“Lores of Orcmound, I presume?” someone asked.

  I looked up, surprised, to see a young man standing beside my table. So focused had I been on watching the two priests that I hadn’t noticed his approach.

  My hand paused over the small egg-shaped berries—somewhere between a cherry and a walnut in size—with a pink and yellow spiral pattern winding around them. I almost told him he had the wrong person, but ‘Lores’ was indeed my name. And then I realized: yes, I am Lores of Orcmound.

  “And you are?” I asked, carefully picking up one of the berries. It was squishy, and a thick, honey-like fluid oozed from inside.

  “My name is Zachary. I’m the fourth son of Viscount de Bleary. We’re neighbors, and I was keen to make your acquaintance. May I join you for a moment? I have a couple of questions about the return trip to our domains.”

  I gave him a quick once-over. He was relatively good-looking, with a medium build—nothing particularly athletic. Black hair, a prominent nose, and brown eyes. Level eighteen. About my age—maybe a year older, so, nineteen. Impressive if he were a commoner, but a bit underwhelming for a nobleman.

  I was mildly surprised that someone wanted to talk to me, but with Ju gone—and with her, the superior status her presence granted our table—it would’ve been improper to refuse the young man. Besides, the fact that he’d asked was actually a point in his favor.

  “Archbishop Rezzak of the Twin Gods, the only true Gods,” one of the priests declared with a self-important gaze as he reached my table.

  I raised an eyebrow, unsure how church ranks compared to noble ones.

  The second priest bowed deeply. “I am your humble servant, High Priest Tomares and Genna’s Witness, Your Ladyship.”

  “Please, have a seat,” I said, addressing Zachary. But High Priest Tomares thought I meant him and bowed again with an eager smile.

  “Very kind of you, young lady!” he said as he promptly took the chair to my left—just as Zachary settled into the one on my right. The archbishop remained standing, perhaps realizing there had been some confusion.

  Not knowing how to untangle the situation politely, I simply pointed to the last empty chair across from me.

  The archbishop bowed—just barely—before seating himself, a waiter dutifully pulling out his chair. That courtesy hadn’t been extended to the high priest, I noticed.

  Around us, other tables had fallen suspiciously quiet. People were watching. Closely.

  I could feel sweat beading on my brow.

  I hate being the center of attention—it only makes me act more awkwardly.

  While the two priests and Zachary exchanged sharp glances—daggers, really, for reasons I didn’t yet understand—it was clear there was some underlying tension between them. I decided to focus on the archbishop.

  Meanwhile, the five waiters assigned to my table were hard at work, replacing plates, delivering new fruit, and arranging fresh saucers and glasses.

  “And what brings me the honor of this visit?” I asked, glancing at the glass being set in front of the archbishop. It was being filled with a thick, gold-colored jelly—poured ever so carefully from a narrow amphora.

  “Would you like a glass of ambrosia too?” Zachary asked, noticing my look. He didn’t wait for an answer. A small gesture to the waiters, and two flat-stemmed glasses appeared for us as well. The viscous fluid was served with almost ceremonial delicacy.

  “I come with a humble plea, Your Ladyship,” the archbishop said at last, letting out a pleased tongue-click after his first sip.

  Then he looked at me—measured, calm—and held my gaze for another second before continuing.

  To his mild annoyance, I used the pause to take a sip of the drink.

  It was something special.

  I let a small chunk of the thick liquid slide into my mouth and felt it dissolve slowly on my tongue, unfolding in layers of taste—like a quiet fireworks display. A symphony of flavors.

  “There are a couple of humble Lost-Wives houses petitioning us for safe removal,” the archbishop said smoothly. “I trust you would be so kind as to allow a contingent of our troops, led by a priest, to enter your domain and escort them?”

  I let the lingering notes of the ambrosia continue to play across my palate as I considered his words.

  Lost-Wives houses—philanthropic collectives of sorts. Women, often widows or older unmarried girls who’d aged past the usual marrying years—or simply those who claimed to have felt a higher calling—dedicated their lives to service. They cooked free meals, offered shelter for a night in exchange for a chopped log or a swept floor, tended the sick, and did whatever they could to support the poor and the wandering. Humble, quiet lives of service.

  If they wanted to relocate, I could understand that. Why not?

  But before I could open my mouth to answer, Zachary spoke up.

  “Do those girls want to go?” Zachary asked.

  I blinked. The thought hadn’t even occurred to me.

  The archbishop shot him a glare that could have flayed a lesser man. If looks could kill, Zachary would be a memory by now. And considering this world, maybe there is a literal killing-glance spell. I really should check.

  “It may be that one or another is less enthusiastic,” the archbishop said, carefully measured. “But generally, yes—they do. That is what the heads of the houses told me. But they fear the dangers of the road, hence the request for a proper escort.”

  Zachary turned to me with a half-smile curling on his right cheek.

  “If I were you,” he said lightly, “I’d send someone to each house to ask the women directly whether they want to go. If confirmed, the transport can be arranged just for those interested. No need to uproot everyone, no need for big episcopal troop movement. I’m sure my father would have no objection to them crossing through our lands—and he might even help with an escort, if asked.”

  “Big episcopal troop movement?” the archbishop snapped, clearly affronted. “Young man, we’re talking about a modest escort, not an army. Or do you propose sending these frightened women off with—Lady Lores’ orcs?”

  The exchange was starting to heat up, and before I could jump in to defend my orcs, Zachary pushed things further.

  “Maybe they’re less afraid of the orcs than they are of the head priests and the so-called episcopal escorts,” he said calmly. “I’ve heard stories.”

  I turned to the archbishop, alarmed. His face was turning a deep shade of red, and a thick vein had begun pulsing on his forehead. Please don’t let him have a stroke at my table.

  “Blasphemy!” he thundered, his voice echoing. “How dare you speak such heresy! The Gods themselves will punish such insolence! I’ll have to speak to your esteemed father at once!”

  Zachary just chuckled, unfazed.

  “You’ll have to take a number, bishop.”

  The archbishop stiffened. “Are you not afraid of divine judgment, young man?”

  “Sheeba protects me,” Zachary said with a grin, like it was the punchline to a joke.

  The archbishop snorted. “Another heretic! No wonder this world is crumbling. To think the son of the esteemed Viscount could grow up spouting this!”

  He shook his head in disgust, muttering something under his breath that definitely wasn’t a prayer.

  To my surprise, the high priest seated on my left let out a quiet chuckle. I turned to him with a raised brow, and he took the glance as an invitation to speak.

  “They're both wrong,” he said calmly. “There is but one God—Genna—and we are merely witnessing his awakening. This world is his dream.”

  The archbishop rolled his eyes in visible disdain, while Zachary gave a soft laugh.

  “So we’re just figments of his imagination?” he asked, clearly amused.

  “We are shadows stirred from his dream,” the high priest replied. “And when he finally awakens, only those who served him faithfully will remain. The rest will dissolve into chaos. But it’s not too late to join our ranks, young man.”

  Zachary shook his head, still smiling. I turned toward the priest.

  “And is that why you’re here? To convert us?” I asked.

  He shook his head gently.

  “Oh, I’ll never pass up the chance to show someone the right path—but I came today to ask if you would allow our priests to move freely within your domain.”

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  I frowned slightly. “Don’t they already? Free people should be free to walk where they please.”

  He let out a tired sigh.

  “Unfortunately, many domain lords oppose our priests going from house to house, spreading the truth and helping people embrace the right knowledge.”

  Zachary chuckled, shaking his head.

  “You really don’t want these nuts harassing your peasants with apocalyptic warnings every day.”

  The high priest shook his head, his expression somber.

  “Stop toying with the future of your soul, young man. Genna is a forgiving god—but time is running out.”

  I took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling, starting to feel exasperated. Even the ambrosia didn’t taste quite as good anymore. I turned toward the archbishop.

  “I’ll have my steward, Alice, inquire with the lost-wives houses. If there’s any need, I’ll arrange for the girls to be escorted to the nearest Twin Gods church on Viscount de Bleary’s land—and gladly take Lord Zachary’s generous offer of support. Was that all you wished to ask of me, Archbishop?”

  A strain crossed his face at my answer, but he took a sip from his glass, closed his eyes briefly, and sighed. When he looked at me again, his expression was once more serene and composed.

  “There is one more small request. I understand you’ve reopened several churches in your domain. These, however, are not properly sanctified. We would be happy to help you remedy that. A team of our priests could visit and re-sanctify them—for a minimum symbolic fee, of course.”

  I blinked, confused.

  “Why would they need sanctifying? They were already churches before—weren’t they? Until the priests left?”

  He let out a deep sigh, adopting the solemn patience of someone explaining sacred truths to a stubborn child.

  “When anyone who isn’t a canonically ordained priest attempts to perform holy sacraments in a church, the result—however well intended—is desecration. These things aren’t as simple as they seem. Even your newly appointed, so-called priests would need several months of training in one of our monasteries to meet the minimal standards.”

  He leaned forward slightly.

  “We want to help you, truly. But to lift you up, you must also reach out your hand to us.”

  Zachary chuckled, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

  “What he means,” he said, “is that these churches aren’t aligned with their dioceses. So all the faith poured into them doesn’t flow up the chain—it stays in your domain.”

  I blinked, not entirely sure I understood.

  He gave a small shrug.

  “It’s a matter of magical flow. The mechanisms are complicated, but to simplify: it’s a bit like how magic towers empower their wizards. Within the range of a church they control, priests—and the ones above them—draw power from the faithful. It can even accelerate their development.”

  The archbishop looked like he was about to explode, but somehow held his tongue.

  I shrugged.

  “I think the churches are working just fine as they are. Let’s leave it at that,” I said, decision made.

  “But Lady Lores, surely you won’t take the word of this heathen—this traitor—as truth?” the archbishop insisted, his tone sharpened. “A properly sanctified church is far more effective. It helps maintain both the physical and spiritual health of the flock!”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “Is that your final word, Lady Lores?” he pressed again, trying one last push.

  I shrugged. “All of this wouldn’t even be necessary if your priests hadn’t abandoned the barony at the worst possible moment—right when the people needed them most. And now you’re asking me to pay to bring them back so they can re-sanctify the churches?”

  “We can be accommodating on the costs,” he said quickly. “The barony wouldn’t have to pay a thing. The expenses could be covered by the community.”

  “Why did they leave?” I asked, my voice rising. “Why abandon us?”

  He let out a sigh, almost theatrical in its weight.

  “Staying during those attacks would have been far too dangerous for the priests.”

  I blinked, staring at him—struggling to process what he’d just admitted.

  My eyes narrowed, the light around me dimming almost imperceptibly as if my mana had begun to swirl, darkening at the edges.

  “How did you know about the incoming attacks?” I asked quietly.

  He began to sweat.

  “There were… rumors,” he stammered. “And because of those orcs… that’s when we decided to recall the priests…”

  “How did you know about the incoming attacks?” I repeated, my voice low and cold. This time I didn’t blink. I locked eyes with him, refusing to let go. Tiny discharges of mana flickered between my horns. I took a long, deep breath, trying to hold myself together. Blasting him across the room would probably be frowned upon, politically speaking.

  He dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief, visibly rattled.

  “I don’t know the details, Lady Lores. It might’ve just been suspicion, or maybe the priests heard something from the orcs… or the community. I swear, I don’t know exactly what happened. All I’m trying to do is bring your barony back into the fold of the Church.”

  I closed my eyes for a moment and let out a long sigh.

  No. Definitely not a good idea to blast him in the middle of the dining room.

  “No, thank you,” I said flatly.

  He stood and bowed stiffly.

  “Very well, Lady Lores. Please excuse me.”

  At least he’d read the room properly.

  He bowed and left.

  The other priest chuckled softly. When I turned to him, he met my gaze with a polite smile.

  “I can assure you,” he said, “that Genna’s faithful are the most sincere and pure of all believers. Have you considered allowing our wandering priests to visit your domain?”

  I shook my head, recalling that Alice hadn’t spoken too fondly of the Genna’s Witnesses.

  “I think we’re doing well enough as we are, Mr... ahm…”

  “People call me Father. Father Tomares, sweet Lady Lores,” he said with a small bow. “But if you ever change your mind, don’t hesitate to call on me—or any of our church brothers. We’d be delighted to share our enlightenment with you and your subjects.”

  Finally, he stood and left.

  I let out a long breath as both priests disappeared from view.

  “You don’t seem to like priests very much,” my new eating partner said with a chuckle. “But I’m a little disappointed—I thought you were going to blast the bishop straight to Nirvana!”

  I took a deep breath to calm myself. What would Ju say if she heard I’d blown up an archbishop?

  I raised a brow and turned toward him. He was talking now? After all those strategic counterpoints he’d slipped into the conversation? He just shrugged, reading my unspoken question.

  “My brother—the third son of my blessed father—chose to become a priest. I learned many things from him,” he explained, his eyes glinting with mischief.

  “What kind of priest is he?” I asked, narrowing my gaze.

  “Somewhere high in the hierarchy of the Church of Light,” he replied, almost too casually. “The strongest in our governorate.”

  I raised another brow. He chuckled.

  “I see you’ve heard the news. Yes—he’s the one with the broken rib. Poor guy.”

  My face flushed bright red. Another broken rib? I changed the subject as fast as I could.

  “I thought the Kargath cult had the governorate in its grip?”

  He shook his head.

  “Kargath belongs to both churches. He’s part of the pantheon of the Twin Gods, and the Church of Light also recognizes him—sort of a lesser war deity. That’s why his celebration draws believers from both sides.”

  I involuntarily pulled a face, realizing too late that I’d just exposed my ignorance of the major religions. To cover for it, I shoved a fruit in my mouth—another one of the bulbous, juice-filled delicacies I’d been eyeing.

  He glanced at me as I popped it in and gave it a little squeeze with my teeth.

  He shrugged, then sighed theatrically.

  “Ever since my brothers thought it was hilarious to plant a flytrap that had just eaten a stinkbug on my plate, I haven’t been able to eat those things. Even though I know they’re delicious. I’d slice them open first, if I were you. For me, they’re a lost delicacy—I can’t get even a bite past my lips anymore.”

  “Flytrap?” I echoed, just as I swallowed—and immediately started coughing, to his amusement.

  I chatted with Zachary a while longer and learned he’d become a follower of Sheeba after meeting a group of Aertya nomads passing through his father’s domain.

  The Aertya are a semi-nomadic people who travel across several territories—including my own barony. In fact, a small celebration was planned soon at the border between our lands—something called “the Night of Ear Marking.” It was set to happen in about a quarter and a half, so twelve days from now.

  For the Aertya, it’s a traditional evening for marking the ears of young cattle, but over time it’s grown into something more: a matchmaking opportunity, a village festival with drinking, dancing, and plenty of spirited celebration. Apparently, even some of my orcs had participated in past years.

  Zachary suggested I bring a few of them along again, but I hesitated. I was starting to understand the orcish mentality—any invitation to dance and drink would be eagerly accepted, but the festivities often ended in brawls. Not lethal ones, thankfully—but in orcish culture, a festival wasn’t considered truly memorable unless at least one person lost a tooth and someone else got a black eye.

  Zachary laughed at my concern. “Don’t worry,” he said. “The Aertya aren’t all that different.”

  After finishing our coffee, we returned to our rooms about an hour later. I was thoroughly relaxed and had genuinely enjoyed myself.

  Zachary had suggested we travel together toward our respective domains. He had access to a portal that could cover part of the journey—which was definitely an improvement over the usual route. He planned to depart tomorrow, which fit our schedule nicely.

  I told him I’d discuss it with Ju.

  Still, I had no intention of carrying him or his people on my back. I already had too many clients to transport, and I wasn’t sure if those low-level passengers could even stay secure during flight—or if Ju could stretch a protective field large enough to cover everyone.

  Now I was left wondering—should we take the portal and travel the rest of the way by coach, or just stick to flying and find a way to manage the passenger load?