Time slowed, and the cathedral emptied of all noise except for my heart beat, pumping at a slow, somber pace, like a war drum. The back of my mouth pricked with static electricity, but I was rooted in place, unable to look away from Elio while he was oblivious to my attention. 

The waist of my jacket tugged, breaking the spell. I looked down to find the street rat turned squire boy standing behind me, holding a small cinch bag.

"A loan of a loan." He spoke in vague terms since my possession of the Balthasar's soul stone was not publicly known.

"And where's my six coppers, you little skeeve?"

He smirked at me, revealing his missing front teeth. "Tough luck, rookie. Coppers are for people that know how to hold on to them."

I lunged for him, and he skirted out of my reach, laughing as he ran. As I stepped back in line, I was about to pocket the bag when I felt two distinct shapes push against the leather. I tugged its strings open to let a sliver of light shine upon its contents -- the soul stone and a yellow diamond about the size of my thumb nail.

"Next!" 

I looked up to find myself first in line, one of the women in white awaiting me. A bony hand withdrew from the folds of her silk, beckoning me forward like the Black Reaper beckons his next victim off a cliff. 

Swallowing, I climbed the steps and held my hand above the midnight waters of her cauldron, about to drop my chosen token -- a shinky little pebble I picked from the creases in my boots -- only for her to smack my hand aside and drop the king's much nicer yellow diamond instead.

"Do you work for His Majesty, too?" I asked as I stuck my tongs into the murk, feeling my way through the dark until I hit something solid. I could only hope I scored the diamond, since the liquid had no transparency or reflection, only an infinite pool of darkness.

"Agents of the divine take no heed of mortal affairs," she replied tonelessly. "The petty scruples of man, we listen not. But if I were to listen to anyone, I would listen to you."

I glanced up, my eyes narrowing.

"The deities have their favorites, those who walk among us wearing the same skin as any other, yet their feet never touch the ground. The divine flows bright through their veins, shining from every pore. Say your name and claim it."

"I don't — "

Her eyes flashed black, and her voice deepened to a man's cadence. "Say it."

"Yes, ma'am," I said immediately, jerking back to the cauldron. "Gwen—" 

The tongs heated up so quickly, I nearly dropped them.  

"Careful," the woman in white murmured. "It won't be so forgiving the next time you lie." 

Apparently, the cauldron knew me better than I knew myself. Like an old coat, I had outgrown my birth name, or maybe it was never mine at all. "I'm Raven. Raven Black." Then a promise blew through me, almost as if the deities had planted the words on my lips. "And I will never give the wyvern to unworthy hands."

Heat flashed through my body, and for an instant, I felt the sheer power of a wyvern flowing through my blood. Strength shot through my veins, and my senses sharpened. I could see the fine lining of jackets across the cathedral, hear the blink of an eye, smell Carlos' smarmy cologne from across the kingdom. 

And in the next breath, all of it was gone, so completely and quickly that I would have thought I dreamed it -- if not for the four fingered indent along the spine of my tongs.

"Lift it," the woman in white whispered.

I did as she bid. The king's yellow diamond emitted a faint, glowing light.

"Pity," she murmured, drawing back. "Would have been stronger if you had been truer."

As I stepped off the stage, the effects of the binding lingered. A burning sensation pricked the tips of my fingers and toes. It made me feel like doing something reckless and destructive. Naturally, I began looking for Elio, a half baked plan forming in my mind.

He spotted me before I spotted him. We locked eyes as I wove between the lines of rookies to reach him. Now that I was getting a good look at him, it seemed Elio wasn't so scrawny anymore. Over the summer, he had gotten tan, shaved his hair to a fine black crop, and put on a good deal of muscle.

"Where'd all your hair go?" I spoke casually to get a feel of where he stood. To throw him off a little bit.

"Shaved it for training. You would have known if you read my letters."

"You wrote me?"

"Everyday, then I burned them before the ink dried."

Now he had thrown me. But that was his specialty. He always knew how to lower guards and burrow under skin.

"Can I borrow that?" I said, nodding at his hand. If he wants to talk about letters, then I will talk about tongs.

He paused, as if I had surprised him. Then he did as I asked and watched as I lowered his tongs into an unoccupied cauldron. I've told too many lies for him to believe me on word alone. But now he didn't have to trust me, just the cauldron.

"I want to say three things," I said. "One, Sammy didn't kill Georgie –"

"The cauldron isn't all knowing. It can't judge the truth, only what we believe to be the truth."

A protest rose to the tip of my tongue, but I shut my mouth, like I should have done in the first place. A conversation couldn't sway a decade long hatred. No words could sway him, only blood. Elio would hold his grudge to the grave – either his or Sammy's. I started pulling out of the murk, but before my stick could get far, Elio caught my wrist.

"That was one." He let go. "You have two more."

"Two," I said, after only a brief pause. "If I knew who Georgie's real killer was, I'd hand them over in a heartbeat. And three, if you want to ask any questions about the raiders or clarify any of the lies I told you, I'll answer. Within reason."

"Where is Crenshaw?" Elio asked instantly.  

"I don't know. I have some guesses, none that I'm willing to share."  

"Who is responsible for your scars?"

"Drax."

Elio paused, eyeing my stick. When it did not so much as fizzle, he said, "Do you know where he is?"

"No, but he's out for revenge after I abandoned his heist on Balthasar Manor. It's only a matter of time until he finds me."

"What do you expect to get out of sharing this information?"

"Not being smothered in my sleep would be nice."

"I've lost all interest in killing you. Or hurting you, in any way."

I all but rolled my eyes. "Say it with a stick," I said, more as a dig than a real request, but then Elio rolled up his sleeve. He pushed his hand into the pool, and the opaque liquid swallowed his tan skin up to the wrist. Then he met my eyes, his ice blue burning into my grey. I stared back, my lips parted in horror and fascination.

"I have no interest or plans to kill you," Elio repeated. "Or hurt you, in any way."

I waited for burning flesh and jagged screams. When neither happened, I still couldn't wrap my mind around what he had just said. "Because I remind you of your brother?"

"Partly. But mostly because I want to hurt Crenshaw, spiritually."

Meaning he thought Sammy did not care for me outside of my powerful divine. "You got that impression from talking to your father?"

"I got that impression from talking to you. Reading in between the lines of the things you've said." He gestured at his hand in apology. He couldn't afford to spare my feelings, considering that one misspoken word could cost him a limb.

"Don't worry about it," I said, in a daze. All summer, I thought that Elio was plotting to kill me. Seeing how little my worries amounted to, I wasn't sure whether to be relieved or annoyed.

"Bates! Black! What the -- no!"

We turned around, remembering other people were in the cathedral. Cassian strode toward us, his eyes fixed on our hands. I started to draw back.

"Wait," Elio said quickly. "You say Crenshaw didn't kill Georgie. Will you help me catch who did?"

"Away!" Cassian shrieked.

I studied Elio. I tend to assume that anyone who grew up in Court had a better childhood, but in many ways, Elio was more of an orphan than I ever was. His eyes had that edge you only ever see on new arrivals, that clawing desperation for an answer that will never come. 

I learned to stop caring about my blood ties ages ago – a luxury Elio could not afford. I could find my parents the instant I decided their location was worth the bother of asking for it. But the circumstances that made Elio an orphan were too violent, too vicious, too personal. 

Certain memories weren't meant to be shaken. 

Certain memories haunt you to the grave.

"If I have to tell you one more time," Cassian threatened, closing the gap between us to yards. 

In a second, he'd yank me away from the cauldron. I used that second to tell Elio yes. Yes, I'll help you catch your brother's killer. 

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