With a quivering bow, the demon turned and ran, joining its fellows in slinking retreat. A few yards away, Matthew, Lucie, and Christopher were looking around in puzzlement as their attackers vanished. Cordelia barely had time to sheathe her blade before James was beside her. She started to open her mouth, to explain, but he was staring at her—at the terrible ichor burns up and down the front of her dress, on her sleeve. In a strangled voice, he said, “Cordelia—”

Her breath went out of her in a gasp as he caught her in a hard embrace. Despite the cold night, his shirt was damp with sweat. His arms around her were strong and solid; she could feel the swift hammering of his heart. He pressed his cheek against hers, chanting her name, Daisy, Daisy, Daisy.

“I’m all right,” she said quickly. “It got on my dress, is all, but I’m perfectly all right, James—”

He let her go, looking almost abashed. “I saw that Naga demon rear back to attack you,” he said, his voice low. “I thought—”

“What was that about?” said Christopher, who had just arrived with Lucie. “I saw that Hauras demon shout at Cordelia, and then they all raced off like the devil was after them.”

“I—I’ve no idea,” Cordelia said. “I suppose it was Cortana. The Hauras demon looked terrified of it.”

“Perhaps word has spread that Cortana dealt a wound to Belial,” Lucie said, her eyes sparkling like they did when she was working on The Beautiful Cordelia. “Your sword’s reputation precedes you!”

Only James said nothing as they made their way back across the square, seeming lost in thought. Matthew had returned to the carriages to soothe the horses’ nerves. As though he could feel Cordelia’s gaze on him, he turned and looked at her, his green eyes dark. She couldn’t help but wonder if he’d seen more back at the barrow than he had let on, but no: surely he could not have seen Wayland, could not have heard the smith speak the word “paladin” as Cordelia knelt before him.

But it was all Cordelia could think about. Around the edges of her astonishment, a wild joy was beginning to fizz upward. You have the soul of a great warrior, Wayland the Smith had said. She was a paladin now, the champion of a legendary hero, and even demons were taking notice. Suddenly she hoped that these scamps were the gossipy sort. She hoped that word would travel through the ranks of demons all the way up to Belial himself, and that he would understand that Cordelia and her sword would stand between the Prince of Hell and all her friends, defending them to the death.