“Please,” Belias said, forcing calm into his voice as he motioned to the not vacant chairs on her side of the desk. “Have a seat. Make yourself comfortable.”

Myanna sat in the chair occupied by the male acolyte a moment ago, inching it closer to the desk so that he was still within lunging distance. “We can dispense with the pleasantries. I’m to return you to Willowridge.”

“It would be a shame for us to leave before you’ve heard my offer,” Belias argued, pressing his fingers together as he rested his hands on the desk.

“Offer?” Myanna scoffed. “All of this is mine, by right. There will be no offers or negotiation.”

“The offer is not for you, nor for this ruin that you’re so worked up over,” Belias responded with cold amusement. He was growing increasingly confident in his position the more they spoke, which made Myanna think hearing him out was a mistake.

“Don’t keep me in suspense,” Myanna growled, motioning for him to move things along.

Belias’s smile split his greasy face. “The offer is for Drusilla, of course. I can spare her life.”

Without thought or deliberation, Myanna threw herself over the desk and took hold of Belias’s robes with one hand, jerking him to his feet. “I swear to Olcaru if you even so much as---!”

“Allo,” a raspy voice said from just over her shoulder. It was the same voice that had announced she was at the door. From the corner of her eye, Myanna could make out the grotesque hovering form of a cacodaemon. It resembled a large floating meatball, between two and three feet in diameter, with five eyes that sat above and below its maw of ragged teeth. A long, broad tail like that of an eel, covered in feathers, lashed around behind it. Smoke rose from between its teeth while the central eye of the top row glowed menacingly.

Belias had remained calm in Myanna’s grip, and the cacodaemon must have been why. He stared at her smugly, savoring her realization before finally speaking. “I don’t recall if you’ve ever met my familiar, Tarok.”

Myanna shook her head slowly as the creature’s maw widened with a smirk. Hovering the way it did had made it silent enough to sneak up on her without her knowing, but the real secret to its stealth was its ability to turn invisible at will. It had been there the whole time, observing events as they played out.

“For a daemon, he has a rather pleasant demeanor,” Belias continued. “But he’s been known to become irate toward those who would threaten his master.”

Taking the unsubtle hint, Myanna released her grip on Belias’s robes and eased herself slowly back into her seat. The eyes of the cacodaemon remained fixed on her, with one occasionally looking in different directions for unknown reasons.

“Much better,” Belias praised mockingly, smoothing out his robes as he relaxed into his seat as well. “There’s no reason we can’t be civil.”

Tarok bobbed gently for a moment longer before slowly backing away; his eyes gleamed with malice. “Let’s keep our hands to ourselves,” the creature said in Abyssal. The way its purple tongue lolled around in its mouth as it spoke was even more unsettling than its five-eyed stare.

“Oh. I’m sure we can put a momentary lapse in judgment aside,” Belias reassured Tarok, his gaze not moving from Myanna. “Assuming we can come to an agreement, anyway.”

“What do you want?” Myanna asked, forcing herself to relax. Remaining tense would only serve to keep the hovering cacodaemon on edge.

Belias held his hands up defensively. “Well, to start with, I’ve no interest in this manor if I can get what I want. Applewood is valuable as a border town for Abyssal territory, and I would be more than willing to entrust it to your care now that you appear to be a member of the inner circle, but a sign of goodwill would go a long way.”

“A sign of goodwill,” Myanna repeated flatly. “What did you have in mind?”

“Your assistance,” Belias explained. “You see, I’m looking for something here. Something valuable I realized had to be here after reading Onesa’s report of what transpired here. My men have been scouring the grounds for it with no luck. If you could direct me to where I might find it, I would return to Willowridge immediately and leave the whole of Applewood to you.”

“Applewood is already mine,” Myanna growled again. “You’re attempting to bargain with something that is mine for something that is also mine.”

“You’re forgetting your new pet, Drusilla,” Belias sneered. “Her affliction is something I can undo before it takes her life.”

Myanna felt another surge of anger but contained it to gripping the arms of the chair a little more tightly. “I think Quintus is more than qualified to handle matters pertaining to her. He’s already looking into it.”

“Oh, I do not doubt his skills,” Belias admitted, spreading his hands. “Only the time available to him. His knowledge is vast, and his resources considerable, but vetala are rare creatures. Finding the precise means to mend the damage to her mind and soul will take time. Time which she simply doesn’t have.”

Myanna’s grip on the chair eased slightly. She wasn’t inclined to believe anything that came out of the man’s mouth most of the time, but the particular shade of smugness that he spoke with was different this time. “You know something that he doesn’t?”

“I am the ritual master, am I not?” Belias asked incredulously. “There are many things I know that Quintus does not!’

“Assume that I believe you for a moment,” Myanna suggested. “What’s to stop me from dragging you back to Willowridge the way I originally intended, where I can compel the information from you?”

“Well, the investment of time, for one,” Belias replied, feigning the same confidence he’d held a moment before. He still wasn’t sure how she had arrived so quickly without anyone warning him. There was doubt in his eyes. “The journey back, alone, would be a risk. The time it would take to get the information out of me only compounds it.”

Belias then motioned to Tarok. “And, of course, there is the matter of Tarok taking exception to any attempt to manhandle me.”

Myanna nodded in understanding as she glanced at the cacodaemon, a thin line of drool oozing down his chin as he grinned at her. The cuirizu leaned back into her chair, pulling a small, tightly stoppered bottle from within. Though Tarok moved forward anticipating an attack, he stopped when she began to roll it idly from hand to hand. The thick, milky-white substance within the bottle moved slowly inside due to its viscosity.

“That does present a complication,” Myanna admitted with a shrug. “So, then, I suppose I should ask what it is you’re looking for. If I know its location, it may be easier for me to point you in the right direction and be done with it.”

“Very reasonable of you,” Belias agreed triumphantly. Once again, his familiar had provided him with the edge he needed, or so he thought. “You’re aware that much of the cult here were, in fact, druids and not clerics?”

“I am,” Myanna answered. “An unorthodox circle, but yes.”

Belias leaned closer, unable to contain his excitement on the subject. “They had a grimoire of singular rarity and impressive power.”

The bottle moving and turning in Myanna’s hands, paused briefly in surprise. Misreading her reaction as intense interest, Belias continued. “Contained within its pages is a treasure trove of spells and rituals, many of which are unique to their circle. I’m interested in a particular ritual and its accompanying trinket that would allow me to summon entities from Olcaru’s homeworld.”

Myanna’s brows rose further. Belias had been working on this idea for quite some time. Bringing creatures from the distant world Olcaru came from would not only bolster their ranks in the war but also boost the Goddess’s power through harvested faith immensely. Her power would grow to the point of being able to end the war in Zelmesca single-handedly, allowing them to turn their attention to the neighboring realms. The only problem Myanna saw with this was that she had obtained the means to forestwalk from the same grimoire but had not found a trinket with it. If it was required for the ritual and had been lost, Myanna would have little to offer, even if she was inclined to do so. Again, Belias was attempting bargains with things he did not own or possess.

“Such a tome would benefit all of the Abyssals,” Myanna commented thoughtfully as she leaned forward in her chair, rolling the bottle around on the top of the desk. “Olcaru would be immensely pleased with both of us.”

“Of course,” Belias agreed with palpable excitement. “I would be more than happy to share the credit for such a discovery with you. A rising tide lifts all ships, as they say. And, of course, there would be the matter of Drusilla. It would be a simple thing to treat her upon our return as thanks for your assistance on the matter.”

“An interesting expression,” Myanna commented, pursing her lips. “You know, I have never been to the beach?”

“What?” Belias chuckled, his brows furrowing in amused confusion.

“It’s true,” Myanna confirmed with a calm nod. “In all the years I have been alive, I have never once been to a beach or seen an ocean.”

Belias and Tarok exchanged perplexed glances before the ritual master turned his gaze back on Myanna. “I don’t understand.”

“Your expression about the ships made me think of that,” Myanna explained.

“Oh,” Belias laughed again. “Well, once we have returned triumphant to Olcaru, I could give you a short leave of absence to see one. Where would you go? Esto’Rhia? Perhaps south to the Imperium? Somewhere.... Further away?”

Myanna shrugged, her eyes remaining focused on the bottle of milky white as she rolled it back and forth. “Somewhere tropical, I think, with lots of sun.”

“So we’re in agreement then?” Belias pressed, growing impatient with her diversion from the topic at hand. “You tell me where to find the grimoire---.”

“There’s a tree,” Myanna interrupted. “In the tropical regions of Alkotas, that is so toxic that even standing near it is dangerous, or so I’ve read.”

Belias’s shoulders slumped as he let out an annoyed sigh as Myanna continued. “A group of explorers accidentally ate the fruit from this tree when they found it on the beach, mistaking them for apples. The sweet taste did nothing to arouse suspicion among the men, but within minutes the sweetness became peppery, and their throats began to seize up. One described the feeling in his journal as having his throat torn out. Soon they were unable to swallow food, and it became difficult to breathe.”

“That sounds rather horrific,” Belias remarked, becoming slightly interested in the terrible effects of the fruit. Recovering something like that and putting it in the hands of their head alchemist could prove interesting.

“What’s interesting is that the fruit isn’t the only lethal thing about the tree,” Myanna continued. Belias’s interest continued to grow while Tarok’s strange brow creased thoughtfully. “Rain runoff from the tree causes acid-like burns, and smoke from the burning wood can render you blind for days if you don’t die from inhaling it first.”

The ritual master’s face held a mixture of fascination, disgust, and glee. He assumed that a trip to tropical regions would yield a stockpile of such toxic material. Myanna’s stopped rolling the small glass bottle, holding it completely still. “It’s the sap that fascinates me most. The smallest amount can ruin your eyesight or cause excruciating sores upon contact with exposed skin. If an antidote is not administered immediately, even a small wound inflicted with a weapon coated in the sap will result in death shortly after.”

Belias’s eyes drifted from Myanna down to the glass bottle as the smile ran away from his face. He could be dumb, but he caught on eventually. Myanna’s grip on the bottled tightened. “Nearly every flesh-and-blood creature exposed to the sap suffers the same fate, be they of this world or the great beyond, except for a rare variety of iguana and cuirizu.”

Tarok’s eyes fell upon the bottle now as well. “Ah, shit.”

“And while I’ve never been to the beach or seen the ocean,” Myanna’s voice grew more menacing as she locked her gaze with Belias’s. “They’ve thrived in warm, salt-water marshes and mangrove swamps. Namely, back home in Ivalia, where we call it the Mazadamorchi tree.”

A single crack formed across the outside of the bottle as Myanna applied more pressure. Belias’s breath hitched, and the Cacodaemon froze, realizing the havoc such a substance would have on something with a giant mouth and five eyes. Myanna could tell the creature was considering the likelihood of this being a bluff.

“Now,” Myanna said calmly, eyes gleaming with murderous intent. “I see only one way you walk out of this room alive, Belias. So I need you to listen very carefully and treat what I say with all the same seriousness as a heart attack. Do you understand?”

“Y-yes,” Belias stammered, his eyes darting between her and the cracked bottle in her hand.

“I need to hear you say it,” Myanna insisted darkly. “Tell me you understand.”

Belias nodded frantically. “I understand.”

“Good,” the cuirizu responded. “There was a woman I left in charge here, who you read about in Onesa’s report. A prosecutor with the Crimson Light that I had turned to act as a spy, loyal to me. What have you done with her?”

“W-what?” Belias sputtered, holdings his hands up as Myanna made a motion to crush the bottle. “N-no! Please, I swear! When we arrived, the prosecutor wasn’t here. I had hoped to get the information on the grimoire from her, but none of the patrols I sent out could locate her. The manor was completely abandoned, and no one in town had seen her since shortly after that night.”

Myanna glanced uncertainly between the sweaty, frightened man and the slightly more composed daemon.

“Think about it,” Belias pressed. “If I had her, why would I need to negotiate with you?”

As Myanna considered the logic behind what he was saying, a sudden realization crossed Belias’s face. “Wait a minute. You already HAVE the grimoire, don’t you!?”

Belias stood, his face beat-red and his hands balled into fists. Furious as he was with her manipulation, he had momentarily forgotten what she held in her hand. Myanna reminded him by brandishing the bottle of milky white in front of her. He backed down immediately, holding his hands up in surrender, though the color in his face remained.

“I do,” Myanna admitted. “And it will remain in my possession for the foreseeable future. Though I must admit, I’m curious how you came to know of the grimoire just by reading the report. I only just discovered the grimoire for myself among the things we looted from the estate, none of which we documented. It was meant to be inventoried and sold by the Wickes family before Tobias turned on us.”

“An educated guess,” Belias snapped defiantly. Myanna’s lips bent into a frown, prompting him to elaborate. “The succubus described in the report, the members of the cult, and the symbolism they used were all clues. Old manuscripts I’ve studied in my search described it as possibly being in this region of the realm long ago, but I couldn’t narrow it down until now.”

“Impressive,” Myanna admitted. “I had assumed your skills were all overblown, but it turns out that you’re actually a decent scholar, at least.”

“I’m to suffer childish insults before you kill me, now?” Belias seethed.

“Kill you?” Myanna furrowed her brows and shook her head. “No, I still need you to tell me precisely how to spare Drusilla’s life. Write it down, if you must. Once I’m satisfied, I will make good on my word and allow you to leave unharmed, provided you never show your face in Willowridge again. Your position as ritual master will be forever forfeited.”

“My face is known,” Belias objected. “Where could I possibly go?”

“Not my concern,” the cuirizu dismissed curtly, jabbing the desktop with one finger of her other hand. “You give me what I want, and you’ll live long enough to figure it out for yourself.”

“It-it’s a complicated spell with rare components,” Belias pleaded. “I could perform it myself if we leave now.”

Myanna shook her head. “Do not test my patience Belias. It’s over for you as far as the Abyssals are concerned. Nothing you say will change that, but it can keep you alive long enough to run far, far away. Perhaps somewhere tropical.”

Belias responded with a withering scowl as he reached over to a sheet of parchment and began to write with a quill from a nearby inkwell. “You’re making a mistake,” the ritual master warned vaguely. “The Abyssals need me. You need me.”

“Like a hole in the head,” Myanna spat as she watched the man scrawl down the instructions hastily. Once she had them in her possession and she was sure Belias had truly fled, she would begin searching for Prosecutor Shriek. She was confident that the psychic had not returned to the Crimson Light, but she couldn’t be sure. It was the simplest and most sensible explanation, but it didn’t sit right with her for some reason.

“There,” Belias said, jabbing the final bit of punctuation on the parchment with the quill. “That’s everything. Once the ink is dry, you can---.”

The sound of a horn blaring from outside cut him off, causing all three of them to look toward the window. The cacodaemon’s eyes began to move in different directions as it floated a little closer to the glass.

“What is that?” Myanna asked, keeping a firm hold of the bottle.

“Steinbach’s sounded the alarm,” Belias muttered with wide-eyed fear. “We’re under attack.”

Myanna slapped her hand down on the parchment and retrieved it before any harm could come to it. The sound of horns around the encampments rose into the air to answer the first, drowning nearly everything out in the process. Amid the horns, she could hear the shouting of orders just before the window, and the wall it was set into, exploded in a fiery inferno of glass shards and splintered wood.

Instinctively pushing back and curling up, Myanna was able to turn her back to the explosion just in time to be hurled face-first across the room and through the door. She hit the hallway floor heavily, skipping like a stone across the carpet and into the unstable wall on the other side. Dazed from the combination of sound, fire, and blunt impact, Myanna wasn’t able to get her bearings before the wall she’d struck collapsed, sending her falling backward into the gaping chasm within the manor into the darkness below.