The convoy travels for several days, and perhaps they stop more often than they should for Eleanor to come out and stretch her legs due to the Palatine’s insistence.

Magistrate Lorenzo grumbles, but he too needs the rest throughout the long journey westbound.

The low farmlands and scenic beaches give way to rugged cliffs and jagged mountain ranges. Dark trees dance in the icy wind and the gray clouds hang low in the sky.

The Devil retreats into Donna’s body where it’s nice and warm. Occasionally, she wakes up from her dreamless sleep when the howling of wolves reminds her of the cold years in the forest, many years ago.

Eventually, the convoy arrives at their destination, and a knight helps Eleanor down from her carriage.

They arrive at an immense castle, standing atop a high cliff with crashing ocean waves below. Its ancient walls are carved from hard stones and give out an oppressive strength. Its tall towers and sharp spires silhouette against the gray sky above.

Eleanor is standing in the castle yard. All around, curious gazes from the castle occupants are directed at her—knights, squires, pages, priests, and servants. Some eyes hold curiosity—others, hold mockery.

“Take the accused to the holding cell. I shall arrange her trial at a later date,” Magistrate Lorenzo says. He turns to a servant. “I’m exhausted. I need a bath and a shave. Have you prepared my quarters?”

“Yes, my liege. Everything has been arranged to your esteemed standards.”

“For your sake, it better be.” Lorenzo huffs and walks away. But not before glancing at Eleanor with contempt. “The noble tower is too good for this one. Throw her into the deepest, darkest dungeon so she may repent for her sins.”

Eleanor stands with an expressionless face. From an outsider’s frame of view, it’s difficult to determine if Donna or the Devil is in control of the body.

Two guards approach her, but the Palatine blocks their way.

“My lords? Is there something the matter?”

“We will escort the accused to the guest chambers—the esteemed—guest chambers. Call the nuns over to make the arrangements.”

“But my lord, the magistrate said—”

“The magistrate said many things he didn’t mean. After all, he is understandably exhausted from the long trip.”

A Palatine bows to Eleanor and gestures to her to follow them. They lead her to a princely room atop the noble tower and arrange for two female knights to stand guard at the door.

“Please ring us should you need anything, your holiness. But we must beg you to remain in this room for the moment.”

“I understand. Now leave me. I don’t like to be disturbed,” Eleanor says.

Alone in the room, she looks out the large windows at the castle grounds.

“What do you think, freckles? Should I burn this place to the ground, or should I kill everyone then burn this place to the ground?”

“I leave the decision to you, Ms. Eleanor.”

“What? Aren’t you going to stop me, Ms. Goody Two Shoes? Preach to me about the value of human life and how we should all hold hands and sing Kumbaya, and all that nonsense.”

“You’ve demonstrated time and time again that I can trust your better judgment when it comes to things that truly matter.”

“Don’t act like you know me, little girl. You barely scratch the surface of who I am—what I am.”

Eleanor pushes open the windows and smoothly glides down the stone walls. She slithers between perching gargoyles and high arches and moves from shadow to shadow. Her sharp eyes search for anything interesting to do.

She slips into the main hall through a high aperture, where servants are scurrying like mice below.

“Where the hell is that veal stew? The magistrate is getting impatient.”

“I go check with the kitchen!”

“Make it snappy or the old man will have all our heads!”

“The magistrate is complaining about the coal smell. Which of you morons put anything but the highest-grade charcoal in his room?!”

“The cook said the stew will be ready in fifteen!”

“Then what the hell are we going to do in the meantime?! Tell the cook to hurry up!”

“The magistrate said his cushion is too hard. He needs better stuffing for his seat!”

Eleanor looks at the scene of chaos and taps her chin.

“Options. Options. So many options. What is a girl to do?”

Eleanor sinks into the shadows and sneaks into the kitchen. She drops a pinch of poison into a stew, enough to make someone spend a week in the shitter. Then she visits the storage, searches for the highest grade charcoal, and infuses some liquid mana into them—along with a stink bomb.

“Is that truly necessary?” Donna asks.

“Absolutely! Kekeke!”

“You can be such a kid sometimes.”

The Devil shapeshifts into a male servant and comes out of the storage with the box of charcoal in hand.

He walks to the main hall and shows the box to the butler. “I found it!”

“About damn time! What are you waiting for? Hurry up to the magistrate room.”

He nods quickly and paces to a room in the west wing where servants are coming in and out, each with more demands from the room’s sole occupant. Entering the door, the Devil spots Magistrate Lorenzo sitting before a long dining table full of expensive dishes he barely touches. His seat is made from gold and the finest satin, and the dancing fireplace in the corner casts a warm glow on the opulent decors and overpriced artwork decorating the room.

The Devil first slips into the master bedroom to put needles into the bed, then he comes out and quietly tends to the fireplace.

“I’ll give it … fifteen minutes. Countdown, starting now.” He grins.

“You there!”

“Yes, my liege magistrate?”

“Were you the one responsible for this dastardly smell in my room?! I’ve been having this terrible cough since I stepped back here! By right, I should have you hanged for attempted murder!”

“Oh, it’s all on me, my liege. Everything that has gone wrong, and everything that will continue to go wrong for the rest of your miserable life, is all part of my doing. So remember this face well. This is the face of the man who will bring about your doom. hehehe!”

“Insolence! How dare you take that attitude with me, vermin?! Guards, arrest this man! Guards!”

Lorenzo shouts at the door, and several guards rush in. But when he turns back to the fireplace, the Devil has already disappeared.

“Now, what am I going to do next?” The Devil whistles as he walks down an open corridor that runs along a training field.

Outside, young squires are training with blunt swords under the overcast sky.

He watches them for a moment, unimpressed, and figures he’ll mess with the armory next.

But as he turns a corner, he finds young Julius June wiping the floor with a mob that’s twice his size. So the Devil turns 180 degrees and speeds out of there.