Something about the smell of the night just gave Friar Daria the feeling that it was going to be his last. It was like he could smell every little scent of his childhood in the Isles: steamed rice and coconut, freshly caught fish, burning thatch, crumbling manuscripts and just a hint of gunpowder. There should be no practical reason for all those scents to assuage him all at once this far in the Northlands with his chapel at the very edge of Carlewe Woods. So then the reason wasn't practical. Tonight, it was Daria's turn to see the Sacred Father and Sweet Mother. Or, if the Spears were right, to come face to face with the Cold Duke of the underworld. Whatever it was, Daria supposed he was ready for it. He was only forty-three, by all accounts just having begun his real career in the clergy. He was supposed to have the world before him. But it was a crumbling world, nonetheless. 

Heart hammering in his chest, he flicked the beads of his rosary in succession as he prayed his evening prayers. When he felt a sharp, pale claw of a hand close around his shoulder from the woods behind him, he made sure to finish muttering the last of that verse before sitting back with a smile. "Precisely on time, dear friend," he said.  "As you always are."

Lily woke up in a cold sweat. Chest heaving, she stared completely still through the silent, darkened house, seeing the light penetrating through the slats of the window which revealed that it was already well past noon. Which meant she had been asleep for hours longer than she should have. Which meant, she realised with a start, that it could all have been a dream. She ripped through her own nightclothes in a panicked rage, till her fingers closed in around the locket that still sat against her chest, as delicate and beautiful as it felt when Ansel first put it there. She sighed in relief, giggling at her own little emotional journey while she clutched it close. So it was all real. It all really happened. He was back, and he loved her, and he made love to her, and she thought she could feel his seed quickening in her womb already. It frightened her, but it also sent a thrill of excitement down her spine. Today was the first day of her new life, a life as Ansel's bride. 

Groggily walking over to the pail of water, she splashed it over herself, rubbing down under her arms, neck and back where a little dirt and moss still lingered from the morning's tumble, that and the sweetest red bruises she could recall ever having in her life. Lily could remember each squeeze of his hand, each scratch, every little thing that gave her the red markings of him. Him, and the leaves. The dryad. It was the sort of thing a lot of the villagers, especially the ones who spoke the iron words of the Spears every evening at the square would have her head for. But she always put a lot of stock in the old Ohr magic and it felt more like a blessing than a transgression. The clearing was a special place for them and it was like the spirit of that clearing blessed their union. She assumed her lover safely deposited her back home in the early hours of dawn. He'd be back in the evening, she knew. To talk to father. Lily knew he'd approve and yet she still felt nervous. She wanted everything to be perfect. 

At least she got a few moments to herself. Her father would be out making his deliveries of milk and cheese to the local garrison. And the twins would be off at the chapel with Friar Daria, learning their letters. And so Lily had all the space in the world within the confines of their little cottage as she swept the floors with the windows open and the bright sunlight streaming through. All the space in the world to dream her little dreams.

"You knew this day would come, did you not, Priest?" The voice was feminine, after a fashion. But so very inhumanly cold. 

Friar Daria took off his twin necklaces and rings, placing them delicately next to him on the bench, along with his rosary. "I am a priest no longer,  Lady Isadora." 

The lady of the night bent low behind him, a pale elbow closing around his neck to twist his head to the side while her face came up next to his, her sensuous lips closing around his cheek in a kiss. "Oh, you poor, sweet thing. When you make a deal with the devil, the devil comes to collect. But others have had it worse than you, let me assure you. You have nothing to look forward to. The throne you oathed fealty to will collapse before the end of the month. And the people of this strange little village you've chosen to live in for what reason I know not - perhaps to escape your fate - they would devour you. They are hungry for blood."

"Just like you," Daria said. The lady was silent for a good while. And then she began to laugh a lilting, musical, genuine laugh. Friar Daria joined her. 

Lily could hear the pitter-patter of Jennie and Victor's feet coming up the hill long before they stormed through the door, red-faced and excited. She stood up from her washrag, looking out at the sun with a confused look across her face. They were home at least a couple of hours earlier than they should have been. 

"Lily! Lily!" They ran towards her and both began a confused stream of narration, little of which Lily was able to parse out. 

"Whoa, slow down. Slow down. Shhh." She brought them in close. "Go one by one. Why are the two of you home so early? Did you run away from your lessons again?" 

"No Lily!" Jennie shouted in protest. "We would never! Its- Oh Lily, it's- 

"What is it?" 

"So many things!" Victor said, his freckled little face seeming weary. "Nobody can find Friar Daria! All the people is looking around everywhere for him but nobody can find him anyplace in the whole village and in the woods!" 

Lily bit her lip. She knew little about the quiet young priest but he always seemed the helpful sort. For him to up and disappear all of a sudden was quite remarkable when it came to the humdrum routine of the village. 

"Yes yes!" Jennie added. "All the people is saying that... is saying that he done the bad thing and vanished 'cause the soldiers is dead! He knew about the soldiers and he done vanished!" 

"Silly girl, what soldiers?" 

"The soldiers, silly! Samton and Master Lonvin and  Frampt and... oh and Ansel... and... and...." 

It took a good few seconds for her slurred words to register. And when they did, Lily felt a cold shiver pass through her body. "What do you mean? You're being silly. They arrived earlier this morning." 

"Nu-uh! They is dead dead dead!" Victor shouted. "And Friar Daria knews about it all and didn't tell nobody so he vanished! Poof!" 

Lilly staggered to her feet, face pale and barely in control of her body as she managed to walk to the door and open it out. She was desperate to run down to the village, to get some answers. Instead, she came face to face with the weary face of her father. 

"The realm. That's all you mean to these people, however much you try to serve them. Your fate will be the same as that of the garrison down the hill. All slaughtered at the tip of the spear. And with good cause, perhaps. How many generations of Helathian boys have the Vothars slaughtered to fight a war this land cannot win?" Isadora's hand slipped down past the hem of his habit to close around his chest, her sharp, icy nails toying with his nipple. "Maybe it's your fate. Any way you turn, a man doomed by his own destiny." 

"I represent the Father and Mother, not the realm." 

"Oh good for you." She giggled. "Representing gods you don't even believe in. Doing your little prayers every night while you wait for the kiss of death to come claim you." 

Daria could see her pale blonde hair and sharp features out of the corner of his eyes, her red irises glowing in the moonlight as she licked her cherry-red lips and watched him. "So come kiss me then, Isadora. Stop playing with your food." 

"So eager. I'm... I'm just wondering if there could be another way." She leapt over the bench to sit next to him and he could see that she was clad in her lacey, dark dress, neckline cut lower than anything Helathian women would dare to wear for decades. Her skin was a perfect, spotless alabaster white, each curve of her full breasts almost beckoning him. Even when facing the gallows, he thought, adjusting his legs to hide the effect she was having on his body. She took his hand, running her thumbnail back and forth across the veins of his wrist. "We could have use for someone of your talents." 

"I am just a priest." 

"Oh, you are far... far more than that and we both know it, Daria." She pointed out to the vista of the sleeping village below them. "This world crumbles. And from its ashes, a new world dawns. Every man, from the Vothar to all these farmers cleaning pigshit every morning, they are all bound by their mortality. What can you do in seventy, eighty years, whoever you are?" She raised his hand up, kissing him on his wrist. "For you, Daria, my sweet, punished little boy, I offer you immortality. Do with it what you will, but I offer it to you: the ability to transform this new age." 

"And my pledge to the king?" 

"The king is as good as dead." 

"And to the gods?" 

Isadora smiled at that, looking up at the stars. "Gods change. They come and go. Old ones descend to the underworld. And new ones ascend in light and glory. And above all else, the void creeps."

"Is it really so much better to be a slave to the void over being a slave to the realm?"

"Oh, sweet boy. The void knows not to hold slaves. You give yourself to it freely and it gives back to you a hundredfold." She turned back to him and smiled. "Drink of my eternal elixir. And you will witness so very much." She unlaced the front of her dress, peeling apart layers of lace to reveal two perfectly formed breasts, the nipples dewy and full. Daria looked at them and then looked back at his own hands, the mud from his little priory garden under his fingernails, ink stains from his letter to the archdeacon, all the trappings of his years of life across the realm. He shrugged, finally. Grabbing his rings, necklaces and rosary in one hand, he arched his body to the left and threw them all deep into the woods before turning back. Bending gently forward, he took her left breast in his hand and reached his face towards it and she did the rest, moving the nipple into his mouth and waiting for him to suckle. He expected it to be cold and bitter but it was as warm and sweet as what he imagined primordial mother's milk to be. He found himself rock hard and twitching the more he drank.

"Yes... yes..." she moaned. Taking his wrist in her hand, she slit the veins and took it to her mouth, draining his blood as he drank of her milk. And for a few moments, on the bench in front of the chapel, much like life and death, they resembled a perfect cycle.

"It's not true!" Lily shouted at her father. "It can't be true..." 

He held her close to him. "It is, Lily. I am so sorry but it's true. They were on the march back through the lowlands when they were ambushed by a troupe of stragglers. There were isle magicians and the men were outnumbered to begin with... I know you were sweet on the Volthyl boy. I... I don't know what to say..." 

"But I... I... He can't be dead. Ansel can't be dead." 

"He's been dead four days now, sweet girl. They're bringing the bodies back to the garrison. It's a nasty business all told." 

The locket around her neck felt like it was burning a brand into her skin. Lily's mind felt utterly numb, utterly uncomprehending of everything that had happened over the past day. "He can't be dead. He just can't be. I saw him."