Beru took a seat by the fire, and Lazaros lurked by the window. Lazaros was her own personal shadow—standing guard to ensure that the god inside Beru was under her control and that Beru herself didn’t step a toe out of line. For as much as Pallas seemed to enjoy ordering Beru around in front of his followers, he did not elect to spend any time alone with her. He knew very well how the god longed for his death as much as it longed for freedom.

Beru found Lazaros unsettling. The Witnesses flocked to Pallas for a variety of reasons, but Lazaros’s devotion went above any of them. He’d burned out his own Grace just to prove it. That kind of devotion defied explanation—Beru had sensed that even some of the other Witnesses were wary of Lazaros.

Even after two months, she had not quite gotten used to his watchful gray eyes, the jagged pattern of scars that crisscrossed his face, or the careful way he held himself. But what unnerved her most was the way he stared at her so reverently. To Pallas, she was a tool, but to Lazaros she was something to worship. She didn’t know which one she hated more.

As the sky darkened outside Beru’s window, a knock came at the door. Lazaros slunk over and opened it.

Ephyra stalked inside, flanked by two other Witnesses. Godfire cuffs encircled her wrists, although unlike Beru’s collar, they were never allowed off. Beru noticed a fresh welt across Ephyra’s cheek, and the stiff way she walked hinted that there were more injuries Beru could not see.

Beru rose from her seat and went to her sister, embracing her.

“Thank you for delivering her,” Beru said to the Witnesses in a clipped tone. “You may leave now.”

They hesitated as Beru stared them down, casting their gazes over her shoulder, where Lazaros skulked. Only when he signaled did they retreat.

“Bring us some supper,” Beru called after them.

“And some wine!” Ephyra added.

The second the door clicked shut, Beru seized her sister’s chin to get a closer look at the welt.

“I’m fine!” Ephyra huffed, batting away Beru’s hand and flinging a nervous glance at Lazaros.

“I’m sorry,” Beru said plaintively. The welt seemed to shine on Ephyra’s face, a reminder from Pallas that it was Ephyra, always Ephyra, who would suffer for Beru’s disobedience.

These meetings with her sister were part of the negotiation between Beru and Pallas, but it was not lost on Beru that they provided Pallas with something else to use against her. A gift offered that could easily be revoked if Beru disobeyed.

“Don’t be,” Ephyra replied, a hint of pride in her voice. She reached into the fold of her jacket. “Brought you something.”