We stop at the Blue Step, pulling up beside an idyllic creek that manages to be both a breath of natural wonder and entirely unremarkable. The kind of place travelers are glad to find after a long day on the road, but forget by morning.

There isn't much to see, but the others throw themselves into senseless pursuits with childish enthusiasm. Cloud drags Kierra into the water, and together they chase the silver fish darting downstream. Either one of them could empty the creek alone, so naturally they turn it into a competition. There's more wrestling than fishing, but their laughter says they don't mind.

Alana doesn't join them, choosing instead to stay on the bank with her soles caked in mud and her toes in the cool water. A small smile curls her lips as she watches the current drift by. Utterly mundane, but strikingly beautiful. If an artist painted her, I could picture the masterpiece hanging in the study of a small-time merchant—something to remind him of simpler days.

And Gajin? As expected of my gardener, he squats to examine weeds and doesn't move, occasionally muttering to himself as he fingers the thin stalks. His mania hasn't lessened a bit since I hired him, which is impressive in its own odd way.

I try to soak in the atmosphere, but my thoughts keep circling back to the future. Cloud didn't reject my offer, but asking for time to think doesn't inspire confidence. The silence is difficult for me; I keep catching myself searching her face for clues, reading too much into every glance and twitch of expression. She didn't look angry or disgusted when I finished—just uneasy. As uncertain as I am.

The fun doesn't last long. Urged by her stomach, Cloud herds us back to the carriage. Apparently, someone offered to cook the moment she mentioned she was bringing guests, and she expects a hot meal to be waiting. That's the Temple for you: genuine, if unpolished, with an eagerness that might be suspicious if it weren't paired with all their other strangeness. Nothing like the stiff courtesy I'm used to.

Before long, we're in the Green Step. I know these fields—wide stretches broken by low hills and the occasional tree—having spent time here after that unfortunate business with the prince. I recognize the tents, simple cloth pitched with just enough distance to keep them from being cramped. Beside them stands the wide wooden ring they call their place of communion—or, less poetically, the spot where they bleed beneath the claws of monsters in search of enlightenment.

We leave the carriage on the outskirts of the camp. I've no doubt it will be exactly where we left it when we're ready to depart; the Temple has no use for greed. Or noise. The camp is as hushed as I remember, its people moving about their lives in near silence. Once, I found the quiet eerie. Now, after months of chaos, it feels like peace.

Cloud leads us deeper. The tents grow more distinctive, decorated with paint and embroidery—not necessarily fancier, but marked to set them apart from their plainer counterparts.

We stop before a tent where a man sits in front of a steaming pot, three short logs arranged around him. At first glance, he's indistinguishable from the others: the same dark coloring, the same ringed tattoos. At second glance, something is off. Not something missing—something present that shouldn't be.

He's tense. It shows in his shoulders, in the tight line of his jaw, even with his head bowed. That tension blares against the camp's languid atmosphere. And when he looks up, it snaps. His eyes widen, his lips part, control breaking like a string pulled too tight. He recovers quickly—admirably so—but far too slowly for me not to notice. His gaze flicks between me and Butterfly before he forces his expression flat again.

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I can understand such a response to me. I'm recognizable for reasons that would unsettle anyone. But Butterfly? Her existence is a carefully guarded secret. No random member of the Temple should react to her at all, let alone with visceral recognition. And worse—what I saw wasn't fear or awe. It was knowing.

Suspicious doesn't begin to cover it.

I keep my tongue still for many reasons. Chief among them: I have no desire to entangle myself in the business of a seer. Whoever this man is, he hasn't acted against us yet. No sense in cornering someone clearly desperate to remain unnoticed. Later, I'll ask Butterfly if he poses a threat. If he's harmless, I can ignore him.

Once we're seated around the fire, Cloud gestures toward the man. "Beating Heart of the Ox shares his hospitality." He bows, expression carefully bland, and fills our bowls.

One point in his favor: the stew is excellent. Thin, yes, and it could use bread and shroom juice to round wash it down, but it's more than good considering how little he has to work with.

Cloud waits until we've finished before speaking. "I have thought about your offer, Lou," she says, her tone suddenly serious. I straighten without meaning to. Her smile is like cool water on a burn, easing the tension I've carried since I first asked. "It would be a boon for the Temple. I'd like to accept."

I match her smile.

"But this is not a decision I can make."

My grin falters. "Of course." Stupid. Obviously she can't decide something like this on her own. She's not their queen. Wait. Does the Temple even have leaders? Will I need to convince them one by one?

Her quiet chuckle snaps me out of my thoughts. "No need to look so lost. I will help. Bring you before those who can decide."

"That would be…?"

"The elders of the largest families, and their heirs. Those who lead this generation and the next."

"Will you be there?"

"Yes. And others you know."

"Ah, you mean—"

"May I?" Ox Guy interrupts, his rough voice breaking in. All of us turn. My frown is obvious; I don't bother hiding it, though Cloud waves him on. "Offer? For tribe?"

I'd prefer him to keep his nose out of it, but Cloud is too open. "For all kin. My honored sister wishes us to aid her in restoring the city."

His eyes flick to Butterfly. Telling that he looks to her for answers. "Kin are not nobles."

"I don't need nobles," I snap, my voice clipped.

Cloud makes a low, chuffing sound. Gentle but enough to silence him. He lowers his gaze, subdued but not finished. "Tribe do not follow rules of men. Curse."

"Do not mistake shadows for nightmares," Cloud replies evenly. "We will do as we always have. That our nature benefits my sister is our fortune. Fight not the current of a river."

Simple enough: don't make things harder than they need to be.

"There's no need to get involved if it unsettles you," I add.

He bristles, unwilling to be dismissed. "Surprised. Strange."

"Strange does not mean bad." Cloud hands him her bowl, and he obediently fills it again. She looks back at me. "What day should we come to your home?"

"Hm? Whenever you like. Sooner would be best."

One of her brows lifts. "It is a number of bodies to sit and mouths to feed."

I wave off her concern.

"Then there is one more matter," she says. "Do you have time? There is another place I would like to bring you."

"Taking me all over, huh? That's fine." I set aside the whole day for her, not knowing how long it would take to secure her answer. She could keep me until sunrise and I wouldn't complain.

"Good." She finishes her meal in quick bites, then motions for us to rise. Ox Guy collects the bowls, but falters before Butterfly as she holds onto the dish.

"I'll stay behind," she says, tone airy but too deliberate. "Too old for so much walking. You wouldn't mind serving me another bowl, would you?"

His smile looks carved on. "Guest."

There's something wrong there, but I let it go, following my companions as Cloud leads us further into her home.

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