The veiled woman escorts us into the back room. To the real Thirteen Coins. And I remember, all of a sudden, why I strapped on every weapon I could find.

We’re being watched the moment we enter, by men with daggers and curved swords at their belts. They’re all stripped to the waist, showing off the tattoos on their backs. The image is the same on every Three Devils soldier in attendance; it’s the picture Suduk Za-Ziqni drew for us in his office. A triquetra of grinning devil faces, each one wreathed in flames.

Everything in here is finer in quality than the front. The rugs are nicer, the furniture newer. I see golden vases and urns, piles of coins and gems in little alcoves on the walls. A show of decadence, perhaps, a wordless way to gloat over their plunder. Our escort leads us through the center of the room, under a skylight that bathes the rugs below in a lotus-shaped pattern of sunshine.

She takes us to the far end of the room, through a beaded curtain, and into a small, round chamber with a sort of conversation pit in the middle. There’s a low, ring-shaped couch with an ornate hookah in the center, a decanter of wine and a tray of fancy glasses next to it.

There are three people sitting on this couch, two of them in dark robes that conceal their bodies and faces entirely. The third, the woman they both seem to be talking to, is wearing exactly the opposite style of costume. She lounges on her side, her shapely legs stretched out across the cushions, and she’s wearing a long sheer gown so diaphanous you can see right through it. Hair as black as night spills down her lovely shoulders, and gazing at it kind of leads the eye toward her… Generous endowments. I can see nipples, right through the gown. Gosh.

Arcadia’s eyes grow wide as dinner plates, and at the same time a blush paints her face rosy red. She glances at me, as if to say ‘W-why is she wearing something like that?’ without actually saying it. All I can do is chuckle. Why indeed.

I guess a better question is, why not?

The woman has a bored look on her face until we come in. When she notices, a slow smile spreads across her face, and she lifts her hand and makes a dismissive gesture to the robed figures she’s talking to. They rise without delay, bow to her, and shuffle past us without making eye contact.

“Arcadia the Sorceress,” she says. “It is an honor.”

She beckons us to come join her on the couch, and Arcadia does so while simultaneously doing her best not to gawk. Which amuses this woman, who I’m now assuming is Zasalamel. Arcadia and I take seats across from her, and when she finally works up the nerve to look at the other woman, she makes firm eye contact. Probably to avoid looking at anything else.

“Yes, that’s me,” says Arcadia. “And you must be Zasalamel?”

She smiles and nods. Then she fixes her attention on me. “And you are Rekka, are you not?”

I nod, but then I narrow my eyes at her. “How did you know our names? And that we were coming?”

“I see much that is hidden, Lioness of Kellheim. Even now the aura of the beast precedes you.”

It’s difficult to imagine this woman having informants all the way in Norgard. Even moreso to think anyone would take the story of me turning into some kind of lion-woman seriously. To this day I’m not sure if it was real or just some kind of hallucination.

I raise an eyebrow at Zasalamel. “So if you knew we were coming, then perhaps you know why we’re here.”

“I do,” says Zasalamel. “And it is within my power to assist you. The Three Devils protect the House of the Sun and Moons, as we have for aeons.”

Arcadia leans forward in her seat a little, a hopeful expression on her face. “I’m glad to hear that. I was worried you wouldn’t be keen on sharing your magic with us.”

Zasalamel smiles indulgently. “That is not the only thing I would share with you, Arcadia the Sorceress.”

She doesn’t seem to take her meaning at first. Arcadia gives her a puzzled look, but then, perhaps recognizing the intent in that smile, her eyes widen again and her blush flares to full strength. She hastily averts her eyes, and I let out another little laugh at her embarrassment.

It’s odd. I remember feeling jealous, the last time something like this happened. Not so much today.

Zasalamel’s smile doesn’t waver as she looks at me again. “I am willing and able to assist you in your task, but first, I have questions to ask of you both.”

I shrug my shoulders. “Ask away.”

“Very well. Do you believe in destiny?”

The question makes me flinch a bit. I wasn’t expecting it. This is the sort of thing people talk about when they’re half soaked with wine or smoking hashish. Do I believe in destiny? That we’re all set on a track with an unalterable destination? That’s hard. I could make an argument for or against it, really. But we’re not debating, this woman seems to want an honest answer out of me, so I give her one.

“I don’t know if I do or don’t. And I don’t spend much time thinking about such things. I live. I fight. I love. I’m content.”

My answer seems to satisfy her, though she sits and smiles at me for a silent moment after I’ve answered. It makes me wonder what she’s thinking about, if she’s judging me or something. But before I have time to ask, she turns her gaze to Arcadia again.

“And what of you?” she asks.

I see worry touch Arcadia’s expression, as if she were thinking she doesn’t want to get this wrong. She chews on her lip a moment, before figuring out what she wants to say.

“I believe in choice. We may begin life on a set path, but we have the power to change anything we want to change.”

There’s a hint of sadness in Zasalamel’s smile. It makes me wonder how much she actually knows about us.

“Very good,” she says. “Both of you.”

“If you say so,” I say.

That makes a pretty laugh come out of her. To my surprise, she throws a flirtatious look my way. “Simple creatures are just as beautiful as complex ones.”

…Was that a compliment?

“I am satisfied with your answers,” she says. “But I have one more I must ask.”

Arcadia nods, as do I. “What is it?”

The mirth fades from Zasalamel’s expression. In its place, she gives us a grave look.

“Will you help me cure what ails my city?”