He said, “Go to the Circle and ask to speak to the head of the Order of Chamuel. You’ll have to convince them of Mariel’s innocence on your own. I cannot do that for you. The locket will keep them from devouring you whole, but the rest is up to you.”

“Thank you, Abraxas.”

His hand grasped her upper arm. “We aren’t quite done,” he whispered, his voice smoke and silk.

Her pulse sped up. “What do you mean?”

“We’ve bargained tonight, have we not? Exchanged gifts.”

She pressed her hand to the locket, confused. “You have given me a gift,” she agreed, nervous, “but what have I given you?”

He closed the space between them, and she tilted her head up to meet him, as natural as breathing. She saw the curve of his satisfied smile just before she closed her eyes, and she did not care. She had missed him. Missed this.

This kiss was brief, just a promise of what could be, a reminder of what had been, and then it was over.

When she opened her eyes, she was alone.

CHAPTER 6

The early-morning sun was already breaking across the mountains by the time Celeste returned home. Her mind dwelled on her encounter with Abraxas, replaying his every word, looking for meaning in each gesture, lingering over that stolen kiss. But it was an indulgence, and one she could not afford. She had no doubt the Circle would waste no time conducting their sham trial. The fact that the crime for which Mariel was accused had happened in the middle of the night gave her some reprieve. The Order of Chamuel would have to round up their compatriots to convene the court. Celeste planned to confront the head of the Order of Chamuel before then, just as Abraxas had advised, and the only way to do that was to walk straight into the lion’s den.

She stopped home only long enough to clean the ash from her coat and change into her best dress. She didn’t know if a dress and a memory of who she used to be would be enough to convince the Virtue to talk to her, but they did serve as armor against her fears. The frock was a remnant of her time with her father, and in it, she resembled a woman of wealth and breeding. She was ashamed to admit there was comfort in it, but she would take courage from whatever she could.

The territorial courthouse stood on a hill overlooking the city. The locals called the place Golgotha on account of its lofty location and the tendency of those who passed through its halls to end up sentenced to death. It was a gruesome epithet for an institution meant to dole out justice, and it felt like an ill omen.