Morning arrived cold and gray, smoke from the previous night’s chaos still hanging faint over the Citadel’s upper towers.
Ren woke tangled in Lucan’s arms, the ash-scorched marks on the chamber door the only proof the night before hadn’t been some fevered dream.
A sharp knock interrupted the fragile quiet.
“Grand Inquisitor. Lady Caelia.” A guard’s voice, tight with urgency.
“The Holy Council requests your immediate presence. There’s been news from the southern border.”
Lucan was dressed and armed before Ren had fully processed the words, dark composure sliding back into place like armor he’d never taken off.
“What news?”
“The barrier has collapsed, my lord. The southern wards holding back the Shadowed Wastes. Corrupted fiends are pouring through the breach.”
The Council chamber was chaos by the time they arrived, priests and nobles talking over each other while High Bishop Malachi stood at the head of the table, expression grave in a way Ren didn’t trust for a second.
“The southern barrier failed at dawn,” Malachi announced without preamble, though his eyes cut briefly toward Ren with something calculating buried beneath the concern.
“Reports indicate the wards have been weakening for months, likely accelerated by the recent disturbance at the cathedral.”
“You’re blaming last night’s incident for a barrier collapse two hundred miles away,” Lucan said flatly.
“I’m noting a correlation, Grand Inquisitor. Nothing more.” Malachi’s smile carried no warmth at all.
“Regardless of cause, the situation demands immediate response. Corrupted fiends are already overrunning border settlements. The Holy See requires a Saintess to lead the expedition and restore the barrier’s holy wards.”
Ren’s stomach dropped as every eye in the chamber turned toward her.
“Lady Caelia,” Malachi continued, and his satisfaction was barely concealed now, “your purification abilities, however unconventional, are exactly what’s needed to reforge the barrier’s holy foundation. The Council formally requests you lead the restoration expedition into the Shadowed Wastes.”
He’s sending me into a wasteland crawling with corrupted fiends, hoping I die out there where no one can question how convenient the timing is.
“That’s an extraordinarily dangerous assignment for a candidate who nearly died on the Altar of Truth less than a day ago,” Lucan said, voice dangerously level.
“Unless you object to the Council’s authority a second time in as many days?”
The trap was obvious, elegant in its cruelty — refuse, and confirm every suspicion about his loyalties; comply, and send the woman he loved into a wasteland practically guaranteed to kill her, with no one to blame but circumstance if she never returned.
Ren watched Lucan’s jaw tighten, calculation racing behind his eyes, and made the decision before he could speak for her.
“I’ll go,” she said.
Every head in the chamber turned toward her again, Malachi’s satisfaction flickering briefly into something more wary.
“Lady Caelia, this expedition carries significant risk—”
“I understand the risk, High Bishop. I also understand that refusing a direct Council request, after last night, would only fuel further suspicion about my devotion to the church’s authority.” She met his eyes steadily, matching his own calculated performance with one of her own.
“I’ll lead the expedition to restore the barrier.”
Something flickered across Malachi’s face — surprise, quickly buried, and beneath it, unmistakable disappointment that she hadn’t simply refused and handed him a cleaner excuse to move against her.
“Very well,” he said.
“The expedition departs within three days. I’ll have the Council draft the formal orders.”
As the chamber began to empty, Lucan caught her arm, pulling her aside with barely contained fury simmering beneath his composed exterior.
“You didn’t consult me before agreeing to that.”
“There wasn’t time to consult anyone. Malachi built a trap with exactly two exits, and both of them served his purposes unless I moved faster than he expected.”
“You could die out there, Caelia. The Shadowed Wastes have swallowed entire Inquisitorial squads without a trace.”
“I know.”
“Then why—”
“Because staying here does nothing except wait for Malachi’s next move, on ground he’s already spent weeks preparing.” She held his gaze steady, refusing to let the fear she genuinely felt show through.
Something in Lucan’s expression shifted, fury giving way slowly to grudging understanding, though the tension in his shoulders didn’t ease at all.
“You’re not going alone,” he said finally, voice absolute.
“Lucan—”
“I’m not asking permission.” He stepped closer, dark eyes fierce with a resolve that brooked no argument.
“The Inquisitorial Guard will escort the expedition. I’m leading them personally.”
“That will only fuel more suspicion. Malachi already thinks we’re—”
“I don’t care what Malachi thinks anymore.” His hand found her jaw, tilting her face up, thumb tracing her cheekbone with a tenderness utterly at odds with the fierce determination in his eyes.
“I told you last night I don’t care about consequences. I meant it. You’re walking into a wasteland full of corrupted fiends and rogue heretics, and I refuse to let you face that without me standing beside you.”
“The Council might not approve the request.”
“They will.” Something cold and calculating settled behind his eyes, the Grand Inquisitor resurfacing beneath the desperate lover.
“Because if they refuse, I’ll make it very clear exactly how convenient it looks, sending an untested Saintess candidate into hostile territory without adequate Inquisitorial protection immediately after she survived an attempt on her life at their own Altar.”
Ren studied his face, understanding fully for the first time the political weapon he’d just become — willing to burn every remaining thread of goodwill with the Council, willing to weaponize suspicion itself, if it meant standing between her and whatever danger waited in the Shadowed Wastes.
“You’d threaten the entire Holy Council for me,” she said quietly.
“I already destroyed a centuries-old relic for you in front of the entire Council. Threatening them with political consequence feels considerably less dramatic by comparison.” A ghost of dark humor flickered behind his eyes, the first hint of levity since the news had arrived that morning.
“Besides. I’ve spent five years building a reputation fearsome enough that very few people in this Empire are willing to test exactly how far I’ll go when provoked. I intend to use that reputation for something worthwhile, for once.”
Ren felt something in her chest loosen slightly despite the danger still coiled ahead of them — the barrier collapse, the corrupted wasteland, Malachi’s obvious hope that neither of them survived the expedition at all.
Whatever waited in the Shadowed Wastes, she wouldn’t face it alone.
“Then I suppose,” she said, “we’re going to war together.”
“We are.” Lucan pressed a kiss to her forehead, lingering there a moment longer than strictly necessary, dark magic curling protective around them both.
“And Malachi is about to discover exactly how badly he’s underestimated what happens when someone threatens the only thing left in this world I actually care about protecting.”