The golden script hung in the air in front of him, while Ivan limped after Arthur through the dark slum streets of Obafemi. It drifted alongside him, adjusting its position every time he turned his head, hovering just inside his peripheral vision with the quiet marking of an unread notification.

  He gave in. The golden letters were small and precise, each one etched with the same fly-wing filigree he'd come to associate with Fly Catcher's inscriptions:

  You are in possession of a Spiritual Characteristic.

  Spiritual Characteristic: Great Beast: Ifrit (Fire Sovereign)

  Status: Dormant / Uninscribed

  Would you like to extract the Spiritual Nature of Ifrit?

  [Yes] [No]

  Like a kid with A.D.H.D and no meds he had to read it over a few times, because his brain kept snagging on the phrase "devouring lesser flame spirits" and the image his imagination kept creating was terrifying.

  The [Yes] and [No] options sat there glowing like an RGB light.

  Ivan jabbed his finger at [No] and swiped the text away with his unburned hand. The golden script scattered and faded.

  "We need to get back to the shop," Ivan said.

  Arthur nodded and turned. Ivan followed.

  All that was left of the pawnshop was a blackened wooden skeleton.

  Arthur stepped over the collapsed doorframe. Ivan followed, his boots crunching on charred debris. Rory was on the floor near the back of the shop. Her clothing was black with soot. Her rose-colored hair was matted to her face with sweat and ash and crispy bits of blood. And in her arms, cradled against her chest with a gentleness that made Ivan's stomach drop through the floor, was Brom.

  His shirt was soaked through with blood, the wound Natasha had given him was opened wide, his intestines spilling onto the stone floor. Rory's were drenched in the man's blood as she tried to press them back into the gaping hole in his belly.

  The lavender-haired girl was crouched against the wall with her knees pulled up to her chest and her arms wrapped around them, her face buried into her knees.

  Ivan crossed the room. He knelt in front of Rory, his knees hitting the charred and bloody ground, and the blood soaked through his pants immediately. It was still warm, which meant it hadn't been long.

  "Rory."

  She didn't look up.

  "Rory, I got it back."

  He held out his burned hand and opened his fingers. The stone sat there, still bright, angry and red, still radiating heat. Rory's eyes moved to it. Then to his hand… to the blistered, weeping mess of his palm, the skin torn where the stone had fused and been ripped free.

  "Your hand,"

  "It's fine. Take it."

  Rory looked at the stone for a long time. Then she reached out with one blood-covered hand and lifted it from Ivan's palm, her fingers closing around it, and the glow intensified.

  "Thank you," she said. "Ivan, I... thank you."

  "Don't." Ivan's throat was tight. He looked at Brom's body, at the blood on Rory's clothes, at the ruined shop around them. "I should've been faster."

  "You did more than anyone could have asked."

  Behind them, Arthur's boots came to a stop. The knight inspected the scene and his expression remained controlled.

  "My name is Arthur… Pendragon and Knight of the Royal Guard, sworn protector of the nation of Obafemi. I was dispatched to this district following intelligence reports that an operative of the Church of Tongues had been sighted within the Capital walls."

  "The woman who did this," Arthur continued, his eyes on Brom's body. "She matches the description of the operative I was sent to find. I arrived too late to prevent this, and for that, you have my sincere apology."

  Rory looked up at him. Her gold eyes were red-rimmed. But she straightened her back and met the knight's eyes.

  Arthur's eyes moved to her hair. To the flower tucked behind her ear, the Morningstar Orchid, white petals streaked with gold, still intact despite the fire and the fighting and the blood. Its center was glowing.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  "That flower," Arthur said. "Where did you come by it?"

  "It was given to me," Rory said. "Or rather... It chose me."

  "May I ask your name?"

  Rory folded Brom’s hands over his chest with a tenderness that made Ivan look away.

  "My name is Rory Quin, I am a Nephilim… I am a successor to the throne of Obafemi."

  "Lady Quin, It is an honor."

  The Morningstar Orchid in Rory's hair went from its soft, steady pulse to a blaze of gold. Rory flinched, her hand going to her ear, and for a moment Ivan thought the flower was reacting to Arthur, to the proximity of a knight sworn to the nation of Obafemi.

  But Arthur wasn't looking at Rory. He was looking at Gwen.

  The lavender-haired girl was still crouched in the corner, still curled into herself, still silent. But the orchid's light was angled toward her, its golden center blazing.

  "That's..." Ivan started.

  Arthur crossed the room, his boots crunching on the wreckage, and stopped in front of Gwen. The girl looked up at him with red-rimmed lavender eyes and an expression that was half feral and half broken, her face streaked with soot and dried tears she'd never admit to.

  "Stand, please," Arthur said.

  "Piss off."

  "I must ask you to stand. It is important."

  Gwen's lip curled. "I said piss—"

  "Please."

  Something in the way he said it, made Gwen's snap shut. She stared at him for a long moment, then unfolded herself from the corner and stood, her arms crossed, her chin jutted forward in defiance.

  The orchid blazed brighter. Arthur took Gwen's arm and gently guided her closer to Rory. The golden center of the Morningstar Orchid erupted. The light filled the room, washing out the shadows, turning the charred walls golden, Ivan had to shield his eyes with his burned hand, which was a mistake because the pain nearly made him pass out.

  When the light faded to a tolerable level, Arthur was on one knee. His back straight, his head bowed, his right fist pressed to his chest in a salute. The man who had deflected Natasha's blade with a weapon made of pure light… was kneeling on the blood-soaked floor of a burned down pawnshop in front of a half angel and a pickpocket.

  "The Morningstar Orchid," Arthur said, his voice steady and formal, "is a relic of the Obafemi bloodline. It was cultivated by the first king from the seed of a spirit tree, and it blooms only in the presence of those who carry the blood of the royal line. It cannot be deceived."

  "It has identified you," Arthur continued, his golden eyes lifting to meet Gwen's lavender ones, "and Lady Quin, as successors to the Crown of Obafemi. By the laws of the kingdom and the covenant of the Succession, you are both candidates for the throne."

  The room was silent. Rory stood with one hand over her mouth, the stone clutched in the other, her gold eyes wide. Ivan knelt in a pool of blood with his burned hand cradled against his chest.

  And Gwen… Gwen, the foul-mouthed slum rat, the girl who'd stolen Rory's stone and sold it, looked down at the knight kneeling before her, and her face twisted into something ugly and furious.

  "Go fuck yourself,"

  "Lady Gwen, I understand your frustration," Arthur said.

  "You don't understand a damn thing… I'm not a successor. I'm not anythin' to do with your damn throne, and if you don't get off your knees and get out of my face, I'll—"

  "You'll what?"

  Gwen's mouth worked. Nothing came out.

  "Per the Law of Succession," Arthur continued, rising to his feet in a single fluid motion that made Ivan's knees ache just watching, "any individual identified by a Morningstar Orchid as a carrier of the Obafemi bloodline must be assigned a Pendragon for protection and presented before the Council of Succession within thirty days." He paused. "I will serve as your knight, Lady Gwen."

  "I ain’t no fuckin’ Lady."

  "It is your title."

  "It's not my bloody—" Gwen kicked a piece of debris across the floor.

  "I don't want anythin' to do with any of this… You want to know what I want? I want the forty silver Brom owed me for that stone, and I want to walk out of here, and I want to never see any of you again."

  Arthur studied her for a long moment. Then he spoke, and his voice dropped the formal cadence for something quieter. Something that sounded like it cost him effort.

  "You do not have a choice in whether you are a successor. The orchid has identified your blood… and without a Pendragon to protect you, the tongues will take you."

  Gwen's eyes flicked to Brom's body, now underneath Rory's cloak.

  "The woman who attacked this shop was not here for the stone alone. She was here because someone learned that a successor had been found in the slums. If I found you, others will follow."

  "I don't need your protection," Gwen said. But the venom had thinned.

  "Perhaps not," Arthur said. "But you will have it regardless."

  Arthur reached into the leather satchel at his hip—Ivan hadn't paid much attention to it before, too busy not dying—and produced a second orchid.

  He held the orchid toward Gwen. "If you take this orchid, it will mark you as a recognized successor and place me as your Pendragon and protector."

  Gwen took the orchid from Arthur's hand. "This doesn't mean I'm agreein' to anythin',"

  "He placed his fist to his chest again and bowed. "I am Sir Arthur of the Royal Guard, and I am now sworn to your service, Lady Gwen. I will protect you with my life."

  "Stop callin' me that."

  "As you wish, Lady Gwen."

  Ivan almost laughed. Almost. This whole scene was absurd, a knight out of a storybook kneeling in blood and ash to swear fealty to a street rat.

  Arthur turned to Rory. The knight had Gwen's elbow in a grip that was gentle but clearly non-negotiable, and Gwen was radiating fury from every pore, the dormant orchid tucked behind her ear where it glowed softly against her lavender hair.

  "Lady Quin, you must present yourself to Count Vladimir Vasili. His estate is just outside of the city. He has been appointed by the council as the overseer for candidates arriving in the capital. He will provide you with lodging, credentials, and an audience before the succession committee."

  "He is a touch eccentric… but he is fair, and he is powerful enough that no faction will move against you while you are under his roof. Go to him today. Do not delay."

  "And what about you?" Rory asked.

  "Since I am now Lady Gwen’s sworn Pendragon… I shall escort her to the committee personally… It may take some time."

  "I'm not goin' anywhere with you, and the second you let go of my arm I'm runnin' so fast you'll—"

  "Lady Gwen."

  "—think I was never bloody here in the first—"

  "Lady Gwen, please."

  Arthur inclined his head toward Ivan. "Master Tepes. What you did tonight… running with that stone, drawing the enemy away from civilians. That was the act of a man with a knight's heart. I will not forget it."

  "Thanks…"

  Arthur nodded once, turned, and walked Gwen down the street toward the main road. Gwen's cursing carried back to them in broken bits.

  "—fuckin’ orchid—stupid knight—I'll bite your hand off, assho—"

  "Ivan… Thank you. for the stone. For all of it. Thank you."

  His throat tightened. He swallowed against it.

  Quiet settled between them. Not awkward—just tiredness.

  "Where are you staying?"

  Ivan thought about the room where he'd woken up in a bathtub full of his own blood. He didn't even know if he'd paid for the room. He didn't know the original’s name, his debts, his enemies, his anything. All he had were the clothes on his back, which were now stiff with blood and smelled like a burned-down building.

  "Nowhere… I don't have anywhere to go"

  Rory was quiet for a moment.

  "Come with me, to Count Vasili's estate. At least until you find your footing."

  "I would... like the company. If you're willing."

  Ivan thought about saying no. About the dozen reasons he should walk away from this, from the succession, from a world that had tried to kill him three times in the span of a single day. He thought about the smart play, the safe play, the play where he found a corner of the world to hide in.

  But Rory was looking at him with those beautiful gold eyes, and the truth was that he didn't have a better option. He didn't have any option. He was alone, with no money, no power, and no plan.

  She was offering him a life-line.

  "Yeah… okay. I'll come with you."

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