“Remnants created the gods?” Kanin asks after a moment of stunned silence.

  Mirzayael and I are still grappling with our emotions over this revelation. I can feel her mind withdraw, trying to keep certain thoughts from me—but I have a guess as to what they are.

  “No!” Lisari cries. “Well, technically yes. Something like the remnants. But much bigger, unfathomably powerful. You can think of the remnants as… scraps that were left behind on the workshop floor.”

  This revelation is perhaps even more concerning. The Dungeon Core is already so powerful. And Ink is just as strong. If remnants are merely the crumbs of some much larger force of nature, then what was this original power?

  “But what does that mean for us?” I ask, gesturing to Kanin as well. “You’re not saying that makes us…”

  Lisari snorts. “Gods? No. Not hardly.”

  Though Mirzayael is trying to hold it back, I can still feel her immense relief at these words. The hatred she feels for gods is so deeply embedded. And the thought of me becoming one, even in some sort of lesser form, had thrown her mind into tumult.

  The next moment, however, relief shifts to guilt. I’m sure she knows I felt some of what she was thinking.

  “I don’t blame you,” I assure her.

  “But I blame me.” She squeezes my hand beneath the table. “I’m sorry. I’ll love you in any form.”

  I squeeze her hand back, too emotional to reply with words. But I don’t need to; my affection for her says it all.

  “Not gods,” Lisari continues. “But your remnants do make you a threat to them—and to Lorata, specifically. Do you think she wants her carefully crafted order to be thrown into turmoil by dozens of rowdy outsiders tossing their new abilities around? Of course not.”

  I have to swallow down the knot of emotions lodged in my throat in order to rejoin the conversation. “But we don’t mean Lorata any harm,” I object. Mirzayael’s hand tightens. “Or at least, I don’t.”

  Lisari snorts. “You’re thinking on the timescale of mortals. Remnants can’t be destroyed—no more than the power that sustains the gods can be. They can only be divided, combined, transferred—meaning that as long as anyone with a remnant remains free, it can be passed to someone else who might have a less favorable opinion of the pantheon.”

  My heart sinks. So it’s a magical arms race, and Lorata is determined not to let anyone consolidate any degree of power that could be used against her.

  “And that’s why they’re imprisoning Travelers,” Kanin says, voicing my thoughts. “But not all Travelers have remnants, do they?”

  Lisari shrugs. She’s gone back to absently tapping her hairpin on the table. “They came in contact with one—with yours, actually. Lorata would rather be overcautious and imprison them all than risk one slipping through her fingers.”

  I knead a temple, attempting to stave off a growing headache. I’d grown so used to speaking with Lisari and Blair that I’d begun to think Lorata could be reasoned with as well. Everyone has something that motivates them, something they need; surely there is common ground to be found with Lorata.

  But how can I reason with someone who wants absolute control? Where is the compromise that can be reached between that and my desire to protect people like Sandro and Ollie?

  “So why tell us all this?” Kanin asks, drawing me out of my thoughts. “What do you get out of it? It sounds like you want us to threaten the Heavens.”

  “That’s because I do!” Lisari cries, throwing her arms in the air in inebriated excitement. The hairpin goes flying from her fingers and clatters to the floor behind her. “Things have grown stale. Millenia pass without change. It’s just so incredibly boring. The Heavens could use a bit of a shakeup, in my opinion. Time for new blood—or spilled blood, I’m not picky.” She laughs.

  “Why don’t you do it then?” Mirzayael snaps, frustration roiling within her. There’s a portion of her that finds Lisari’s suggestion to disrupt the Heavens appealing, but a still greater side that instinctively balks at anything she suggests. “We are not here to do your dirty work.”

  “I am doing something,” Lisari assures her. “In my own way. I can’t hope to challenge Lorata’s will on my own. There are allies to gain, pieces to position. These sorts of moves take a while to set up, you know—though I must say, the appearance of you Travelers has vastly accelerated things. Disorder and confusion abound! It’s been so much more interesting as of late.”

  “To clarify,” Kanin asks skeptically, “you want to help us just because it’s entertaining?”

  “Precisely so!” Lisari nods enthusiastically. “You get it. And look, I understand you might not be thrilled by my motives. That’s fine—it’s hard to find common ground with mortals’ priorities after living for so long. But does it matter why I want to help if we both want the same thing? I despise the idea of confinement. It’s stifling—stagnant. You and I both want the Travelers to be let back into the world. So why not work together, ay?”

  Oddly, I think I understand where she’s coming from. I can’t even comprehend what it would be like to plan on the scale of millenia. Even without Lorata’s tight-fisted control, such stagnation could drive one mad.

  “You can’t really be thinking about working with her,” Mirzayael thinks.

  “I am,” I admit. “But still only thinking about it. Kanin wants to free the Travelers, and we want to provide them a safe haven once they’re free. Lisari might be able to make this entire process easier for us.”

  Mirzayael’s distaste is potent. “She can’t be trusted.”

  “Not all gods hold the same values,” I point out. Just between Lisari and Blair, that’s obvious enough.

  But Mirzayael isn’t swayed. “Not because she is a god—because she let Fyreneth die. No matter how thoroughly she coats her words in sugar, she is just as responsible for the fall of our kingdom as all the others.”

  I want to argue the point, but I’m honestly not sure I can. If Lisari had known about Lorata’s assault on Fyreneth’s Fortress and did nothing to stop it, I can’t absolve her of blame.

  “So.” Lisari eagerly leans forward. “After providing me with such entertainment, what can I do for you? No promises, by the way—I won’t do anything that will draw Lorata’s eye.”

  “There was a Traveler,” Kanin says, drawing my attention. He hasn’t mentioned meeting another Traveler before. “Anika. She ended up with a remnant like Ink, except she was overwhelmed by it.”

  Oh. That’s why.

  “The one Yedzaquib trapped in a refiner,” Lisari says, unfazed. “What about it?”

  “I wanted to know if there’s anything I could do to help her,” Kanin says. “It’s my fault she ended up that way. I can’t imagine her spending an eternity with her tormentor. Can anything be done?”

  I frown. No wonder he didn’t completely believe me when I told him he hadn’t condemned all us Travelers by summoning us here. This is the source of that grain of regret he was still harboring.

  Lisari sighs through her nose, growing sober for perhaps the first time this entire conversation. She drops her chin back down onto her propped fist, and reaches for her hair. Her hand closes on nothing, and she pats about her head for a moment. Then she pats her chest and pockets, and finally giving up, summons a new hairpin with a flick of her fingers. She traces the blunt end through a drop of tea that had spilled on the table, squiggling out random loops and swirls.

  “I’m sorry to say I don’t know of any way to help her,” Lisari admits, more serious than I would have expected. “Forming pacts with a remnant, like what Fyre, here, did, allows the user some level of control. There’s a filter in place, you could say. But what you’ve got going on with Ink—what happened to this Anika of yours—that’s a remnant binding directly to your soul. And I don’t need to tell you how much control the remnants have in that case.”

  Kanin slumps in defeat. “You can’t help me, then?”

  Lisari laughs so suddenly that we all flinch. “What? No, of course I’ll try to help! Just because I don’t know of a way doesn’t mean it’s impossible. You’ve already done many things in the last year the pantheon would have claimed were impossible before you did it. Returned from death, conquered a wild remnant, brought a hundred souls from another world to give them new bodies and a second life. How wonderful! I can’t wait to see what immutable thing you mess up next.”

  “But for Anika?” Kanin presses.

  Lisari sucks on a lip. “Look, kid, I’m not going to make you any promises. So far as I know, no one’s ever been able to separate a soul from a remnant with the soul left intact. But hey; maybe you can help her conquer her demons like you did with yours. It’s never been done before—at least, not before you—but I do love indulging in new experiments.”

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “Tell you what,” she continues. “I can extract the refiner from Yedzaquib at least. No one will immediately notice it’s missing with his body still there. Getting it out of the Heavens will be a lot tricker.” She shakes her head. “I can’t risk being caught up in such risky affairs. If they discover I’m helping you all, everything I’ve been working on would unravel. But I can give you an… opportunity, shall we say.”

  Mirzayael finally snaps. “Enough hints and games! Speak directly. What are you offering, and what do you want in return?”

  “In return?” Lisari repeats, faking offense. “Why, the chaos is reward enough! But since you asked so politely, I’ll indulge your request.” She steeples her fingers together, grinning behind her hands.

  “First, I’ll give you this.”

  [Permissions Updated,] Echo says. [Map of The Sanctum available.]

  “That will provide a layout of the sector where the prisoners are being held. I’ll mark the location where I’ve hidden Anika’s refiner when I’m able.”

  My heart jumps. She’s giving us a map of the Heavens? This is precisely what we need. I’m already accessing it, even as Lisari continues her monologue. A spherical image appears in my mind’s eye.

  “And second,” Lisari continues, “I’ll crack open a door to the Heavens for you two to slip inside. I don’t know the exact day, yet; I’d like to time it during another god’s visit to the mortal realm so I can obscure your entry. Once I’ve extracted and hidden the refiner, I’ll send you a message. At that time, I should also know when I’ll be able to open the door. I expect it will be about a month from now.”

  It takes me a moment to realize the room on the map is three dimensional. Of course, since the gods can fly, why would it need to be two dimensional? The room appears to be full of dozens of giant blocks, all suspended in the air. Each block is a room, I think, some of which are labeled “Processing” or “Holding.”

  “Assuming you choose to take advantage of this opportunity,” Lisari adds with a grin. “This will be dangerous. There will be other gods in the Sanctum, and you’ll need to figure out your own way around them; I won’t be there to help you. What you two do once you’re inside is up to you.”

  Finally, Zyneth stirs. He still keeps his gaze lowered, but addresses Lisari for the first time since we arrived here. “‘You two.’ This offer is only for Kanin and Fyre, isn’t it?”

  “What?” I close the map of the Sanctum, looking up sharply. I hadn’t even noticed the specific word choice Zyneth seems to have caught onto.

  “I’m afraid so,” Lisari admits. “That part is out of my hands, however. Fyre and Kanin have access to the System—it will be enough to trick the monitoring spells and enter undetected. But anyone not connected to the System will be flagged. You’d be caught before you even took two steps inside.”

  I should have known there would be a catch. I can already feel Mirzayael’s indecision curdling away. If she’d even faintly been considering taking Lisari up on her offer to break into the Heavens before, there’s no way she’d agree to it now that she can’t accompany me.

  Even so, I say to Lisari, “We will need more time to discuss this offer.”

  “Of course,” the god agrees. “I’ll be sending the update and opening the door regardless; whether or not you step through it, I likely won’t know until the rest of the pantheon does. And by then, you better be somewhere safe.” She turns her head toward me as she says this last part, and it’s not hard for me to understand the implication: I need to be certain that all the Watchtowers are fully operational.

  “Of course,” Lisari adds flippantly, “I’m sure you understand why Blair doesn’t need to know about this little offer of mine.” I frown, opening my mouth to object, but Lisari doesn’t give me the chance. “If you need to speak with me in the meantime, you know how to get in touch!”

  Then she snaps her fingers, and we’re abruptly back in the red room. With the cushions no longer beneath us, we all fall the missing two inches to the floor, and I wince as my hip bones strike the stone.

  Lisari stands, grinning down at us as I rub my abused backside. “Well, it’s been a delight. Until next time!”

  “Wait,” I say. “Lisari—”

  A burst of wind whips through the room, ruffling loose papers, and the woman vanishes into a funnel of black smoke. By the time both have cleared, Lisari is gone.

  I let out a heavy sigh as Mirzayael helps pull me to my feet.

  “Are you alright?” she asks.

  “Yes,” I think, patting her arm in thanks as I smile wearily up at her. “Just tired.”

  Aren’t we all?

  Mirzayael and Zyneth wearily gather up their discarded weapons as Kanin also picks himself up and dusts his coat off.

  “I think there’s much more we need to discuss after that encounter,” I say, resting against the desk as I glance around the subdued room. “But I don’t think any of us are in any state to do so tonight. I’ll try to find time tomorrow when Aquenno is preoccupied—or we can meet again tomorrow night. For now, however, I think we could use some rest.”

  “Good idea,” Kanin agrees. He looks like he’s going to say something more, but his partner speaks first.

  “Then we’ll speak with you again in the morning,” Zyneth says, bowing respectfully to Mirzayael and me. “Good night to you both, and thank you for your hospitality.” He turns just as abruptly and leaves the room.

  Kanin hesitates, his head swiveling between me and the empty doorway. “Ah, Fyre? I still need to talk to you about something before we head out. Can you give me a minute?”

  “Of course,” I say, wearily lowering myself back into my chair.

  “Thanks,” Kanin says. “Just—wait one moment, I’ll be right back.” Then he, too, hurries from the room.

  Mirzayael frowns after them. “What do you suppose that is about?”

  I shake my head, massaging a temple. “I’m not sure. You spent more time with Zyneth yesterday than I did. But while in the presence of Lisari, he did seem a bit…”

  “Subdued,” Mirzayael suggests. She grunts thoughtfully. “The god said he was a runaway prince.”

  I give a tired chuckle. “I suppose that does explain the snide remarks he made about royalty.”

  “Hm.” Mirzayael seems to be ruminating on this further, but she doesn’t share the thoughts with me. “Kanin’s partner is irrelevant. Especially if neither he nor I am able to accompany you to the Heavens.”

  I grimace. “Yes. That would throw a wrench in Kanin’s plan.”

  “I already didn’t want you to go,” Mirzayael admits to my complete lack of surprise. “It would be safer if one of us stayed to watch after the Fortress at any given time. But I had wanted you to be the one who stayed while I assisted with the prisoners’ escape; I am more suited to combat.”

  I don’t disagree with her there. I wouldn’t be able to bring the Dungeon Core with me, so I’d have to rely only on my own magic. Mirzayael would also be more subtle than me at sneaking around; especially given I need to summon several loud and bright flames to fly anywhere.

  “You don’t think either of us should go,” I surmise.

  Mirzayael shakes her head.

  “I’m prone to agree,” I admit. If it’s just me on my own, without Mir there to help, I’d worry about the danger I might put Ollie in, given his Role Requirement.

  “But I would still like to discuss holding up our half of the bargain,” I continue. “Even though it will almost certainly attract the pantheon’s attention, I’d still like for the Fortress to be a safe haven for Travelers.”

  Assuming, of course, Kanin is able to free any. And if he has to do that on his own, it’s a much less certain outcome.

  Mirzayael nods. “I understand. And I trust your judgement. So long as you understand there would be no turning back after this.”

  I laugh, quiet and sad. “We’ve passed so many ‘no turning back’ thresholds I’m not sure I even register them anymore.”

  Kanin steps back in the door, clearing his voice—or at least, getting his translator to make a similar sound. I find the gesture faintly amusing, since it’s entirely manufactured for our benefit.

  “Is everything alright?” I ask.

  “I think so,” Kanin says. “If I had to guess, I think he’s having some sort of crisis of faith. Seems like he needs to sleep on it.”

  Oh, of course. I’m not sure why I hadn’t considered that before—probably because I was an atheist in my previous life. I’ve never really had to grapple with the idea of meeting my maker, so to speak, (although, I suppose, it could be said I’ve done precisely that with Kanin). Zyneth probably has a lot to wrestle with after meeting Shirasil.

  Mirzayael, meanwhile, doesn’t even attempt to hide her smugness. “Not everything he expected?”

  “Or it’s all a lot more serious than it had felt before,” Kanin says with a sigh. “What I want is against the will of his gods, after all. That’s got to summon some conflicted feelings.” He tips his head at Mirzayael. “You don’t seem very bothered.”

  “No,” she says shortly. “My people have a checkered history with Lorata; we are not particularly fond of the pantheon.”

  I wave a tired hand to dismiss the subject. Getting into Fyrethian history right now is the last thing I need, given the time of night. Or, morning, at this point. “A story for another time. What was it you wanted to discuss?”

  Kanin’s shoulders hunch, and he immediately begins fidgeting with a piece of glass. “Er, it’s more of a heads up than anything. Ink and I have an arrangement. Our Influence is about evenly split, so we agreed to split our time, too. It won’t impinge on my control during the day, while it gets to… ah… enjoy more freedom at night.”

  I blink, feeling like I’m missing something. Maybe it’s the sleep deprivation.

  “It doesn’t like being cooped up beneath my coat all day,” he hurriedly adds. “So I let it blow off some steam at night. Stretch its legs. It won’t be a threat to anyone in the city, I promise! Probably it would be best if we went out into the Drifting Isles, anyway. We could even take care of any animals out there that might be bothering the city…” he hesitantly trails off.

  “Is he serious?” Mirzayael thinks, glancing at me. “He wants to let his remnant loose in our city?”

  I am equally skeptical. “You understand why, of course, I don’t like the idea of a remnant running free through our city of its own will?”

  “More than you know,” Kanin says. “But it won’t be entirely running free or entirely on its own. I don’t expect it to cause any harm, but I’ll be along for the ride if I need to stop it from doing anything.”

  I frown, recalling some of the memories he’d shared with me the day before. “You’re speaking of these times where it takes control of your mind.”

  He visibly wilts. “I like to think of it more as sharing my mind.”

  “And you’re okay with this arrangement?” Mirzayael asks skeptically.

  “It’s the best compromise we’ve been able to work out,” Kanin says. Which is, I note, not really an answer to her question.

  But it seems he doesn’t have much choice in the matter; he just wants to give us a head’s up so we don’t mistake Ink—or Kanin—for a threat.

  “Alright,” I finally allow. “I know this is not a request. I can’t say I like it, but I appreciate that you’re keeping us informed.”

  “No problem,” he mumbles. The glass man stuffs his hands in his coat pockets managing to look distinctly uncomfortable even without a face. “We’ll be heading out, then. Thanks for understanding. Have a good night.”

  “Good night, Kanin.” I sit back in my seat with a sigh as he slips back out the door. What a night.

  “We?” Mirzayael repeats once he’s gone. “The way he refers to it concerns me. It sounds far more invasive than your Dungeon Core.”

  “I suspect it is.” I grimace, recalling Lisari’s comment on how closely the creature was tied to his soul. “I suppose we’ll have to trust him that he has as much control over it as he claims.”

  Mirzayael gives me a hard look. “And hope that yours doesn’t equally grow in influence.”

  I knead my forehead. “That too.”

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