Lord Fane's messenger came for them at sunset.

Ira had retired to the study, and was busy reading when Orlova arrived. She set the History of Samodevia aside to waken Valeri. Only then did she answer Orlova's insistent and increasingly agressive knocking.

"We will be a moment," Ira said. She did not move from the doorway.

Orlova leaned in with a sharp smile. "Am I not welcomed inside?" she asked.

"Not presently," Ira agreed calmly.

Orlova laughed, displaying sharp fangs. Ira's eyes darted to the woman's shadow. If Orlova's human twin hid within it, there was no indication of her presence.

Valeri joined them soon enough. Orlova winked at the man, then bid them follow her down yet more winding tunnels. Chervnik thrummed around them. Voices, footsteps, the ringing of machines all melted into a constant hum of incongruent sounds. Those who lived in Chervnik no longer noticed its existence. Ira felt it as a vibration in her bones, and could not quite convince her wary mind to allow the noise to fade into the background. Her head ached as it had not since her rebirth in Beaufort Manor.

They reached a bowl-bellied room. It connected half a dozen tunnels, and allowed Ira and Valeri their first glimpse of Chervnik's residents. Men and women passed through in a hurry, some speaking in whispers with their companions. The few humans in their midst caught Ira by surprise.

"Since when does the Dvor employ humans?" she asked Valeri.

"The Dvor would not," Valeri answered. The man appeared troubled.

"They are refugees, Miss Hale," Orlova said, not bothering to lower her voice or feign ignorance of their conversation. "Through here, if you would please."

She pointed down, to a large, circular door cut into the floor. Ira's mouth thinned.

"Are we not underground enough?" Valeri sighed.

Orlova laughed. She pulled the sunken door open with a flourish, revealing a staircase.

"Watch your step!" the woman called out. She then belied her own advice by jumping straight down, disappearing from sight.

Ira followed the woman. She took the stairs rather than the shortcut, mindful of the thin metal rungs under her feet.

"I do not remember ever traveling this deeply into Chervnik, in Iavor's company," Valeri commented quietly.

The door closed above them when they were halfway down. The sound of it falling shut put Ira in mind of a sprung trap.

The passageway sloped downward. The walls thickened around them, the metal clang of wheels grinding against each other pronounced. Lanterns painted red shadows over their skin. Ira glanced at Valeri. The man's head was bowed, his eyes glazed in thought.

Orlova led them to a door. "Lord Fane's office," she explained. The woman knocked twice, then wrenched the door open and waltzed in without further ceremony.

The room was small. It was also cluttered and bright enough to give Ira pause. There was a desk pushed against a wall. It was buried under paper and flanked by an assortment of mismatched chairs. Ira followed a trail of pillows from there to a low table on the other side of the room, which suffered a similar deluge of parchment. Teacups peeked between stacks of paper. There were yet more under the table itself, along with a teapot, a man's foot, and what looked like a toy train.

Ira backtracked mentally.

The foot was attached to a leg and the leg to a body mostly hidden from view by a thick, purple blanket. Ira looked at Valeri. The man was staring in open disbelief, so an explanation did not seem likely from his corner.

Orlova stalked past them. The heels of her boots clacked against the metal floor, purposefully loud. She rounded the table and came to a stop by the purple lump, expression caught between disgust and disapproval.

"Lord Fane, your guests have arrived," the woman said.

She was answered by a snore.

Orlova repeated herself twice over before the foot twitched, sending an oil can and two cups tumbling over the table's edge.

A man sat up with a startled gasp. Blonde hair stuck out in bedraggled puffs around his face. Wide blue eyes flit around the room, seeking the reason for the noise. They caught on the woman standing above him. The man's expression softened in a sleepy smile.

"Alia. I did not hear you come in," he said.

Orlova nodded toward the entrance of the office. Lord Fane looked at Ira, then Valeri.

"Oh. Oh!" he exclaimed.

The man scrambled to his feet. He spent some time trying to pat away the wrinkles in his shirt and suit, muttering all the while.

"I did not – well, I did expect you, only not just now. I must have lost track of time again..."

Lord Fane gave up on his suit and began tugging at his hair. It brushed just above his shoulders. Ira suspected the length to be the result of absentmindedness rather than a conscious fashion choice.

"Lord Fane," Ira said, trying not to make the name sound like a question.

Lord Fane looked up. He beamed. "At your service."

Ira bowed her head, as much in respect as in acceptance of this strange turn of Fate's wheel. "My name is Ira Hale. I have something of importance to discuss, and a favor to ask."

"I will do my utmost to grant it," Lord Fane said brightly, then beckoned, "Please, have a seat."

Where? Ira thought, bemused.

She followed Lord Fane to the desk. The man removed a half-knitted scarf from his chair before taking a seat with nonchalance that spoke of habit. He gestured at the medley of chairs clustered about. Ira and Valeri took a seat cautiously, careful of any stray papers or mechanical bits.

"Would your companion not be more comfortable with Alia?"

The question was spoken casually. Lord Fane sought a pen amid the papers and knick-knacks on his desk, seemingly unaware of the sudden shift in the room's mood.

"Sir Beaufort goes wherever he wishes," Ira said.

Valeri said nothing. There was tension around him, and darkness at his brows.

"Is tea alright? Alia, tea please. Valeri," Lord Fane continued in the same breath, with no change in tone or a as much as a glance in Valeri's direction. "It has been a while, has it not? I doubt you remember me. You were still human when we met."

"I remember," Valeri said shortly.

Lord Fane let out an unconcerned hum. He found a pen at last, pressed a wrinkled sheet of paper flat, and smiled up at Ira.

"How many soldiers do you need?" the man asked.

Ira paused, taken aback. "I do not believe I have shared the reason for my visit."

"There is no need to say it out loud," Lord Fane said. "In fact, it is better if you do not. The Dvor does not condone action against the Court, not officially. This will be a personal loan, from one Lord to another."

"I am not a Lord of the Dvor," Ira reminded.

Lord Fane waved off her words. "Iavor's Seat is yours by blood. Not even the Queen would dare deny it – then again, that would require Her Majesty to deign dirty her eyes with the Dvor's company," the man groused, caught in this new line of thought.

"You knew Iavor Beaufort well," Ira said, seeking to bring the man back to the topic at hand.

Lord Fane's eyes dimmed. "Yes. Iavor's death was sudden, and difficult to accept."

"Is the cause known?" Ira asked.

Lord Fane grunted in disgust. "There are speculations, but we are not in possession of sufficient evidence to issue any solid claims. Progress on the investigation has been slow. The Dvor is prepared to turn a blind eye to unilateral action."

"But not prepared to initiate it," Valeri said, the words biting.

Lord Fane's eyes flickered to him, then moved back to Ira. "Your request, Lord Beaufort?"

"Hale," Ira corrected. "There has been a misunderstanding regarding the purpose of my visit."

"Do correct it," Lord Fane said.

Ira chose her words carefully. "Three months ago, a pair of white serpents bearing the Queen's Mark infiltrated Beaufort Manor with the intent to kill. My team was charged with their capture. At the time, no details about the serpents or their identity were known. They were later revealed to be hiding in human guises, and to consume the souls of their victims."

Lord Fane exhaled loudly.

"From the beginning, please," he said.

Ira recounted the case objectively, as she would in an official report to the Amith Capil. Valeri grew tense when the discussion progressed to Ira's time at Beaufort Manor. He told his own part of the story when Lord Fane bid him do so. Ira listened to the man speak about Silva Layfe, about months of deception that were meant to culminate in Valeri's death. She reminded herself that Layfe was dead. Carrying a grudge against a corpse was a waste of mental effort.

Lord Fane wrote diligently. Orlova returned at some point, this time as a human. She served them tea and went to stand at Lord Fane's elbow. The vampire lord handed her the completed report. Orlova left the room without a word.

"The report will be copied and sent to all members of the Dvor within the day," Lord Fane said.

"When is response expected?" Ira asked. Time was not on Dimitri's side.

"I have marked the matter as urgent. There are nine of us. Action will be approved if a majority votes to engage." Lord Fane leaned back in his chair with a sigh. "I must warn you not to expect more than a diplomatic approach. The Dvor's interest will fall on the serpents' involvement. The fate of the human soldier is not within our jurisdiction."

"Are the serpents?" Ira asked.

Lord Fane shook his head slowly. "That, I do not know. The creatures you describe are more akin the demons of the Kingdoms Below than anything found in Samodevia. We may need to reach out to Hel and request information."

"Why Hel?" Valeri asked, startled.

Lord Fane looked at him with derisive bemusement. "The First Kingdom is responsible for keeping creatures from the World Below where they belong. It is nearly impossible for your serpent siblings to have slithered their way into Samodevia without Hel's knowledge."

"And if they had?" Ira pressed.

"If Hel was truly unaware and the issue came to light, then the Queen of the First Kingdom would be duty-bound to dispatch an envoy to clean up the mess. As they do when one of their own eats their way through Samodevia's populace under the guise of seeking out their Anima." Lord Fane's disgusted snort spoke of his views on that particular subject.

"Gabriel never said anything," Valeri muttered, mostly to himself.

Lord Fane narrowed his eyes. "You are referring to Gabriel Todd?" he asked.

"I am," Valeri confirmed, straightening in his seat. "Gabriel was a friend of Iavor's –"

Lord Fane barked out an angry laugh. "Foolish child! Gabriel Todd is no one's friend but his own. You want to blame someone for Iavor's death going unmarked? Blame Todd, and his damned cooperation with the Queen's dogs during the investigation!"

Valeri was still. Ira spoke, seeing that he could not. "Todd was in charge of the investigation into Lord Beaufort's death?" she asked.

"He was there!" Lord Fane exclaimed. The man had worked up a temper, his cheeks red, eyes blazing. "The team the Dvor dispatched found him on the scene, covered in blood and surrounded by Amith Capil soldiers. If I could think of a single thing Todd could gain from Iavor's death, I would go as far as to blame him for it!"

"He never said anything," Valeri repeated.

Lord Fane snorted coldly. He composed himself, but the angry flush was slow to leave his face.

"I will make sure to let you know once I receive the Dvor's response," Lord Fane told Ira.

Ira inclined her head in understanding. "Thank you. We will leave Chervnik within three days."

"Three days is not nearly enough time," Lord Fane protested. "How would I reach you once you depart, and keep you informed of the Dvor's movements?"

"The same way you found me at Beaufort Manor, I would expect," Ira said calmly.

Lord Fane's lips thinned in displeasure. "You must consider your position, Lord Hale. Your allegiance belongs to the Dvor and its subjects."

"Upholding justice serves all," Ira told him.

Ira held Lord Fane's eyes. The man's severe expression cracked, broken by a small, wistful smile.

"That is something Iavor would have said."

Lord Fane rose, followed by Ira and Valeri. "There are a few matters left to discuss, Lord Hale, but they will keep. Alia will show you to your quarters. Let us speak again when you have had a chance to rest."

"We are grateful for your hospitality," Ira said.

Orlova waited for them outside the door. She led them back to their room, uncharacteristically quiet and still very human.

"Do you trust Todd?" Ira asked Valeri as soon as they were alone in their shared study.

"More than I trust Cheryl Fane," Valeri replied. He had collapsed in a chair, looking more tired than Ira had ever seen him. "That does not mean that Gabriel is the innocent party in all of this. In fact, I would be very disappointed in him if he were."

"Never trust a Helcat," Ira said, remembering the old soldier slogan.

Valeri laughed lowly. "An Amith Capil saying, I presume? I will make sure to share it with Gabriel the next time I see him, once I am through wringing his neck."

Ira smothered a smile. She very much doubted Valeri could overpower a demon of Gabriel's rank, but the image of the two of them grappling like ruffian children was amusing.

"We must consider possible motivation, if we cannot ascertain the exact outcome and perpetrator," she said. "What reason would Todd have to conceal what he knows of Iavor's death? Alternatively, what would Lord Fane gain from turning us against Hel?"

Valeri stared at the ceiling. Gears turned in the quiet, the earth rumbling under their feet as Chervnik dug its way through the dirt.

"The city is not as I remember," he said. "Too many people. Too many humans."

"We have three days. Perhaps we can find something of interest," Ira said.

Valeri nodded absentmindedly. He did not seem ready to share the memories that kept him so distracted, but no longer looked quite as lost as he had when they had first entered the Red City. Perhaps the possibility of finding the truth behind Iavor's death had lent him strength.

Whatever the case, Ira would make sure that Valeri Beaufort no longer faced his fears alone.