Ira couldn't quite work himself up to look away. His eyes stayed glued on the thin golden scale pinched between Mayvalt's fingers from the moment she plucked it from the king's corpse, all the way through the dark woods, and into town. It was one of the smallest scales on the snake. It had come from around its loose jaws. Ira would have opted for a fang--Mayvalt refused. She said taking Ossein was a step too far, they just needed enough proof to get their payment from the Fifth Prince. He could see the sense in it, regardless of how insignificant the scale seemed. And yet his eyes remained glued to the flickers of bronze in the afternoon sun. Like he couldn't convince himself it would be enough. Not when Melchior hung in the balance, as he always did in Ira's mind. 

Mayvalt walked briskly ahead, a grim set to her face despite their previous victory. She seemed just as lost in thought as Ira, though he didn't know to what end. Well, on closer inspection, victory seemed an unfit description for their near-death encounter in the forest. 

"Sap," she murmured as they grew closer to the Prince's black gates. Ira quickened his step to meet her side, catching her hissed whispers as she spit them. "I can't wait to see the look on that Fifth Prince's Consort's face. I bet she thought we'd be snake food by now." 

"Arrhythmia?" Ira puzzled, squinting up his eyes. The name tasted wrong on his tongue. "Arsenic?" 

"Stop listing ways to kill us." Mayvalt snorted. 

"Arysmic!" He jolted with a wince. "Well, now I really am listing ways we could die." 

Mayvalt tossed him a mockingly sympathetic look. "At least she'll gut you first, I'll use that time to make my escape."

"Noble of you." Ira grunted. 

"Wouldn't that be a sight? A Faun hunting a Bone-Snatcher." Mayvalt said without her usual malice. 

"I'm Faun adjacent--for now." Ira shrugged, gesturing at the rams horns affixed to his blond hair.  

"For now." Mayvalt agreed hesitantly, her eyes hovering on the faux-horns. They had begun to fade as they'd been walking back into town, sometimes they seemed entirely invisible. Mayvalt seemed unnerved by it--Ira could guess it had something to do with her boss. She was probably thinking what he was thinking: that if the horns were fading then so was the Third Prince. Like the Trammel the First Prince had made. It relied on his strength and it's waivering was a reflection of his life force dimming and spiking, just as a candle beneath a draft might. 

"We'll go find him." Ira murmured. Mayvalt tensed momentarily before forcing her shoulders to slump. 

"Your wolf?" She guessed. 

Ira shook his head, his fingers tightening on the Ossein dagger he held in his palm. He didn't know when he had plucked it from his belt, rolling it from hand to hand. It just calmed him to keep the fang near. "We sent the Third Prince into the pit to find the Ze'ev--we can't just leave him if they're somewhere else. So, we'll get him back." 

Mayvalt raised her eyebrows in disbelief. "You would set aside finding your wolf to go into the worst place in all of Avernus--a place not even Beasts want to be--just to find boss?" 

Ira rolled his eyes, and because it didn't feel like enough, he added a halfhearted shrug. "It's not that deep." 

"It's . . . not that deep?" Mayvalt echoed, her voice bordering on incredulous. "I don't know what's more unbelievable. That you say you'll do all that for boss or that I believe you'd follow through on it." 

"Of course I would?" Ira muttered. He liked to believe himself a man of his word--or, a boy of his word? He didn't know when he was supposed to feel grown-up, but it hadn't happened yet. Not when so much of the world's poor standing still felt like his fault and he wanted to crawl under the covers and let others handle it for him. "He came to help us. He could have just opened a gate, shoved me through, and went about his life in New York. It wouldn't be right to leave him." 

Mayvalt unleashed a heavy sigh and pinned her arms behind her head in a lax manner. "No, that's not like boss at all. He whines but he helps. He always has. He could have ignored the Faun under his charge, he could have refused to help me look for them when they started vanishing, he could have ignored that Heimrian Bone-Snatching brat that showed up demanding we help him take down a whole army-" 

"Hey," Ira huffed. 

"-but, boss isn't like that." She finished. "He always helps." 

Ira's eyes flickered to the fang-blade clutched in his painfully tight grip. "Why?" 

Mayvalt laughed. "Why?" She echoed. 

"Yeah," Ira doubled down. "Why go through all of this? What does he get in return?" 

"Ira." Mayvalt said, her voice dripping in amusement. "Do dams hold back rivers because they get paid to?" 

Ira wore his confusion as plainly as he wore his mud-soaked T-shirt. "No? They're just, like, rocks and stuff?" 

Mayvalt nodded her confirmation. "There you go. Boss is just like rocks and stuff."

Ira couldn't stop the sputter that burst violently out of him, shaking him down to his chest. "Wh-what--what does that even--no. That's nonsense. People don't just do things because it's right-" 

"Boss isn't people." Mayvalt shrugged dismissively. "And I didn't say he was doing it because it's right." 

That only further muddled Ira's mind, but as he retreated into his skull to detangle himself enough to ask his follow-up question, he lost the opportunity. 

"Oh!" Mayvalt perked up, adding a jump to her step. "We're here!" 

Ira's speechless gasping turn silent as his eyes drank in the sight of the familiar black brick wall and the iron gates. The Fifth Prince's castle was just as much of an eyesore as it had been in their rearview the day before. The walls cut sharply into the cobblestone road they had been following, as if the entire center of Heneth had been scooped out to make way for the vain cathedral. Though it seemed this time, the pair was lacking the same awe-struck feeling they had the first time they stood in front of the walls. Ira shifted from foot to foot, his mood thick with irritation and impatience. Mayvalt marched right up to the flat iron doors and struck them with her bo. The resulting clang was enough to echo across all of Heneth--beginning in the inner tubes of Ira's ears. He swallowed his wince but allowed his fingers to dart up to tug at his earlobes once, just enough to settle the ringing. Mayvalt grinned sheepishly at him, shrugging under her soiled leather jacket. 

The doors creaked as they were peeled back. Mayvalt hastily retreated to Ira's side, her bo swinging eagerly at the side of her hip. He-Goats draped in familiar black cloaks poured from the mouth of the wall, walking out into a net formation that placed Ira and Mayvalt at the center. 

Mayvalt snorted roughly and leaned into Ira's side. "Less impressive the second time." 

Ira laughed--and then because that seemed highly inappropriate--he coughed and tucked his upturned lips into the side of his elbow. 

From the center of the opened doors, a final Faun approached. Her steps were jerky--as if she was restraining her desires to run forward and slap both of them silly. From her place at the front and from the anger radiating off the shoulders of her midnight robes, Ira knew her. Even beneath her heavy hood. 

"You have guts returning here, Bone-Snatchers." Arysmic snarled. The harsh rasp of her breath pressed the veil of her hood forward before it fluttered back to rest over her features. 

"Uh," Mayvalt raised her hand awkwardly, "I'm not a Bone-Snatcher." 

The glare leveled at them both transcended the need to see the eyes responsible. Ira could feel the temperature drop, the ice curl over his arms. He pulled his borrowed cloak tighter around his shoulders and shivered. 

"Would you prefer traitor?" Arysmic snarled. 

Mayvalt shrugged in consideration. "Most people call me Mayvalt." 

Arysmic snarled wolfishly. Ira stepped forward and placed one stilling palm on Mayvalt's tensed shoulder. "Uh, okay, before this gets messier. Let's just talk it out, yeah? We demand an audience with the Fifth Prince as part of our deal." 

Arysmic cackled beneath her hood. The net of He-Goats wrapped around them also gave giggles and snorts of amusement. Ira eyed Mayvalt, who eyed him right back with a look of utter confusion. 

"Part of the deal?" Arysmic chortled bitterly. "Your half of the deal was to kill the King of the Fields. An impossible task--even to a Bone-Snatcher. And with a Faun companion? Even less likely. Only a Halfling could have-" 

"Okay, well we did it." Ira interrupted. 

Arysmic made a sound in the back of her throat like choking and fell silent. Ira elbowed Mayvalt. She jumped before catching his meaning. With a smirk over her pink lips, she held out the copper scale in her flat palm. The wall of He-Goats tightened as they craned and bleated over the single shingle. 

"Ossein?" Arysmic snarled. 

"Just proof." Ira corrected. "Now, I believe we were promised something from your Lady-Lord." 

Arysmic stood frozen in the doorway. "But. . . but you two are just. . . you're just Heimrians." She choked out finally. There was an odd atmosphere over the He-Goats. They seemed unsettled. They shifted from hoof to hoof, occasionally whining and bleating. 

"Arysmic," one of the hooded goats whispered, "our Lord must be informed." 

Her veiled head swung in the direction of the voice before nodding slowly. "Ta-take them." 

The He-Goats obeyed, albeit hesitantly. Hands seized Ira's arms. He went willingly. Following his example, so did Mayvalt. They walked stiffly past the gates, ignoring the final clang as they were slammed shut. Arysmic walked firmly ahead of them, peeling free from her restrictive clothing as she did. Attendants flocked to her as she kept her quick pace, collecting each item as she removed it. Her black lace veil came away from her golden skin. Her heavy hood was removed from her intricate braids and pearl-white horns. Eventually, her cloak was shed to reveal the soft white peplos across her body. It reminded Ira of deshelling on oyster. Peeling apart the murky black hide to reveal the glimmering pearl inside. She was back to her palace appearance by the time they reached the mouth of the castle. 

He-Goats with hoods in their hands stepped forward. Mayvalt recoiled into Ira's side, as he did into her's. They stared regretfully at the blindfolds, a shared dislike heavy between them. 

"Not necessary." Arysmic clipped forcefully. The guards froze. Although they were in the drab hooded uniform, their confusion was plainly visible. "Nor will you need to take them though the maze. Escort them directly to the throne room. This is a matter of urgency." 

The guards bowed, the only indication they had heard Arysmic at all, before taking over control from the slighter He-Goats that had walked them into the lawn. Arysmic breezed in through the wide doors. Ira and Mayvalt quick behind--not by choice. 

"I appreciate the VIP treatment." Mayvalt called as they were shoved through the junk-crowded halls. It seemed the mess began at the doors, thick with dust and cobwebs throughout the entire palace. Ira stumbled over a pile of vintage magazines and cooking books from the early nineteenth century. The cover sported a delicate plate of lamb chops. Ira's arms were yanked and his position righted. 

"Silence or hoods." Arysmic hissed.

Ira gave Mayvalt a warning look but if she caught it she made no indication. 

They went down the hall until it met its first intersection. The hall flared out into a wide circular room, with fanciful arches opening into four other possible halls. Each with its own theme of mess. The one directly forward was pillared with enough clothes to supply every thrift store in America. The one beside them had metal scraps--in varying degrees of rust and sharpness. Ira really hoped that wasn't the hall they needed. 

Arysmic clicked her tongue and adjusted her course to plunge forward right, down into a dimly lit hall crowded with torn and shredded plush toys and broken dolls. Staring into dead and cold marble eyes almost made Ira wistful for the gadget corridor. 

"So, what's up with the trash?" Mayvalt pressed, pausing to kick one decrepit teddy bear. It soared into the air--making it about five feet before smacking into the space between Arysmic's shoulder blades with a deflated squeak. "Sap." Mayvalt cursed. 

Arysmic snapped around, fixing Mayvalt with a glare not even Ira could have conjured so easily. Mayvalt must have had practice from her Prince because she refused to cower, instead lifting her chin with a childish glint in her eyes. 

"Our Lord's condition is beyond the scope of what you need concern yourself with, you traitorous little-" 

"Condition?" Mayvalt picked, tipping her head houndishly. "Has it got to do with her gift? The ability to influence jealousy upon others? I imagine she must be quite a jealous person. I mean--don't you have to be to want so much? Who needs all this? Who needs servant-wives and guard-husbands and cult-children-" 

"Shut your lips or I will make you." Arysmic snarled, her beautiful features darkened and stormy. 

"May-" Ira attempted weakly. 

"Oh?" Mayvalt smirked, leaning forward from her guard's control. "I'm interested in how." 

"How?" Arysmic echoed before the realization suddenly dawned. She turned purple in rage, her lips curled back to show her blunt teeth. 

Ira yanked his arms free from his shock still guards and forced his body between the two curling vipers. "A truce?" He choked before hardening his voice. "A truce! Let's just get this over with and none of us will ever have to see each other again." 

"I refuse to parley with a Bone-Snatcher and a traitor." Arysmic bit through her clenched jaws. 

Mayvalt laughed bitterly and narrowed her eyes. "That Bone-Snatcher killed the Beast terrorizing your town. I'm not defending his past actions, but Ira has more heart than anyone in this palace." 

"If he has heart," Arysmic remarked darkly, "then it is likely because he stole it." 

"And you?" Mayvalt challenged. "What's your excuse?" 

Arysmic stiffened, her eyebrows pinched in confusion. "Which of my actions beg pathetic excuses? I am not the Faun entangled in a Bone-Snatcher's affairs." 

"No." Mayvalt agreed readily. "You're just the Faun kissing up to the captor of your people. Does your collar feel feather soft--you seem to have forgotten the weight of it." 

Arysmic's fists curled at her sides--but not before her fingers made to caress the golden rings and heavy jewels wrapped tightly around her white horns. A hesitation that no one in the crowded corridor missed. The He-Goats flanking Ira and Mayvalt's escort shifted uncomfortably. Ira was sure that under their hoods, they too wore intricate headdresses over their antler and keratin. Mayvalt lifted her hand to her own velvety rack. The tips of her steady fingers traced the cuff she had always worn at the base of one of her antlers. The band was plain, the only features of the smooth gold was the hinges that opened it. 

"You've allowed the symbol of eternal binding be your true bonds. It's corrupt beyond words or any actions." Mayvalt said softly, her tone as devoid of inflection as it was hostility. 

Arysmic flatted her lips into a sneer and shook her heavy head. The jewels dripping from her golden hair and curled horns rattled--a sound much too similar to iron chains. "I love my Lord. My Lord loves me. You have no understanding of our arrangement, Heimrian Faun." 

"I know that true love does not come from someone on the opposite side of bars." Mayvalt said. "I know that if your Prince truly loved you--she would open her gates and allow you to venture into the world beyond the golden cage." 

"The cage is safe. You would have us put in harm's way?" Arysmic snorted. "To what? Prove a point? Demonstrate her devotion?" 

"You mean the Halflings?" Mayvalt guessed. "You're scared of a crueler master? Then take no master at all. Chase the Halflings from Heneth. Stand on your own hooves with your own courage-" 

"Courage?" Arysmic barked. Her voice echoed through the orangish-hue halls. "We're Faun. Such things are not in our nature."

"You're wrong." Mayvalt hissed, her voice hardly a breath in the dark halls. Unheard, or more likely ignored, Arysmic turned sharply on her hooves and clopped deeper into the palace. Ira's arms were recaptured and he was shoved forward. Mayvalt's pace was set to match him a moment later. Ira twisted to fit her beneath his narrowed gaze. 

"What are you trying to accomplish?" He whispered to her. "I mean besides getting us locked in a dungeon or tossed into a pit of starved crocodiles." 

Mayvalt forced her frown into a playful smirk and shivered. "Sap, no. I'd go for alligators. They look nicer."

"I don't think they chew any nicer." Ira grumbled. "Stop picking fights with her--angels, the Fifth Prince, too. We're so close, Mayvalt. I just need to find him." I just need him. The words were too heavy to rise over Ira's tongue, they settled like stoning bricks against his chest. 

Mayvalt glared down at the glossy black flooring they were coasting over and gave a jerking nod with her chin. "I know, Ira. I'm sorry--not for what I did, but for causing you distress." 

"I'm not-" Ira sighed, shoulders slumping. "Okay, I am. Thank you. It'll get better when we find him." 

"When you find him, you'll have to kill an Ely. One of the biggest, baddest Ely." Mayvalt laughed. 

"And I still want him." Ira sighed. "More than anything. Even knowing what will happen next. Am I crazy?" 

"Yep," Mayvalt confirmed with a nod. 

"Angels," Ira muttered. 

"But I don't think rationality could have gotten us this far, Ira." Mayvalt added. "Someone with more sense would have done as told by their Cardinal. They wouldn't have dragged the Prince of Hell to Lake Seneca, and they wouldn't have gone to Avernus on a hunch." 

"When you put it like that," Ira winced. 

Mayvalt broke loose of her guards to jam her elbow into Ira's ribs teasingly. Her captors were quick to regain hold of her, muttering orders for her to keep walking. Ira laughed, released from a knot of tension that had settled in his stomach. Despite the circumstances--circumstances that were quick to remind them of their existence. 

"We have arrived." Arysmic announced briskly. 

Ira's arms were dropped. He straightened his spine and rolled his shoulders to work away the looming threat of jittery nerves. The doors they stood before weren't much grander than the oak doors Ira had always faced before plunging into the Cardinal's Court--not that thinking of the Cardinal's Court did anything to calm him. The gates were carved out of black glass, same as the rest of the castle but fashioned slightly thinner. Not as thick as the hall walls that reflected only the interior, too much glass to see the outside. When Ira squinted, he could almost imagine the images on the other side, though heavily blurred and too frosted to discern perfectly. More like shadows that fluttered across the back of a curtain. At the moment, there was only one. A whisp that fluttered back and forth across the glass doors. 

Arysmic dismissed their escorts with a gentle nod before lifting her curled knuckles to the black doors. She knocked only once. The dull thud echoed in Ira's ears--sounding much louder than it really was. The figure pacing on the other side of the shut doors froze, holding perfectly statue still. Arysmic dropped her hand and stepped back from the doors, her head bowed to display her bejeweled horns. 

Mayvalt glanced at Ira--he could feel her eyes poking at his cheek but he couldn't bring himself to look away from the glass. The shadow had yet to move. 

"Ma-maybe we knock again?" Mayvalt suggested, voice thick with apprehension. 

Her nerves were very much shared. Something about coming back to the Fifth Prince, fragile hopes held in his open palms, had Ira's stomach tied into knots. He could imagine the Fifth Prince laughing in his face and slamming the doors. And then what? Directionless in a whole new world--Hell. Lost and without next steps in Hell. The idea was really unappealing, if he was honest. 

Just as Ira was considering Mayvalt's idea, fist curled and raised level to his chest, the dark form began to approach the glass. Ira tensed, Mayvalt bleated, and the doors swung inwards. 

The Fifth Prince of Hell was just as impressive as she had been the night before. Her dark skin glimmered under the orange hue of the halls, her pitch black shark eyes seemed keen and aware, flickering first to Arysmic and then to Ira and Mayvalt. The creamy white fabric of her peplos and the fine bronze strings weaved into her braids made Ira feel even more shabby--covered in snake blood and forest mulch. He had to look as pitiful as he felt. 

"They're. . . back?" Astaroth said, glancing at Arysmic as if it demanded explanation. "Did they not kill the snake?" 

"Wait--you knew?" Mayvalt hissed, her cheeks flaming pink. "You sent us after Nehushtan!"

Astaroth arched one black brow over her void eyes and shrugged. "The boy said I could ask any price of him. If he could not handle the task, he should have been more specific. A Beast is a Beast, is it not?" 

"Unless its a minor god." Mayvalt growled. 

"It doesn't matter, Mayvalt." Ira interrupted before she could find another bullet point to add to her impending argument. "We upheld our half of the deal, Prince. Now you tell us what you know about where the Ze'ev went--and everything else."

"Everything else?" Astaroth pressed, her lips pursed and face pinched. 

"Yeah," Mayvalt snorted roughly, "like what all your freaky siblings are up to." 

Ira groaned and palmed his face but Astaroth only sighed mildly and stepped back from the doorway, spreading her palms in open invitation. "Tea?"

"Uh, none for me." Ira answered as he fit past the Fifth Prince, slipping through the wide glass door frame. 

The room beyond the threshold was--well, Ira would struggle to find any word quite fitting enough. Rambunctious? The otherwise ethereal glass walls were consumed by clutter. Lined with pinned tapestries, posters of Earthen boy bands even Ira recognized--and he didn't have the most extensive catalog--maps, calendars centuries expired, and paintings. Following the walls down to where they melded into the smooth floors, there were piles of blankets, magazines, rusted metal bits, children's toys, and things too dusty to identify. The furniture in the room was piled high with clutter. There were tubs crammed into each empty space, each of which was over following with even more stuff. Ira was pretty sure he'd glimpsed a cardboard box full of Christmas decorations. That seemed startlingly ironic. 

"Truth be told, I did not expect you to return from the forest." The Fifth Prince said as she came up behind Ira. He flinched, spinning to face her but she breezed harmlessly by into the epicenter of the junk-filled room. 

"You thought the King of the Field would kill us?" Mayvalt sputtered. 

The Fifth Prince paused in consideration before stooping, brushing aside stacks of old textbooks from the center of the room. She seemed to be attempting to find something within the heart of the disaster. Whatever it was, she shoved and tossed items aside in her search for it. "I thought if you two had any sense, you would flee from the fight." 

"Or die. Either way, no longer your problem." Ira surmised. 

"Ah!" The Fifth Prince clicked proudly as she procured a bright pink bean bag chair from beneath a stack of folded quilts. She fluffed the chair before dropping it unceremoniously to the floor, after which she began lifting more mess until she managed to unbury a hideous lime-green sofa. Her void-filled eyes found Ira. "Oh, yes. Something like that." 

"Well you don't know us, lady." Mayvalt huffed, her arms crossing over her chest. "We aren't so good at that." 

"Fleeing?" The Fifth Prince guessed as she plopped down on the bean bag. 

"Having sense." Ira corrected. 

The Prince hummed an amused breath and gestured at the sofa for Ira and Mayvalt to sit. Ira picked his way forward, eventually settling on the edge of the seventies' inspired settee. Mayvalt flopped onto the cushion next to him, jostling them both. Arysmic followed, floating perfectly gracefully over the mess. Her hooves seemed to maneuver it as well as a wild ram could scamper up the side of an incline. She busied herself by placing mismatched china cups on the lid of a blue plastic tub, something of a table between the two parties. She placed three cups before dismissing herself to track down the kettle. 

Ira's eyes flickered across the cups--and then towards the Fifth Prince's sharp face. She somehow managed to make a cotton-candy-pink bean bag chair seem as regal as a throne. It probably helped that the fabric of her peplos consumed much of the chair and the floor around it. 

Even among the mess she had amassed, she had a sort of otherworldly beauty. Her night-toned skin was flawlessly--angels, she was glowing. Her cheekbones were sharp enough to draw blood, her sharkish eyes as entrancing as they were paralyzing. 

So it shocked Ira to see the unease there, rumbling just underneath the surface. She adjusted in her seat, picked at her peplos, and rearranged the three mugs. Each moment her eyes were not fluttering between her meaningless tasks they were darting towards the flat glass doors. 

Ira leaned forward, his gaze narrowed. "Took you a moment to let us in before." He noted subtly. Mayvalt eyed him warily as if not quite certain why he was taking the moment for small talk. 

Astaroth huffed dismissively, her shoulders shrugging under the thin straps of her white gown. "Are you critiquing my hosting, Heimrian? I offered you tea. Is this not pleasing enough?" 

"An offer I recall refusing." Ira said coldly. "And yet: three cups." 

Her lips curled to reveal the sharp edges of her fangs. "Perhaps I am making room for you to change your mind." 

"I don't think so." Ira said. "Or you'd take your eyes off the door to look at me." 

Astaroth's shark gaze peeled away slowly, as if she found it painful, to take in Ira's crossed arms and tilted head. 

"Who's coming?" Ira asked, lips set in a frown and voice iron-hard. His heart pounded faster behind his ribs--the only tell to how truly nervous he was. Had she betrayed them? No, no. To betray them they would have had to be on the same side, Ira wasn't sure they ever made it that far. "Did you tell him? Did you tell Mammon we came here to stop him?" 

Mayvalt stiffened. Her hooves slowly uncurled from where she had jammed them under her legs to touch the floor. Ira leaned slightly forward. 

"Going to run, little lambs?" Astaroth laughed humorlessly. "You're out of time. He arrived an hour ago now, my guards took him on the same tour I kindly offered both of you-" 

"Oh, I remember. Hoods, yeah? Super pleasant." Mayvalt shuddered, clearly reflecting as Ira was on their first arrival to the castle when they had been blindfolded and walked for miles within the palace walls. 

Astaroth made herself busy inspecting her nails. "He may be my older brother but no one is made an exception to my rules." 

"Mayvalt-" Ira hissed under his breath. 

"Yep." She popped, hopping up to her hooves. "This has been lovely but-"

The door thudded inwards at the single rasping knock. Ira turned to glass, and Mayvalt to stone. Astaroth exhaled sharply and flung herself to her feet. 

"This is your last chance to be honest with me." She said as she glided across the junkyard room. 

"About?" Mayvalt shrugged. "I mean like--get real specific here." Ira shoved his elbow into her leather jacket, earning him a hissed out, "Sap!"

Astaroth laughed, her fingers resting on the carved glass handle. "About just where your allegiances lay." 

Ira's eyes dragged desperately across the surface of the darkened doors. On the other side he could only see fog. Five--maybe more--shadows stationed in the hall. It was unwise to double down a bet when the board was obscured. It would have been the better play to stand on his own with just as many allies as he had enemies. It would have been smart to keep his mouth shut--but, well, was there any other way this ended? It was Ira Rule after all. 

"We're with the Third Prince of Hell." Ira said, his voice as firm and unyielding as dams and fortresses. 

"I don't believe you." Astaroth hissed, her fangs bared and eyes wild. 

"We're with the Third Prince of Hell." Ira ground out between his clenched jaws. 

"Best worse boss I've ever had!" Mayvalt squeaked. 

"Fine." Astaroth growled, her tone bordering feral. "I'll ask him myself."

The door flung inwards, ripped on its hinges by the Fifth Prince's crazed movements. The hall was flushed full to bursting with black-robed He-Goats. The patrol was shifting with nervous energy, softly bleating occasionally. And Ira knew why. Their prisoner. The figure was stationed at the front of the herd. He held his head proudly high--which was somewhat impressive considering the black hood tied over it. His hands were clasped in front of his stomach, his fingers tapping as if bored. 

"Brothers," the man cursed under his blindfold. "Are we finally done with all that walking?" 

He had lost his expensive suit somewhere between New York and the depths of Hell, even with a hood concealing the last of his recognizable features Ira would have had known him. The smoothness of his monotone voice was hard to misplace. 

Ira laughed. At first because relief flushed through him, dizzying his head and lightening his bones. And second because--well, did he need a reason? Mayvalt joined in, giggling until she was as bent as a strung bow. Astaroth glanced between them, a begrudgingly accepting glare set in her pitch black eyes. She turned back to her brother and ripped the hood from his head. The action ruffled his black hair and forced him to take steadying blinks with his bright golden eyes. It only took him a moment to adjust, but Ira could tell the moment he had. His cat eyes lanced the distance in the room, spearing Ira right though his center. 

"Oh, good." The Third Prince said dryly. "You two are here. And here I thought I'd have to send a search party for the search party."

Ira had lived a lot of lives. In one of them, he knew he had fought in the First Demon-Born War. That had been the beginning of it all. When he had met the Third Prince for the first time, when he had battled him with a Vestige, and when he had given Mayvalt some serious childhood baggage. He--not Ira. The other version. But knowing that in the distant past he had served on a battlefield opposite Princes of Hell was a lot different than being in a small room with two of them. A room made even tighter by the mounds of trash piled high in it. Dust floated through the air, occasionally setting on the cracked surface of old leather shoes before someone's tensed exhale stirred the air. 

The relief Ira had felt like a flash of lightning was quickly graying, knotting and twisting into something unpleasant in his gut. He didn't seem the only one to pick up on the rising tension. The Fifth Prince had gone quiet, contemplative. She took a handful of quick retreating steps to leer at her brother from the center of the room. Her shark eyes were narrowed, her chin lifted and teeth slightly visible through the grim set of her jaws.

For his part, the newest Prince in the room seemed almost dazed. His body was stiff, contained in those clothes Ira didn't recognize. His polished business man shoes had been traded in for dull black boots. His undoubtedly expensive black suit had been transformed into starchy Little House On The Prairie pants and a loose white top that showed much more of the Prince than Ira had ever seen in the city. The neckline made no attempt at actually being a neckline. It left the tops of his bronze shoulders exposed, lazily draped over the top of his chest. When the Prince shifted on his boots, Ira could begin to make out the jagged peak of a raised pink scar. If not for the black cape slung carelessly over his shoulders, he might have been one move from slipping right out of the white blouse. He looked like a pirate. Or like an actual Prince--one from the movies Ira had seen growing up. Movies with a lot more fuzz than focus in the camera lense. Ira was sure no one but Father Pine even remembered them anymore.

Ira swallowed the red raising into his cheeks and cleared his throat. The action drew every pair of eyes in the palace to him--but that amount of attention was bearable. It was better than staying in his own head, painting the Third Prince into the role of a daring heartthrob swashbuckler.

"It's, uh, really good to see you." The admission slipped out to curb the tense silence curdling the air. Ira practically cringed, rolling inward with a wince.

The Third Prince raised one of his black eyebrows as if in shock--angels, of course in shock! What was Ira even sputtering on about? He didn't know and he wished he could stop.

"Well, 'cause now we don't have to go find you so-" Ira shrugged nervously, "-for efficiency and all. Plus, we kind of thought you were Mammon."

Mayvalt laughed, punching Ira's elbow with her own. The knock helped center his spinning mind. "Sap. What the brat means is we have some serious catching up to do."

Ira silently admonished her in his mind. Brat was no better than kid--but he took the out she was offering him instead and nodded his flushed face.

"All of us do." The Fifth Prince muttered darkly. She crossed her arms over her pearl-colored peplos and glared at her older brother. "Are you really working with these two fledglings, Belzebuth?"

"I'm several centuries old." Mayvalt grumbled. Ira stayed silent--he couldn't exactly agree with her mutterings with the Third Prince in the room.

The Third Prince inhaled and exhaled robotically. His golden eyes settled directly on the Prince opposite him for what must have been the first time. Ira hadn't been watching his every glance before, but he could feel the electricity crackled into existence where it hadn't been before. The Fifth Prince narrowed her own sight again and straightened her spine. Their gazes were locked. It was predatory in a way.

Ira found himself asking, nearly nonsensically, if a tiger could kill a shark. He guessed it depended on the terrain? Not much good a shark could do on land--and although tigers swam he didn't know if it was as well as--okay, so, that wasn't helping. He squashed down the swirling hypotheses with a swallow.

The silence dragged until finally the Third Prince spoke. He tilted his head and raised his shoulders into a smug shrug. "She's several centuries old."

"Childish," Astaroth snarled. "The lot of you."

Ira glanced at Mayvalt. She met his look before trading it towards the Third Prince. Collectively, they shrugged and offered muttered agreements. Astaroth groaned as if greatly pained and pressed her fingertips into the bridge of her elegant nose.

"My Lord," a small voice whispered from the doorway. Ira was surprised to see it still open, the hall way still brimming with nervously shifting He-Goat guards. He shook his head, silently chastising himself. The door had made no effort to ever swing shut. He had simply dismissed it and the threat of the patrol the second the Third Prince had entered the room. As if everything to his back had become instantly insignificant. It seemed he wasn't the only one. The Third Prince made no effort to look at the He-Goats but the Fifth flinched and dropped her hands to her sides.

"Yes, Rervalt?" She answered.

"Hi-his things, My Lord?" The robed He-Goat nearest the doorway edged forward, gesturing the clothed bundle in her arms. There was a tremble in her voice that traveled through her drapes. Her entire body was shaking, rustling her cloak enough to make a song out of it. "He had a weapon and nothing else."

Astaroth's pitch eyes flicked towards her brother. Her head tilted questioningly, her lips turning up into a smirk. "A sword?" She asked, and although she kept her sights on the Third Prince it was clear her question was for her He-Goats. Mayvalt stiffened at Ira's side before noticeably drooping into a slump so relaxed it could have only been manufactured.

"Ye-yes," Rervalt whined. She lifted the bundle again. Her gesture was obvious in intent. She wanted to be released of the burden. Begging to have the sword taken. Her arms shook so firmly, Ira almost thought she would hand it right back to the Third Prince if the Fifth did not act fast enough.

Something had shifted in the room. An untouchable energy that no one felt keen to clue Ira in on. Mayvalt shrugged her leather jacket and collapsed back into the soft cushions of the lime-green sofa. If anyone other than Ira could glimpse the way her fingers tapped anxiously on her thighs, they didn't say. The Fifth Prince seemed suddenly more sharkish. She leaned forward on her sandals, practically beaming like a kid on Christmas morning. And the Third Prince--well he seemed indifferent at best. His golden eyes stayed pinned on the Fifth Prince but the only emotion in the marble surface was of boredom. If his was an act as much as Mayvalt's was, it was a better one.

"Bring it to me." Astaroth demanded, her hands outheld like that of a beggar's.

The Third Prince sighed heavily and rolled his eyes. "Sister, this envy is tiresome. Don't you have enough junk lying around? Why do you need mine, too?"

Astaroth hissed snakeishly. "Junk? Junk, brother? No, no. You can not use clever tongue nor nefarious mind to dissuade me. Rervalt--the sword."

The He-Goat in the hall whimpered. Her hooded head swung towards the Third Prince nearest the doorway. The business man huffed up a surrendering sigh and stepped aside, gesturing with open palms for Rervalt to hand over his item. The He-Goat scurried past, rushing to the Fifth Prince's side. She knelt, holding the package over her concealed head.

The Fifth Prince cackled. Her fingers stretched for the cloth before freezing. "I was always envious of this, brother. I thought it such a waste that such power be so uselessly handed to my soft-hearted elder brother. You never had the courage to use Eadrom to the fullest extent."

"Terbang." Mayvalt muttered under her breath. "Sword's name is Terbang."

Astaroth glowered down at Mayvalt where she sat. This time, she had enough decency to squirm uncomfortably in her seat.

"No, Faun." Astaroth snapped. "This is Eadrom--the only blade the Third Prince ever carried. Molded of pure airgid and furnaced in a starheart fire. It was the finest blade ever crafted in Elysium. With strength enough to scorch demons to ash just by revealing its light. It could cut down the All-King himself--wouldn't even take so much as a second swing. World carver, realm cutter."

"Angels," Ira cursed, cupping his ears with his palms, "and the Progeny had it in the basement."

"Foolish!" Astaroth cackled, her eyes lit with eagerness. Her hand struck, viper-quick, and ripped free the cloth from the silver kris. "You had in your possession the greatest-" she choked on her words, body frozen and eyes wide. "-junk?"

The Third Prince rolled his shoulders and gazed wearily up at the ceiling. "Told you."

Astaroth snatched the kris from Rervalt's arms. The He-Goat squeaked before dashing out of the room, seemingly taking it as a dismissal. She swung the curved silver blade through the air, rolling it between her hands, inspecting each and every edge of its warped blade. "Belzebuth, what is this?" She screeched, rage permeating each word.

Ira leaned forward, eyebrows pinched and lips pursed. That was definitely the sword the Cardinal had returned in New York before their departure. And despite whatever had happened to the Prince in the pit--it still shimmered and gleamed. Unscatched. The iron blade had been carved to make up images all along the strange shape. It was a beautiful weapon, sure. Ira didn't know what all the chaos was about. Mayvalt had gone stiff and silent--as unhelpful as a tree trunk.

"That is. . . " the Third Prince hesitated. He squinted up his eyes in thought before shrugging, "Terbang?"

"Where is Eadrom?" Astaroth snarled, each word curt and dagger sharp.

"I lost it?" The Prince said questioningly as if not even he held the true answer.

"You lost the greatest weapon across all three realms?" Ira could see the smoke curling from her ears, smell the brimstone in her breath. She was about to explode and Ira was just glad it wasn't at him. "Lost?"

"At the time it didn't feel important." He said earnestly.

"Not. . . important. . . the pinnacle of Elysium weaponry felt. . . unimportant." Astaroth said slowly. The words seemed to sting, each one left a sour expression across her lips. "What even is this? Heimrian? Avernian?"

"Uh," He said helpfully.

She pressed her fingertip into the curve of the sword and dragged it along the blade. The metal whined, like it was being tested against diamond instead of flesh. "Whatever element created this metal, it is not of Elysium. It will never cut Ely skin. You might as well take a wooden ax or a stone tied to the end of a rope when you face Mammon."

"Hey," the Third Prince protested bitterly, "you're going to hurt Terbang's feelings."

Astaroth's mouth dropped--her temper no doubt soaring. To prevent her from testing Terbang's abilities any futher, Ira quickly leapt forward. "We don't need that sword! We have a Vestige. That's all we need to kill Mammon."

Astaroth's attentions were momentarily gained. She rolled her nightlike eyes and laughed. "A Vestige with no master is no better than-"

"A wooden ax?" The Third Prince guessed.

Astaroth growled animalistically.

"Only a slight hiccup." Ira pushed, his tone carefully calm. "We just need to find the Ze'ev."

"Oh," the Third Prince winced theatrically. "Yeah, don't panic but-"

"They're not in the Diereadh?" Mayvalt finished from her place on the sofa.

His cat eyes flickered towards her. "How did you know?"

Ira scrubbed his palms across his tired eyes and groaned into the air. "Okay, let's just take a second here. There's too much to catch up on and I think we all started off on the wrong foot-" he glanced at Mayvalt, "or hoof."

She rolled her eyes.

"What do you suggest?" Astaroth asked, chin held aloft.

"Uh," Ira stammered. It really was hard to gather up his mind with all those eyes on him. Two sharkish, two golden and slitted predatorily, and the last coffee brown and innocently wide. 

The glass door was once again knocked on. The dull thud echoed across the room, gaining the eyes of each of its occupants. Arysmic stood in the hallway with a golden tray held in her hands, her eyebrows pinched and lips frowned.

"Tea?" She asked.

"Perfect." Ira breathed.