Cyrene desperately wanted to go back and pitch in. More than anything else she did not want to leave here and not know how it ended. Neither did she particularly want to leave in the company of Enth: the creature was right there at her shoulder, where terrifying monsters traditionally lurked.

Yet it was obedient to her commands and nominally on her side. Her brief glance took in that lean gray physique, laid bare ready for Abnasio’s ministrations. Its eyes glittered in the lamplight.

Then a pair of late monks turned up from who knew where, clattering down the stairs eager not to miss the party, and ran straight into her.

She had been going up, and the sudden impact sent her skittering back down the steps just far enough that the two new arrivals realized that a fight was going on inside their holy of holies. They caught on fast and one of them was practically on top of her, a fist cracking across her cheekbone—more by luck than judgment—that rang the back of her head against the stone.

The other sat on her legs, and got a knee to the crotch when he failed to do it very well. She was halfway back onto her feet when she got another fist in the face, which seemed to unlock some secret bolt that had held the world in place, because abruptly everything was wheeling around her. Except Enth. Enth was just standing there.

She focused on the monster, even as her hands and the monk’s hands were fighting for possession of her throat. It was tense, straining, but held back by…

“Just follow me,” she had said.

“Fight them, you moron!” she got out past the clutching fingers, and the sudden release reminded her of flying a hawk from the glove. The second monk, still slightly doubled over, had a cudgel out from within his robes and even managed to get in a solid swing as Enth came in. The monster thrust an arm out that served at once to deflect the blow and to plant a palm in the man’s chest with enough force to spill him halfway back up the stairs. Then Cyrene had forced the hands of her own assailant away, throwing him off her neatly into Enth’s grip.

She saw his jaws gape, the monster’s. She saw exactly what was about to happen, which vital parts of the monk’s anatomy were about to get torn out by the roots. The words “No killing!” came out of her in a convulsive spasm, and Enth was left there, hands purpling the monk’s body with the strength of their grip, fangs bared, staring at her. It was not that she cared about the monk’s life, she realized. It was that death by Enth was a foul end not fit for anyone.