit of focus is all it takes to tell me the item’s name and nature: this is [Vandal Edge], a shadowtouched artifact that teems with violence and lost souls. Its primary purpose–its activated ability–is to temporarily enhance the wielder’s physical and magical prowess, and its secondary purpose–its static ability–is to take in and store the souls that are burned to power the enhancement effect.

That’s so wasteful! That’s like, the platonic ideal of sacrificing long-term gain for short-term gain. How many souls has that thing used up!?

Are we really one to talk? Our signature spell also uses a soul as fuel.

Yes, yes, but [Feast or Famine] is a permanent net gain. This is just as costly but entirely temporary!

I frown at the blade, trying to understand why anyone would make such a weapon. I don’t think imps can eat souls like demons can, but I know they can turn souls into artifacts, so it still seems wasteful to sacrifice that precious resource rather than turning it into a more diverse pool of magic items.

Of course, it seems to have worked out for Avaya’ari so far, so what do I know?

The imp in question is still surveying the landscape of my soul, but before I can ask her any questions about her blade she turns back to me with a thoughtful expression on her face. “You didn’t just arrive in the Labyrinth recently; you only became a demon recently.”

I frown. “I’m not going to deny it, but how can you tell from just a brief look around my throne world?”

She gestures at our surroundings and says, “It’s all so barren and shallow. I see a forest and a castle and a dark sun, but they possess only a facade of meaning, like scaffolding without a foundation. There’s no heart in it, no lived experience. It’s an act of self-expression that lacks self-identification. Those are the telltale signs of a fledgling demon that has hidden away her chaos but has no idea how to resolve that chaos. The order you’ve imposed is only skin-deep.”

The imp raises her greatsword and in one fluid motion slashes the ground between us, cutting deep into the soil of the mountain path–but instead of more soil, what’s revealed is a wound that bleeds color and sound. Beneath the surface of the earth is a swirling maelstrom of memories blurring together and getting tangled. It’s the maelstrom I saw in the sky above the book pile, above the tea party, when I first became a demon.

“Chaos is the natural state of all souls. You’ve papered over it, but it’s still there. Your concept as a demon is still unrefined and not absolute.”

“I’ve had a very busy week,” I say defensively. “I built this in an hour.”

“I’m not criticizing,” she assures me, “just observing. If you wish to improve the structure of your throne world, I can offer more pointed commentary. Your forest below sings of hunger and fear, but it has not been alloyed with memories of moonless nights running from wolves or hungry days hunting to survive. Your castle is imposing and aristocratic, but there’s no indication that its owner is either. Both are aspirational, not reflective, which wouldn’t be so bad were it not for the greater flaw: the castle speaks of a right to rule, but the forest speaks of no one to rule over, and that is a dangerous contradiction. The whole scene creates a sense of isolation and seclusion, a kind of defensive loneliness. No demon lives here, only a scared child hiding behind high walls and a mask of menace.”

I swallow awkwardly, feeling pinned and dissected. I wasn’t expecting her to get that much analysis out of a few simple details. “You’re quite good at reading throne worlds. Is that from Vaylin, or…?”

Avaya laughs. “No, I dare say I’ve taught Vaylin more than her own geist has. I’ve seen many, many throne worlds. I’m a very old defiler, Alice. By the Prime Evil’s own hand I was reborn as Avaya’ari, and in the centuries since I have served as the left hand to three dozen demons across nine worlds. I’m quite experienced.”

And now my mouth is completely dry. Holy shit. I thought Vaylin was the threat from that corner of the city, but I was laughably wrong. She might be as old as Averrich. In fact… maybe that’s worth pushing. “That’s quite impressive. You and that faerie bastard both seem much older than everyone else in the city.”

Avaya seems to seize on my words, grinning and leaning against her sword. “That’s very interesting, isn’t it? Two of the old guard drawn to the same place amid a bounty of scions, invokers, and retainers… and now two witches to cap it off.”

Two witches? How did she–the big scene, of course. It wasn’t just the seven of us, everyone in the city was watching from the stands. So Avaya knows what Dante is, which means Vaylin probably knows what Dante is, and I’d bet Averrich figured it out too. Shit.

“And of course,” Avaya continues, “one of those witches is also a demon, which is something I’ve never seen before today. I have to wonder: who’s it for? What’s it all mean?”

“You’d know that better than I would,” I venture.

“Would I, now?” Her red eyes twinkle with amusement. “Because I find something so very interesting about your presence in this play, witch demon. You see, when our dearly beloved Beast gave her grand speech and predicted a victor to this vicious little war, I couldn’t help but notice that she referred to that victor with feminine pronouns, and then, just a moment later, she introduced you as the first candidate.”

I’m silent, a spike of fear running through me. Cheshire was right, this woman is dangerously perceptive.

“On its own, you might take that for a coincidence–well, you wouldn’t, but someone else might. Maybe she started alphabetically, and you just lucked out with that name. But then, after that, we had our little cheating debacle, and she highlighted yours and Averrich’s respective patrons as interfering in the game to give an actionable advantage. Except that, by the Beast’s own speech and the evidence of one’s eyes, it’s clear that you, dear Alice, have been in the city for far too little time with far too few resources to really act on any lead given to you. But Averrich has had the time and the resources to prepare for this Game of Glass, and my eyes in the city tell me that you and Averrich have already come into conflict. So given all that, it seems like a day’s grace helps you more than it hurts you… almost like that was the Beast’s intention.”

I wish I could think of a clever lie, but what can I say to that? Maybe, in this instance, we tell the truth and try to dig for answers. “It’s probable. Why do you think she did that? What does it mean?”

Avaya hums to herself, fingers tapping along the blade of her sword. “I can’t say it with absolute certainty, but the evidence and my instincts are both pointing me to the same conclusion: the Beast of Lamentation and Euphoria intends for you, Maven Alice, to win the Game of Glass. And that leads me to another question: do you intend on winning?”

I frown. “That’s an odd question. Do you think I intend on losing?”

She shrugs. “I only ask because I find you here among the Myriad, in the company of Esha, and I know Esha quite well. If the two of you are on good terms, as you seem to be, then it’s likely that Esha has convinced herself of the prospect of your ‘redemption.’ She no doubt sees this Game of Glass as an opportunity to steal a demon from Shadow by turning it to glass instead. Am I wrong?”

“I’m interested in alliances,” I evade. “There’s strength in numbers and I have a fae hunting me, that’s why I’m here with Esha. Past that is undecided.”

“Then you would be open to alternative alliances, yes?” The imp smiles. “Esha is not the only one with bodies to throw at problems, I promise you. I think you would be far more comfortable with the Voidhearts than the Myriad. I saw the way you looked at dear Thirteen.”

My frown deepens. Thirteen? Do they all have numbers instead of names, as some further tool of dehumanization? Regardless… is that really being offered? “Hang on, is all of this some recruitment pitch? Are you asking me to join your faction and work for the Voidhearts? For Vaylin?”

“Mm, not exactly. Allow me to answer your question with a question of my own.”

I cross my arms. “I feel like you’ve been asking a lot of questions for someone that still hasn’t shared that secret you promised me.”

Avaya laughs. “You make a fair point. Don’t worry, I’ll reveal that very soon. This is necessary context. I need to know if you know what happens to whoever claims the Beast’s animus.”

I narrow my eyes. “I’ve been told that they stop being whatever they were before, and become… glass. A Noble and nothing else.”

“Aye. If a demon were to claim that power, they would cease to be a demon, and they could never ascend as an archdemon. How do you find that state of affairs, Maven Alice?”

The answer rises from me in a tide of anger, remembering my conversation with the Beast. “I find it absolutely unacceptable. I refuse to be frozen in glass. Were it offered freely, I would reject it on that alone.” And I did.

Avaya claps her hands together, practically preening. “You see? I knew I made the right choice. That is an excellent answer, Alice, and that is exactly why I want you to murder Vaylin and seize control of her Voidhearts.”

I’m thrown for a loop. “Wait, what?”

“You bargained for a secret, and here it is: Vaylin does not control her followers as tightly as she thinks she does. Her thread-bound husks are loyal only to the hand that holds the leash, and her left hand imp plots betrayal. Were a cunning and capable demon to come along, why, I think she could quite easily take over that entire organization.”

My mind churns with calculation and consideration. Avaya is asking me to kill the demon Vaylin, which I was already planning on doing, and she’s willing to help me do that. She’s promising all of Vaylin’s minions bound to my banner. With resources like that, would I need to play ball with Esha? Would it be enough to conquer Averrich’s faction? And, if I killed Vaylin and stole her spell… I could bend to my will the survivors of Carnival and Myriad alike.

I can see the path stretching out before me, a master plan sprung from this alliance. Play nice with Esha to pit her forces against Averrich’s, usurp Vaylin in secret, then sweep in and take control of whatever’s left from each faction. The city would be mine, and then I could turn my attention to the shard and find some way to utilize it without stagnating. Maybe I could use my Gift on it? Hmm. Wait, fuck, that’s brilliant, fuck me that’s actually perfect.

If I take Vaylin’s mind control spell, I could create a bunch of control resonances and then pour those into the Beast’s shard. In theory, if I get the artifact right, it would give me all the benefits of being a Noble with none of the downsides. Y’know, aside from being vulnerable to getting Isildur’d.

Of course, I’d still have to deal with Dante, which could be problematic, and I’d be backstabbing the verifiably goodhearted Esha for someone whose soul core is based on the literal actual archdemon of mass murder. Do I have any good reason to trust this imp?

I gave Avaya an appraising look and ask, “Why would you betray Vaylin for me? And, crucially, what would stop you from turning around and betraying me to the next demon to come along?”

Avaya spreads two of her hands. “A reasonable concern. The crux of it is this: Vaylin lacks your resolve. You reject the stagnation of glass, but Vaylin actively seeks it. The demon of thread is committed to claiming the shard for herself and becoming sovereign over this tiny slice of infinity. Her hunger for ascension has withered since becoming aware of the limitations imposed by the Labyrinth, and now she settles for a lesser goal. She has betrayed her Throne and forsaken the path of a true demon. But you… you have vision.”

Interesting. It’s not a bad justification, if that’s really her motivation. “Geist? What do you think?”

There’s a moment’s pause, and then Cheshire reluctantly tells me, “It does line up with the mindset of a defiler. Imps of Malice are the most devoted to the supposed purpose and principles of the Throne of Shadow.”

“I see.” I chew my lip. “What vision do you think I possess? Is that something else you’ve discerned from my throne world?”

Avaya licks her lips and flexes her fingers, eyes gleaming bright. “It’s your hubris. I can see it painted all over you. You have the most delectable hubris that I have ever seen. My delicious, darling demon, you want to usurp the Lucid Demiurge herself.”

Her hands wander, one tracing up my leg while two other wrap around my shoulders. Her tail curls around my other leg, and her wings fold in around us as she leans in and drops her voice to a breathy purr. “I like that. That’s the kind of sin that makes me thirsty. It makes me wet. I want to taste you, pretty thing. I want to drink your sins. I want to see you blossom into something truly breathtaking, and then… well, I could make you a very happy woman, my Red Queen.”

I freeze up the second she starts touching me, caught between conflicting feelings. Why do all the crazy hot monster girls keep flirting with us!?!?

How the hell is that a problem? I know she’s super duper evil and stuff but like, look at those arms, those abs, those teeth, we could at least–

Shut up!!! No being seduced by murder devils! Put away your useless lesbianism and focus on what matters: she knows about our ultimate goal to replace Nyara. How does she know that?

I carefully extricate myself from the imp and say, “That is a very, very flattering offer–and a tempting one, really–but how do you know that I want to steal the Toymaker’s throne? I don’t think I’ve told anyone besides my geist, and my witch’s shroud is supposed to conceal my true desires, especially those not close to the surface.”

Avaya chuckles, but pulls herself back and gives me space. “The shroud hides your soul, true, but nothing can hide your sins from a defiler’s sight. They hang about you like unquiet dead. From the moment I saw you in the Beast’s arena, I knew I had to meet the girl with such fascinating sins.”

My sins… I know it’s a concept I’ve thought about before, but what does that really mean here, in this world of living meaning? “You say that you can see my sins as if they’re concrete things. But, what meaning of sin is that? We’re both shadowtouched, so I’d assume you mean an individual meaning, but is that yours or mine? Or, would it be Malice’s conception of sin?”

Avaya seems pleased at the question, and she steeples two hands together while a third cups her chin. “Ah, always such a delightful topic. In the many worlds that I have traveled to, I have found that different notions of sin arise in each culture, though there are some aspects more common than others. What does sin mean to you, where you come from?”

Hmm. We should be careful here; I wouldn’t put it past this creature to peg me for an Earthling based on a few simple details. “It was a very religious notion where I grew up,” I say carefully, “but it had also filtered into secular society. Sin can be read as a synonym for any evil act, or for harboring evil in one’s heart, but evil is also a very abstract concept most of the time. To be sinful is to be wicked, depraved, and immoral, but those are all cultural values that are themselves going to vary by the culture or subculture that’s talking about them. Like, there were some people who thought that recreational drugs were inherently sinful, or that premarital sex was inherently sinful, but not everyone thought that way and a bunch of people were perfectly fine with either of those things.”

Avaya nods. “I have encountered societies with such extreme views.”

I bite my lip, and now I’m getting kind of worked up about this because, come on, I’m a deviant freak from a garbage country full of garbage people. “I think most people back home would say that murder is a sin, but not necessarily killing; if you could justify it by saying it was self-defense or patriotism, you could get away with a whole lot of killing. And then, there were these seven sins–nine, really, but people usually only cared about seven–that were like, behavioral and mental, and they were supposed to be the ‘deadliest’ of them all. Greed, sloth, wrath, so on, and the scariest of the seven was pride. Which… I guess, thinking about it, is hubris. You could read pride in a kind of secular way as just arrogance and overestimation of one’s abilities, but the theological root was hamartia, hubris, the kind of pride that makes you declare to the world that you’re a better weaver than the goddess of the loom.”

“To be above the divine,” Avaya says. “That is the understanding of sin as Malice taught me: to sin is to transgress against divine law. The dragons and their monks tell us that the Demiurge’s creation, the great divine work, can be studied to discern commandments by which we should live our lives. The eidolons and their priests tell us that stories and faith will lead us to the proper way to act, as the Demiurge intended. They all think that mother knows best, and so to act against our divine purpose is an act of sin. The sins I see in others are those transgressions, which come so easily to us because you and I are not slaves to the Demiurge like they are. We’re different.”

“Like the Adversary,” I suggest. This universe’s Satanic figure, she who rebelled against the divine.

“Aye. We shadowtouched are the Adversary’s own, as they say. It’s our nature and our purpose to defy the order of things and celebrate transgression.”

“Hmm.” I’m not entirely satisfied with that explanation. It seems self-serving, like a justification for actions you were already going to take. “There’s something I don’t understand, then, about all this. The Demiurge, she’s not a good person. She’s malevolent. She’s a monster. So wouldn’t it be more transgressive to, I don’t know, be kind? To make the world a better place for everyone? What’s all that transgressive about performing cruelties that Nyara herself would delight in?”

“That’s an incomplete picture. The Divine Architect is first and foremost a creative force. She is the author of all our stories, from tales of abject horror to those of triumphant joy. She may have a taste for the wicked, a kind of personal preference, but her creations speak for themselves; the status quo is rarely absolute good or evil, but rather something messy in between. If you believe as the priests do that stories reveal our purpose, then look to the thousands of stories where a status quo once disrupted must be restored. If you believe as the monks do that natural laws reveal our purpose, then look to the human tendency to band together and take care of each other. To truly sin, to defy the divine paradigm, is to divide, despoil, and destroy. To break something so thoroughly that it cannot be repaired. To corrupt something so deeply that it cannot be purified.”

Before I can gather an answer to that, Cheshire takes shape next to me. The geist has her gaze locked on the imp, expression intense, and I idly wonder if she’s annoyed at Avaya getting handsy with me. “Your teleological framework is leaving out a few key details,” Cheshire insists. “Creation and preservation may be principles of Order, but so are transmutation and destruction. How can those acts be transgressive when they’re mirrored in the Demiurge’s own divine blueprint?”

Avaya cocks her head, looking at Cheshire with a curious expression. “What an interesting geist you are. Hmm. To answer your question, I would say that teleology is precisely the point. As the dragons teach, the White and Red Arts each have a purpose that aligns with a more harmonious world. The holy ideal of destruction is to clear the rotten and dead so as to make way for new growth, and the holy ideal of transmutation is to raise lesser materials into higher forms.”

That sparks a question in my mind. I ask, “Then what about the other two? What are the sin counterparts to creation and preservation?”

The imp turns back to me and answers, “Sloth is the very ideal of transgressive preservation, being the sin of stagnation and halted growth. As for transgressive creation, well, that’s your sin, Alice: hubris. If we consider creation to be the essence of the great creator, then the perversion of creation–to dare to meddle in the Demiurge’s own domain–must be the highest sin of all. Your very own example of hubris, of sin, was the prideful weaver. To believe oneself about the divine, to seek to surpass the divine, that is the greatest and most beautiful of all sins.” There’s lust in her gaze again.

Cheshire frowns but doesn’t say anything else. I’m not sure how to feel about this, but I know it’s not a decision I’m ready to make immediately. I sigh and say, “You’ve brought some very interesting information to my attention, thank you. However, it’s not something I can decided right away. Let’s see this summit through, and then afterwards we can talk more about working together. Besides, the longer we talk now the more suspicious the others might get.”

Avaya bows to me again. “An excellent plan of action. I look forward to painting this city red in your name.”

We return from my throne world to the dingy alley, and I let Avaya go on ahead back to her minions and the temple. When I’m alone, I murmur to Cheshire, “I think we have a great deal to talk about, after this is over. I’ve got questions, and I’ll want your advice, but my instincts are telling me to take that offer.”

Cheshire, now hidden to the world once more, takes a moment before replying, “It would make dealing with Vaylin a lot easier, at the very least. And she’s telling the truth about her intentions. But I don’t like her, and I don’t think we should rely on her.”

“Agreed. Now let’s go spy on the imps.”

We return to the community center while Avaya is still leisurely strolling down the main hall, everyone else looking at her uneasily. We duck into a side room to meld, and the warmth of Cheshire fills my body as I feel our shared curiosity and apprehension. We shift into the form of an unassuming fly and follow Avaya from above as she gets directions to her former compatriots.

We reach the chamber first, flitting a bit ahead just to catch an extra bit of conversation, and we arrive to find Bashekehi and Imlashi at what appears to be the end of that conversation. Bashekehi is turned away from Imlashi, and they both have disappointed expressions.

“Will you truly not reconsider?” Imlashi asks.

Bashe shakes his head. “No, I won’t. And I know you won’t either, so there’s nothing left to say.”

He takes a step toward the exit, but then freezes in place as Avaya walks into view, wrapped blade in hand and a grin on her face. Her two minions are still out of sight, so it’s just her framed in the doorway.

Avaya waves at them, still grinning. “Fancy meeting you here, Bashe. Afternoon, ‘Lashi.”

Bashe’s expression darkens. “Avaya’ari. Esha warned me you were coming. And she told me what you’ve been up to since the attack.”

Avaya chuckles. “I’m sure she has. Would you like to see it firsthand? Five, Thirteen, come show off to the deluded sap.”

The black-clad husks walk past Avaya and stand in front of her, smiling and glassy-eyed. Bashe’s first instinct is revulsion, but that quickly turns to horror as he stares at one of them, the man, with a sense of recognition. “That’s… I recognize him. He was one of us. That’s a Coiner.”

“Former Coiner,” Avaya corrects. “Now he’s just an empty husk. Isn’t it delightful?”

Imlashi, looking unsettled herself, says, “Get rid of them, Avaya. There’s nothing to be gained with this.”

Avaya shrugs. “I don’t know, I think the look on his face was plenty gain. I’d like to see it get worse. Did they tell you, Bashe, how many Coiners I fed to Vaylin?” Her grin grows wicked. “As many as I could find.”

Bashe looks sick, but his words are full of fire. “You really are a monster. I don’t know how we ever put up with you. Did you dream of betraying us from the very start? I know you always hated me.”

“Ah, well, you know how it is. It was good fun, introducing gambling to a post-scarcity society, but the taboo of that was always shallow food. I eat much better under Vaylin… and unlike you, Bashe, she doesn’t deny her nature.”

An interesting lie, given what we were told just minutes ago.

“I find you abhorrent,” Avaya continues, still smiling. “You disgust me, Bashekehi. The purpose of an imp is to reflect their archdemon’s will and spread their archdemon’s vision, and you continue to allow the naive conscience of a foolish dead man to dictate your actions. It’s absurd. Even ‘Lashi knows that.”

Avay gestures at the other imp, and Imlashi curls her lip but doesn’t gainsay the defiler. “Avaya is crude, but… she’s not wrong. You deny your desires for nothing, Bashe. It’s embarrassing, the way you cling to humanity that you haven’t had in a long time.”

Bashe clenches his fists and says bitterly, “I guess some things never change.” He hesitates, then looks Imlashi in the eyes. “Did you never feel anything for your contractor, or for the other members of our group? Were humans always just pawns and fuel to you, like they are to Avaya? Was it all just a feeding ground?”

Imlashi is silent. Avaya laughs, and says, “Of course it was. Our dear ‘Lashi loved the attention, but she hated sharing the spotlight. Even now, I bet there’s a part of her relieved that you aren’t coming to take her place at Averrich’s side.”

“It’s not that simple,” Imlashi mutters.

Bashe looks away from her, expression hurt, and turns back to Avaya. “Why are you even here? Just to rub salt in the wound?”

“Yes!” Avaya says with glee. “I came here entirely to hurt you. I’m sure you’re still feeling quite a lot of emotional pain from the loss of your husband and all your friends, and I want to make that pain worse. I want you to suffer, Bashe, until you can’t take it anymore and those precious rules of yours shatter. I want to make you a real imp.”

Fury blooms on Bashe’s face and his fists tighten, but Imlashi grabs his hand before he can do anything rash. The imp of Glory stares Avaya down and says, “She’s trying to bait you, Bashe. She wants you to take a swing so the Beast will slap you down.”

Avaya shrugs. “That would be the boring solution to the problem, yes.”

Bashe breathes out and shakes Imlashi off, the anger bleeding from him to be replaced by cold despair. “I thought… I thought there might be something left, of what we had. I was wrong. Maybe it was never there.”

Any further dialogue is forestalled by the arrival of a temple attendant, who lets the trio know that the summit is about to begin. With one last exchange of glances the imps depart, and Cheshire and I wait for them to leave before returning to human form and separating.

I step out into the main hall and am quickly flagged down by another attendant, who leads me along and grabs Dante along the way. Then we’re there, in the chamber with the roots and the glowing pool, and the summit begins.