The ballroom was abuzz with a peculiar energy when I entered it again. There was loud music in the air, echoing off the walls from somewhere else. It sounded like an organ; the pipes must have directed the music into this room while the performer stayed somewhere out of sight of the prestigious guests. My sensitive ears could hear the walls subtly vibrating with each note.

To the sound of that music, people had begun to dance on the recessed lower floor. Their motions were twirling and elegant, in time with each note and matching every crescendo. I neared the balcony surrounding the floor, glancing over at the dancing pairs to try and find the val Lunedor woman. But instead, I found Grace and Rosalie. I knew Grace wasn't much of a dancer, but with Rosalie taking the lead in relatively simple movements, they were doing well, and seemed to have caught the eye of some of the other people watching.

"The dances are always so impressive," a rough voice said from behind me, far more hoarse than any of the nobles I'd heard here. To my surprise, it was the val Lunedor, approaching in her red dress and bestial mask. Beneath the silver fangs, she had a knowing smile. "Still, I'm surprised to see that any of you knights would have been taught to dance like this."

"Oh, we weren't," I said, turning to face her properly with a short bow. "Rosalie has experience with events like this."

"And that would be the one with your sister…Grace, was it?" said the woman. "They make lovely partners."

I knew she meant for dancing, but my mind still caught the double meaning there. "So," I said, eager to get to the point. "I'm sure you already know that I'm Sir Belfry. You asked for me?"

"I did indeed. I am Lady Florence val Lunedor, scion of the house." She returned my bow with a shallow curtsy. "I don't suppose that you would be interested in a dance yourself?"

I glanced at the floor again. "Oh, uh…." I might have accepted if I was still fully human, but I had zero confidence that I would be able to dance in this form without falling over and embarrassing myself, the flight, and the whole corps. "Like I said, Rosalie's really the only one who's any good at dancing."

"Oh, good," said Florence, seeming relieved. "Perhaps you could accompany me to the front gardens, then? I would prefer for our conversation to be private."

The request rang some alarm bells in my head. I could see from here that the front doors into the vestibule hung open, so I presumed there must be a few guests enjoying the vast palatial gardens, but it was still far, far more isolated than anywhere in the castle, and I had already had to deal with three infiltrators in here. But for all my suspicion, the request seemed genuine—if there was any danger to this request, I doubted it came from her.

"I can do that," I said.

"Come, then." She swept towards the door, with me following close behind. It felt almost like a miracle once we were outside and the echoing noises of the castle faded behind us. Florence led us to one of the many winding paths that meandered through flower fields and past proud hedges, away from the few other people who were out in the gardens.

"Good," she said, slowing down to talk while we walked. "We won't be heard here."

"So what is it you wanted to tell me?" I asked. "It sounded urgent."

"It is," confirmed Florence. "I will try not to take up too much of your time for that reason. You should know, though, that the archvicar is planning something."

I shrugged. "I'm aware."

She gave me a surprised look. "Really?"

"Mhm. I've been doing some…investigating." It felt like she was on our side, but I wasn't ready to fully admit the extent of my snooping around the castle.

"Well," she said. "Good for taking initiative. Have you uncovered his plot?"

"No," I admitted.

"Mm. I'm not entirely sure of it myself. I asked your sister to give you a warning, because I heard one of the ministers mention the lake. What do you know of Lake Amarclere?"

"Absolutely nothing at all," I said. "Apart from it being the largest lake in the province. Why, is it special?"

"'Special' is good word for it. It is the home of the most powerful of all the Praeses that protect the vale."

"Praeses?" I repeated.

"Are you not a member of the Church?" asked Florence.

"Er…I haven't exactly kept up regular attendance, no."

"Hm," she pondered. "I would advise that you keep that fact to yourself. You certainly won't win any favour with anyone of importance here if you aren't winning the competition in devoutness. But regardless, I suppose you could call Praeses something like saintly spirits. Natural spirits who have obtained similar enlightenment to the saints, but elected to remain in this world to guide and protect us. It is known that the lake is the home of the water spirit we call the Pure Serpent, for its custodianship over the pure and clear waters of the lakes and rivers.

"At the start of each season, on each solstice and equinox, they perform a ceremony to call the Serpent out of the water and ask for its blessings for the coming months. It's a regular ritual, but it's one that's important enough for the burgomaster to have a man prepared specially to perform it."

"You think the vicar is going to disrupt the ritual?" I filled in.

"I do, though I don't have any idea what he might be attempting specifically," said Florence. "But if the ritual were to go wrong, it would be trivial to blame the burgomaster's man, and then the burgomaster himself. Thus allowing the vicar to consolidate power by harming his legal superior's reputation in the eyes of the city."

"Right…" I said. "I get the motive, I see the power struggle there, and I've met the vicar enough times to get that he's the type who wants that power no matter what the cost is."

Florence seemed taken aback. "How many times have you met the vicar?"

"Twice, now," I said.

She grimaced. "More than enough times, I would say."

Her comment reminded me that this was a conflict with more than two sides. I crossed my arms, putting myself back into a vigilant mindset. "Why are you telling me all this?" I asked. "I hate to say it, but I doubt that you're doing it just for altruism's sake."

"Is that too much to believe?" If I hadn't known any better, I would have said that she sounded genuinely hurt. "Disappointing. But you're at least correct that I have…reasons." She paused, stopping to pick a white lily from the flowerbed, the silver claws of her gloves snapping it right off its stem. "You've elected to join the political game here in the shire by attending the ball. It's only natural that some would seek the favour of yourself and your flight, and House val Lunedor is always ready for more allies." She leaned over and delicately placed the flower in the front pocket of my coat.

I felt heat in my face, and I took a step back. "Well, um," I said, flustered. If she had made that advance to throw me off, it had worked. But I could smell the anxiety on her when I moved away, and between that and the frown under her mask, she seemed almost as embarrassed as me. "Well, I don't know about being allies just yet. I mean, I barely know of that house. Your house."

"I see," she said, quickly regaining her composure. "I'm sure you've heard of the Sangvielle wines before, but perhaps our house name hasn't reached you where you're from. Regardless, none of us are eager to see the vicar take hold of the city. I don't think anything good can come of that, no matter what your interests are."

"No," I agreed. I glanced back up at the castle as the path swung around to bring us back towards the front doors. "With that in mind…can I ask you for a favour?"

"A favour?" said Florence. "What do you have in mind?"

"I think that the vicar's men are doing whatever it is they're planning in the castle's occult wing," I explained. "It's apparently near the halls open for the ball, but there's guards in front of the door. Do you think you could…make some kind of distraction?"

"So that you can enter and put a stop to these plans?" she asked. I nodded. "A distraction…I believe I can oblige."

"Thank you," I said.

I picked up the pace as we went back inside. Neither of us knew exactly when the vicar's plan would conclude, but I didn't want to risk losing anything because we were too slow. We hurried back up the stairs and into the ballroom, where I finally found Griffin since we split up at the start of the celebration. They seemed deeply uncomfortable, and had attracted a small crowd in the corner of the ballroom. If we weren't in the middle of something, I would have gone to comfort them, but as it stood all I could do was give Grace a quick mental note that they seemed distressed and might need some help.

I slowed down as Florence headed into the hallway where the doors to the occult wing were, so any onlookers were less likely to guess we were planning anything. I kept my eye on the guards as she went up. I had thought that she might tell them something, or urge for them to follow her, but instead she lost her footing, stumbling and leaning up against a wall. She whispered purposefully loudly, "Saints!" and collapsed to the floor. The guards ran forward as soon as she hit the ground, the one in the middle leaning down to prop her up.

"Madame, are you alright?" they asked. "Are you hurt?"

"Oh, no!" said Florence, affecting an out-of-breath voice. "Dear, I'm just…feeling ever so faint…."

The leading guard turned to one of the others. "Fetch some water, now!" they ordered. Their subordinate nodded, and as they ran past me down the hall, I took the opportunity, quietly and casually walking behind the guards and slipping the cloth off the door handle. A quick glance over my shoulder told me most of the crowd was either still engaged in conversations or turned to look at the fallen Lady Florence. It was good enough, and I pulled the door open just enough to slip inside.

There was an immediate shift in the air as I entered the occult wing. The atmosphere felt heavy, and it was thick with the smell of blood. But within that sweet odour was a hint of deathly rot, and that cadaver scent that I was getting so tired of smelling at the castle. The décor was only slightly different from the public halls, with the most notable changes being the addition of red paint to the stylings on the walls, resembling tiny rivulets of blood.

There was a narrow staircase right in front of me, and as soon as I got to the top, it was clear what my destination was. There were two shut doors on the left side of the long hall, but a third at the very end was the clear end point of the scent trails. I tiptoed over, and pressed my ear against the wood to try and tell what was going on in there.

It wasn't a good sign. I could hear soft chanting, which echoed and reverberated just like the Primaeval speech that Emrys used when he was performing magic.

"Shit!" I cursed under my breath. My heart suddenly jumped in pace, beating hard enough for me to hear the blood in my ears as I realised what that meant. Whatever they were doing, they'd already started. I didn't have much time, if I wasn't already too late.

I tried the handle. Locked. I cracked my knuckles, ready to use my enhanced strength. I backed up, and with a running start, lunged forward to slam my shoulder into the door. The wood was thick so I was expecting resistance, but I bounced off something invisible instead. The impact hurled me backwards with as much force as I had brought against the door, and I landed on my back several feet down the hall. When I pushed myself up, I saw the blood glyphs on the door now glowing with red cinders.

It was a ward. I was starting to get really sick of these things being all over the place, but maybe this one was weaker. I tried charging the door again, then a third time, but all I managed to accomplish was making my shoulder sore from the force of the impacts.

Damn it! I needed Emrys's help, but saints knew where he was in the castle, and I didn't have near enough time to go and find him. My only options were to find another way in that room, which I doubted existed unless I tunnelled through the walls, or break the seal. The first was impossible, probably, and the second….

Okay, I thought to myself. You've done this before. All you've got to do is do it again, just without letting it in. Emrys had broken the seal on the door in the chapel with magic—I should be able to do the same with evocation, right?

I wasn't entirely sure how to start. Both times I'd done this, the Fiend had helped, and it sort of just felt like it was happening on instinct. It was like trying to teach myself how to think a new thought, or flex a muscle I didn't know existed. I stood a few feet from the door, eyes locked on the glyphs and my hands in front of me, clenched into fists as I focussed as hard as I could on the blood in my veins.

"Come on…" I growled aloud. "This shouldn't be so hard…you broke a Lock for this, you should be able to—gah!"

I felt it. For a brief second, I felt it, a spark in my heart. I pushed that feeling, holding as tightly as I could to the sensation and trying to superimpose my memory of it onto reality. I felt another spark, and then fire. Painful, burning fire in my blood. It reminded me of the pain I had suffered the first time I transformed back at the monastery, only not quite so agonising. I had it—evocation.

I held my hands out towards the door. I could almost see the tendrils of vis that emanated from the glowing glyphs of blood, trailing from them like smoke from cinders. I pushed the burning energy into my hands and out into the world. As I clenched my hands shut, I felt the energy lock around the vis of the glyph, and I slowly pulled my hands apart. I felt resistance, like I was trying to burst a metal chain, but the fire was giving me strength. The links of the vis slowly cracked and came undone. My muscles strained, and I felt the fire burning hotter with each second, but the glyph gradually faded until with one last crack, the glow vanished and the blood began to flake off the door.

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I dropped my arms, breathing hard. It had taken concentration to bring my blood to burn, all it took was letting go of that focus for it return to normal. I could feel that some of it was gone though. I was suddenly exhausted, and feeling woozy enough that I had to take a second to lean against the wall and catch my breath.

But there wasn't time. I pushed myself forward and charged the door one more time. Though it was still thick wood, it was battered down after a few solid blows, snapping the latch in two as it flew open to reveal the ritual chamber. It was a mostly empty stone box without any windows, and with the only "decoration" being reddish candles and oil lamps on the floor and hanging from the walls, which I guessed were meant to stabilise the vis in the room during any major work. There were three concentric circles on the floor outlined in gold chalk, which guided the large glyphs of blood that had been inscribed and linked together, filling up most of the floorspace.

In the centre of the circle was that bottle of royal blood. That infiltrator, the cadaver from before, stood over the bottle, its hands raised and a slow chant on its tongue. As the blood glyphs burned, the royal blood was streaming from the top of the bottle like a reverse slow-motion waterfall, disappearing into a dark singularity hovering in the air.

"No!" I shouted. The infiltrator didn't even acknowledge my presence, even as I ran across the room and slashed my claws across its chest, then raked them upwards and cut its throat open, hurling it to the ground. No blood came from its wounds, but it didn't get up after it hit the floor.

The ritual, however, was still going. I desperately scratched at the glyph with my foot until reason took over again and I kicked the bottle of blood as hard as I could. It flew across the room and smashed against the wall, spraying broken glass and the worryingly scant remnants of purplish blood all over the place.

The moment the glass shattered, the flames springing from the glyphs flared high. I felt a strong pull from the dark singularity, like gravity had suddenly switched which direction it was pointing. I stumbled back and grabbed onto the door frame as air screamed past me for a brief moment. I was lifted off the ground, but my grip held firm enough to keep me from falling into the hole in space. The cadaver wasn't as lucky, and was immediately pulled off the ground and crushed down into the sphere. The flames of the blood soared upwards and spiralled into the hole, and even the shards of glass across the room were sucked in.

But the pull only lasted for a few moments before it died down, and the singularity winked out of existence. The fires died, and I fell back down to the floor with a heavy whumph that knocked the wind out of me. I struggled on the stones to get my breath back before I stood, looking down at the circle.

I…hadn't ever seen or heard of anything like what just happened. Emrys might know just what was going on, but by now it was too late. Whatever had happened had happened, and now we'd need to find and deal with the consequences.

«Belfry?» I heard in my head. «Belfry? Belfry!?»

«I'm here,» I said as soon as my mind was able to project itself again. «What happened?»

«That's what I was going to ask you! All the lights started flickering and there were these giant bubbles coming from the lake….»

The lake. Had I been too late? «Bubbles?»

«Like something big down there was drowning,» said Grace. «Whatever it was, it seriously riled up the archvicar. They're announcing…some kind of ceremony…sounds like a summoning?»

«They're summoning a spirit in the lake, Florence told me,» I was already hurrying down the hall, and thankfully it seemed like the guards in front of the door were gone. In fact, as I stepped out and shut the door silently behind me, the hall was entirely empty. I could hear a massive group of people up ahead, where the ballroom was.

«I'm coming,» I said, and broke into a real run, not slowing down until I turned the corner and saw the throng that had gathered in the ballroom. It looked like the entire guest list was in there, milling about the spaces around the dance floor and talking in hushed whispers that combined into a cacophony of noise. I could easily see Griffin amongst the crowd, and made out everyone else except for Arthur standing alongside them. They were up near the back of the room, close to the giant windows that looked out over the lake.

I had to push my way past a few people to get to them, but the crowd was fluid at the moment and easy to move aside. Samson gave a nervous wave from Ingo's side, nudging him in the shoulder as I approached.

"I know," he said. "Griffin already told me."

"Has it started yet?" I asked, still out of breath from the whole ordeal I had just been through.

"It has," said Rosalie. She pointed to the window. I could see them out on the wide balcony, the archvicar, burgomaster, deacons, and another person in long red robes that I didn't recognise. They must have been the ritualist. They had already finished drawing a complex glyph on the floor.

"Damn," I muttered.

"What's wrong?" whispered Grace.

"A lot," I said. "I…just…I might have failed. Stay vigilant."

"Failed?" Grace tried to press, but her attention was drawn away as the crowd's whispering dissolved into shushing noises, then into silence. The archvicar had come in from the balcony and held his hands high, presiding over the gathered people.

"Friends and faithful," he said. "It brings Us great joy to have you here at this ball to celebrate the coming of the harvest season." He smiled and waited for the clapping that rose up to abate before continuing. "The time of reaping is a most auspicious period of the year, as wheat is separated from chaff, and by the wisdom of the Great Ones, we are granted sustenance from what resists the winnowing."

He paused for more applause, a wide but controlled smile on his face. "Friends…We say that this season is a holy one. The Great Ones have granted Us such vision, and through this vision We have beheld Yorving, our beloved city, as a shining beacon upon a hilltop, its walls firm and unbroken, its high towers crowned in white and gold. This season, We say to you, is our time of winnowing; though we face many struggles, we will emerge, resplendent and golden, our glory all the greater for having faced tribulation."

The burgomaster stepped forward behind him, raising a hand. "Erm, archvicar, if I may…?" he said, just loud enough for me to hear.

"Yes," said the vicar. "It is time. Friends, let us now join in welcoming the Pure Serpent to our city once again, and ask in its blessed wisdom that we be granted fresh, purifying rain, to set the slate clean and usher in this holy season."

He and the burgomaster split, stepping to windows on opposite sides of the door to watch out over the lake. The crowd held its breath, and I found myself joining them. My heart pounded with anticipation, all my muscles ready to spring into action if something were to happen.

The glyphs were ignited, and the ritualist began to quietly chant, an unnervingly similar sound to the one that issued from the cadaver only minutes ago. I felt a change in the air first; I could sense the vis that flooded from the ritual, but more than that, there was a humidity to the atmosphere, even inside the room, that hadn't been there before, as though water had been drawn right out of the air.

The room was dead silent as everyone watched the windows. There was a rumble of thunder in the distance, and dark clouds began to manifest right out of the sky. Then, I saw bubbles on the surface of the lake, at least a mile away from the shore. The bubbles grew in intensity, and then the surface broke as the Serpent emerged from the water, climbing into the air.

It in some ways resembled a dragon, with its heavy scales, long face, and the single jagged horn that rose up from its forehead. But it had no wings, and there were ten pairs of legs that ran down the length of its serpentine body. It was at least a hundred feet long, a titan of a spirit, far, far larger than any living thing I had ever seen before. Its scales were a pale turquoise, darkening to a deep indigo along its underside. A great frill spread out from its neck, the rays between which the frill stretched extending further into dark tines that shone with sparks of lightning dancing between them.

The Serpent undulated through the air as if gravity had no effect on it, climbing in a spiral until it was well above the land. Thunder growled once again from the clouds overhead, and a gentle rain began to patter down on the balcony, failing to put out the mystical blood fire of the ritual.

For a moment, things seemed to be going well. Then I caught the creature's eye. I got the sense that even under normal circumstances, the Serpent's gaze was cold, almost lifeless, from its wide, lidless eyes. But now, it somehow looked panicked. Terrified.

Thunder came once more, this time a sharp crack rather than a soft and harmless rumble. The wind picked up and began to howl through the open archway. The rain fell heavier, and the ritualist's chant was interrupted by a sharp hiss as they broke off their speech, covering their exposed hands from the rain.

"Agh, what is this?" they muttered. "It…burns!"

The Serpent cried out, a low wail that echoed across the castle grounds. The crowd's silence was broken as people immediately took to conjecture about what was happening, even as the ritual continued to go wrong. I pushed my way forward, getting as close as I could to the nearest window without drawing the attention of the vicar.

The Serpent began to twitch and shake in the air. And then it began to change. Its lips pulled back into its skull, revealing a nest of sharp, needle-like teeth in its mouth. Its horn cracked and grew longer, splitting into two branching points as more horns sprouted from the skin all over its face, covering over its eyes and blinding it. Spikes jutted from its body, some of which were bone, and others of which were jagged, clear crystal covered in blood, like huge shards of glass embedded in its skin. Patches of scales sloughed off, revealing greyish flesh beneath, putrid and half-rotten. Long strips of brown tattered cloth sprouted from its joints, hanging down from its body like mournful flags. The horns growing across its face began to fuse together into one giant, bony, blank mask that covered its eyes.

The spirit let out another wail, its voice having become a low gurgle like it was choking on its own blood, and then it vanished in a bolt of lightning that lanced off to the west. The wind screamed through the hall, bringing droplets of rain in through the door with it. Wherever they hit the tiles, they sizzled and carved tiny pits into the ground. The ritualist lunged for the door, but their body was already starting to smoke as the rain soaked into their robe and began eating through their flesh.

"H-Help!" they shrieked desperately as they scratched at their own melting skin. "Someone, please I c-can't g—"

In the middle of their panic, the deacons came back inside, apparently untouched by the burning rain, and drew pistols from inside their coats. One of them immediately planted a bullet in the ritualist's head. The sound of the gunshot boomed through the hall to the echo of gasps from the crowd. The ritualist died instantly, and lay in a heap on the floor, the rain continuing to dissolve their flesh and expose their bones.

The other deacon levelled their gun at the burgomaster, holding their fire for now. I caught a brief glimpse of confusion that flickered over the archvicar's face for a moment as he stared at the space where the Serpent had been in the air, but he swiftly removed his emotion and turned to the burgomaster with a look of righteous fury.

"You…" he growled, performing his anger well. "What have you done!?"

The burgomaster stared at the gun pointed at his head. He held his hands up in surrender. "Now, vicar Barbosa, please—"

"You blaspheme!" the vicar roared. "I am a SAINT! Do you have no respect for the holy and sacred!? You secular vandal, you have brought ruin to the Pure Serpent, and to this holy city!"

"I'm not responsible for this!" the burgomaster cried. "I've—what reason would I have to do…that to the Serpent?"

«Do we kill him now?» Grace said frantically in my head. «I'm guessing he's behind all this, what do we do?»

«Wait,» I said. It killed me to give that order—it would be so easy to march over and tear the vicar's throat out right then and there, and he would deserve it, too. But there were too many eyes, and we were unarmed. We'd never get out of here alive if we acted now. I wanted him dead, but I wanted myself and my friends to live more.

"Faithful!" the vicar said, walking in front of the crowd once more. "I…I sense a vision…." He closed his eyes and held his arms high. "Walking corpses…the vandal placed them here to befoul the waters and corrupt what was once pure…." He opened his eyes and swept his arm out. "By the holy prophet's name, I command you to reveal yourselves!"

Among the crowd, eight plainly dressed people stood up straight, facing the vicar like they were in a trance as their masks slipped from their faces. Neither of the cadavers I had seen before were unmasked, and now I could see why. Though their skin merely looked sallow and pale, their eyes were sewn shut, and they had glyphs carved into the skin of their face in wounds that neither bled nor healed. The people gasped in shock and terror as they beheld the dead among them. More gunshots rang out as the deacons turned their pistols on the crowd, expertly hitting a corpse in the head with each shot and sending them sprawling to the ground, dead once again.

"Wait!" Samson cried out, stepping forward from behind Ingo. Ingo tried to step forward in front of him again, but Samson nervously pushed him back. "Those things, they were sent by the—!"

The vicar snarled as Samson spoke, and he pulled a pistol from within his own robe, one covered entirely in gold and white, but stained black around the muzzle from frequent use. "No!" I shouted, and lunged to the side. The crack of the gunshot rang in my ears, and I felt the impact across my face as I dove to protect Samson. But the bullet didn't pierce my mask, instead sending it clattering across the ground as the force tore it away from my face.

I thought that my gambit had worked, until I heard Samson cry in pain. I glanced over to see blood staining his trousers around a hole at his shin. He collapsed, and then I saw that the deacons had already turned their guns on him too when the vicar's shot failed, one bullet hitting him in the shoulder and another on the side of his chest. He laid still on the ground.

"Not only has the heretic called the dead from their rest," said the vicar, "but he has convinced his own servants to defend his treacherous actions! May the Great Ones take mercy on his spirit, for he was a young life so easily swayed by evil!"

I pushed myself to my feet, unable to hold back the instinct to bare my teeth at the monster in front of me. He sneered. "And he has invited the corrupted and accursed into our sanctum, under the feeble guise of 'protection'…. Do you wish to bring the plague of the Scourge here, to this bastion? Is that what your foul plot was, vile burgomaster?"

The din of speculative conversation immediately turned to me, and it felt like every single word they said was physically pressing on my ears. I tried not to listen, but I couldn't block out every comment.

"The Scourge is real…?"

"Perhaps they're all compromised…."

"…all that blood on its face…"

"…thought dragons were immune…"

"…did it…eat someone?"

"…monsters, all of them!"

"I'm not…I'm not cursed!" I said, but I couldn't put enough conviction in my words to avoid getting drowned out by the rapidly spinning rumour mill around me.

Even the vicar seemed not to have heard, instead turning his attention to the burgomaster. "You have failed in your duties as a leader," he said. "You have failed to keep the people safe, and you have betrayed their trust. You have conspired with warlocks and witches, and brought the Scourge to our city."

"I—I haven't done any of those things!" the burgomaster protested, but he was crushed under the presence of the vicar.

«…Go,» I said to Grace. «Come on, we're leaving. We need to get out of here.»

«But—»

«No! We have to go! He's going to turn on us next, we'll fight another day! Now come on!» I knelt down to pick up Samson's body as I moved back towards the outer doors. I could feel him still breathing—the bullet must have missed his lungs, but if I wanted to save him, he needed to get back to the castle as fast as I could take him. I whispered the order again to the rest of the flight, and walked as fast as I could towards the exit with the others trailing behind me.

"You lie, fiend," the vicar continued his speech in a sadistic whisper. There was the click of his gun being readied. "You are unfit to rule. You have forsaken the peoples' will, and in turn, you shall be forsaken yourself. May Gideon forgive you, for I will not."

"No," the burgomaster whimpered. "No, no, no, no, no, n—"

I heard the gunshot just as we made it out of the ballroom and into the nearly empty vestibule. Nearly empty, because the only person there was Arthur, frantically pacing by the door to the gardens. The rain was still pouring down, but I didn't hear any sizzling coming from outside, so it seemed that whatever had made it burn through the ritualist had faded.

"What's going on?" Arthur asked. "What happened up there?"

"Why are you down here?" said Ingo, vitriolic anger coating his words.

"There's too much gold and gems up there, I-I couldn't stay, I'd go insane!" Arthur protested.

"The vicar is making his move," I said. "But we can't fight him now. We're leaving, and we need to go fast, before he decides that we shouldn't escape. Get out there and shift."

Arthur rubbed his arms. "I-I don't want to…."

I snarled. "Fine! Griffin, you carry him and Rosalie. I'll take Emrys and Samson."

I marched out the door and set Samson down on the ground, not even bothering to step away before I started shifting. I was thankful that it had gotten faster since that night on the mountain, because time was something we were lacking. My custom clothes were all shredded by by expanding form, but I was well, well past caring at that point.

I stood in the remains of tattered cloth around me. I hadn't expected to fly, and had no saddle, so I held Samson in my hands as the humans got on my back, and I waited on a nod from Griffin before we took off. The cold rain battered my scales all the way home, and the roaring thunder wracked my mind with anxiety, its sound a foreboding omen.

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