They came down together.

  The common room was already awake. A few early traders occupied the long table by the window, murmuring over ledgers and watered wine. Someone dragged a chair too roughly across the floor. The hearth still glowed from the night’s embers.

  Helena looked up from the counter the moment they stepped off the last stair. Her face brightened.

  “Good morning, Orestis,” she called, already stepping out from behind the counter. “We’ve a very good broth today. The butcher brought marrow bones at dawn. I thought you’d appreciate it.”

  He slowed.

  “Good morning,” he said, after a fraction of a pause.

  She wiped her hands on her apron. “Fresh bread as well. You’ll be having breakfast together?”

  The last question was directed at Eirene.

  “Yes, thank you,” Eirene replied smoothly.

  “I’ll bring it out.” Helena nodded and disappeared through the kitchen door.

  Orestis remained still, watching the door swing shut. Helena had always been cordial. Professionally warm. Efficient. The enthusiasm, however, was new.

  It took him a heartbeat to identify the variable.

  He glanced sideways at the cause. Eirene was watching him with an unmistakable look of self-satisfaction.

  Fair enough.

  “I still don’t consider it necessary,” he said. “But correcting her would serve no useful purpose.”

  “You’re welcome,” she replied.

  They chose a small table near the wall, away from the hearth.

  “People assume things very quickly,” Eirene said lightly as they sat.

  “About what?” he asked.

  “Helena,” she said. “When she asked whether we intended to have breakfast together. She’s decided we’re a unit.”

  Orestis shrugged. “People optimise for patterns.”

  Nothing new there.

  She tilted her head. “Is that what we are?”

  “A recurring configuration.”

  Her mouth curved. “How romantic.”

  He ignored that.

  She withdrew two envelopes from her pocket and placed them neatly on the table. “These were delivered last evening. Different families. Same ball.”

  He glanced at the crests without touching them. Wax seals. Expensive paper. The invitation yesterday could’ve been a coincidence. Now it was starting to look like gatehouse arrangements.

  She’s likely to get one from every noble house before the week’s end. Should I be insulted no one invited me when I entered the city?

  Orestis knew why she was bringing this up. He had already refused to accompany her. He also knew she had no intention of accepting that refusal.

  The kitchen door opened before he could respond. Helena emerged with two bowls on a wooden tray, a loaf of bread already split and arranged beside them.

  “Careful. It’s hot.” She set the bowls down. The bread followed. “I put a bit more in yours,” she added, with quiet satisfaction. Then she returned to the counter.

  He compared the two bowls. He saw no measurable difference.

  “She meant compared to the other tables,” Eirene said, tearing off a piece of bread. “She wouldn’t slight me just to favour you. You should learn to recognise these things.”

  Orestis dipped his bread into the broth. “Unnecessary.”

  Social manoeuvring should be left to those who enjoyed it. Or those like Eirene who instinctively understood it. He was perfectly content to light someone on fire once things get too annoying.

  Wait. I can’t do that anymore. Better to avoid such situations, then.

  Speaking of which.

  “The answer is still no, by the way.”

  She met his eyes. “It is a ball, Orestis. Not a siege.”

  “You could just go by yourself. Or not go at all.”

  She shook her head. “Not attending would be interpreted as an insult. If I attend alone, I will spend the evening declining invitations. And if I attend with a random escort, I will spend the evening clarifying misunderstandings.” She paused. “If I attend with someone credible, however, most will not bother.”

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  He already disliked where this was heading.

  “No.”

  “I haven’t asked yet.”

  “You’re about to.”

  She smiled faintly. “If you accompanied me as my betrothed, the matter would resolve itself.”

  “Absolutely not.” Orestis set his bread down. “I can already imagine the consequences. A procession of aggrieved noble sons demanding satisfaction. Formal challenges issued at dawn. Passive-aggressive compliments about my lineage. Someone’s uncle requesting a private word about propriety. A poet writing tragic verses about your stolen hand. And that’s before the duels.”

  Eirene’s lips twitched.

  “I am not spending an evening being measured for coffins,” he said.

  “You should look at this from a different perspective. What would happen if I refuse to entertain someone, but they continue to insist?”

  “Your blessing makes persistence hazardous.”

  “Exactly. You’d have front row seats.”

  He considered that.

  She’s right—it would be entertaining to watch. Tempting. Very tempting.

  Besides, attending the ball wouldn’t be that much of a hassle. He had endured merchant councils that were far worse. And he didn’t want to refuse her a third time.

  After a moment, he said, “Very well. I will attend.”

  Her smile sharpened. “Good.”

  He returned his attention to the bowl. “It is, after all, only a ball.”

  “Yes,” she agreed. “Only a ball.”

  On their way out, as they handed in their keys, Orestis said, “The broth was excellent today, Helena. Thank you.”

  The proprietor smiled, pleased.

  Once outside, he glanced at Eirene. “See? I can manage social niceties.”

  She smiled without comment.

  ***

  Eirene had spent the day at the library. He had spent it working. By evening, they were back in her room, and he was making good on his earlier promise.

  “Standard healing simply reads the body’s template and restores it to its last stable configuration,” he explained, constructing the circles and glyphs in the air between them. “But that is not what you want. You want to replicate the body’s natural healing process. Which means the spell requires additional instructions.”

  He demonstrated by introducing new glyphs and circles into the spell matrix, thinning some lines, reinforcing others.

  Eirene watched closely, absorbing the instructions. She interrupted where necessary, asked questions, then reconstructed the structure herself.

  “I see,” she said. “Modifying the spell this way doesn’t invalidate any training I did prior. It accounts for the stress applied, and heals the body to handle that level of stress next time.”

  “Exactly. Adaptive healing.” He paused. “One thing—it would be more efficient to use divine power when casting the spell on yourself.”

  “Because of density?”

  “No, in this case, it has to do with compatibility. Mana is effectively neutral. Our bodies are not—they lean toward the sacred alignment. Using sacred-aligned divine power would therefore improve the effects of the spell.”

  She considered that. “And if I cast it using profane-aligned divinity?”

  He smirked. “You poison yourself. The spell would hold. Your body would not. Cast it on a demon, however, and it’ll perform perfectly—their bodies lean toward the profane.”

  Eirene thought about it. “So if I use mana, I can heal both races.”

  “Essentially.”

  She nodded. “So whose divine power should I use? Eleuthera’s?”

  Orestis paused. Eleuthera had not objected before. If anything, she seemed entertained. But entertainment was not the same as consent.

  “Better to not use it without her express approval,” he said. “Draw from someone else. Like Miera.”

  He was going to give her a specific god this time; there was no need to risk repeating the previous incident.

  “Why Miera specifically?” she asked.

  “Her divine power has properties suited for mental healing. Would pair well with the spell. The effect would be negligible, but still.”

  It's always good when things match.

  “Of course,” she said with a knowing smile. “And she won’t object?”

  “Very few gods actually pay attention to their divine reservoirs,” he said. “Eleuthera, as you’ve noticed. Two others among the sacred-aligned. Lyse included—though her reservoirs are not accessible.”

  “Not accessible?”

  “She maintains proper security.”

  Eirene’s brows lifted.

  “In fact,” he added, “the reason Eleuthera always knows whenever someone draws from her is because she learned from Lyse. They’re friends.”

  He realised, right after saying it, that he had said more than intended.

  “I… see,” Eirene said slowly. He saw the curiosity in her eyes. But she chose not to voice it.

  He appreciated that.

  I’m normally not this careless. At least, not to the point I’m undone by the conversational equivalent of a gentle downhill slope.

  “We’ll revisit that later,” he said, as much to himself as to her. “Try the spell with divine power.”

  Eirene nodded and closed her eyes. She reached for Miera’s power—and then her expression changed. She quickly released it and opened her eyes.

  “What?” he asked.

  “I felt it again,” she said. “The same pressure as last time. A god watching.”

  Orestis sighed. Eleuthera again. The surveillance had long ago settled into the category of tolerable irritations for him, but this was the first time Eirene had drawn from a god since that first incident.

  She didn’t even need to let it be known she was watching—that was a deliberate choice. She likely found it amusing to announce her attention whenever they drew from other gods.

  “It’s your patron,” he said. “Ignore her.”

  Eirene frowned. “Isn’t that rude?”

  “She does not concern herself with etiquette. She values intent over ritual.” He waved a hand dismissively. “I’ve been ignoring her for days.”

  Eirene gave him a look he chose not to interpret, then closed her eyes again. When she drew on divine power this time, she did so with deliberate restraint.

  And he saw her expression shift as the goddess once again made her presence known.

  This is getting obstructive.

  “If you’re going to watch, why not be helpful?” he asked dryly, glancing upwards. “Since she is your Chosen, how about a primer on how your blessing works? That would be useful.”

  He did not expect a response; he was just venting. But then, something materialised in the air between them and fell onto the table with a light thud.

  Both of them stared.

  A book lay between them. Plain cover. No ornamentation. On the front, written in steady script were the words How My Blessing Works, by Eleuthera.

  Orestis did not touch it at first. Then he reached over and opened it.

  The first page read: If you are reading this to impose structure, you have misunderstood me.

  Eirene made a small sound that might have been a laugh.

  Yes, yes. Very funny.

  He had an impulse to throw it into the hearth fire. He resisted it. There was always a chance—a small one—that it contained something useful.

  I can always burn it later.

  He turned the page.

  The text was concise. Direct. No ritual language. No demands.

  Freedom was not a gift of power, the book explained. It was the absence of imposed limitation. What one did with that absence was one’s own responsibility.

  He flipped toward the end.

  The final page contained a single line: You can use my power if you want.

  He closed the book. “Well. At least you have permission to use her power.”

  Eirene was silent for a moment. “She wrote you a manual.”

  “She wrote you a clarification,” he corrected.

  “She answered your question.”

  “I made an observation.”

  “She heard you anyway.”

  Orestis sighed. Eleuthera was almost certainly enjoying this.

  Gods… are so annoying.

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