There’s no dealing with the devil.

You’ll see.

You will.

Honora emerged from the horse with a sharp inhale for breath. She swayed a little, momentarily dizzy. Though she had been healed, Honora was still weak. She’d stay close to Hiram and let go only when he pulled away to leave the stable. For a moment, Honora would linger. The feeling of surreality that had clouded her since first waking in the cellar still remained. It was Loren. As she took after Hiram, she knew its streets were familiar, but it was as if she were seeing them for the first time.

Honora would let the blood remain. Still naked, the warmth of the freshly slain horse wrapped around her as a comfort. It hid her dark hair and covered her skin like a grotesque garment.

As if in a trance, Honora followed, eyes fixed on Hiram, expression entirely neutral. She didn't stop herself from pulling on the minds of those around her, searching, dragging out their fear to the surface.

There were things most people thought about, and then there was Hiram. It didn't matter to him that they were covered in blood. It didn't occur to him that Honora might want to take these next steps clothed rather than as naked as the way she left the womb. It didn't matter to him that he was an enemy of Lorendale, yet walking right into a popular pub. Nope. He was Hiram Eldouir. He did whatever he wanted without a second thought, caution be damned.

Blood leaped ahead of him to open the door, as if for royalty, and in stomped the King of Chaos. The hall they stepped into led past the kitchens and another room or two. Hiram didn't care to be discreet. He took the most obvious path that would lead them to the main gathering room. In they would walk, two figures of blood, one a large man and the other a naked woman. The blood didn't hide his hair and beard color. The fear Honora drew from those that saw them would likely cause most to run, if not crumble, or perhaps even fight. Bring it. Hiram's hatchets were at his waist.

"Who is the owner of this establishment?" His golden gaze ripped over those still present.

Honora followed Hiram as if in a dream. In a dream, everything was temporary. Actions had no consequences and inhibitions slipped away. None of it was real—or at least it felt that way as Honora reached without a second thought to test the edges of the owner’s mind. They put up little resistance. Honora didn’t tug on anything just yet. She moved carefully, stealthily, familiarizing herself with it. He might not even know she was there.

The bloodied woman stood wordlessly at Hiram’s hide, the faintest fog settling over her eyes.

Hiram's eyes bounced over the men remaining. He took a blood profile of each, determining general health, blood type and mobility, and ultimately determining that there wasn't a threat present.

"Sure, pour me one." He allowed with a shrug. As chaotic and threatening as his entrance might have been, Hiram could be singularly focused. Coming to the inn wasn't about killing randomly. It was about,

"Queston." That didn't sound right. He frowned and tried again, "Tin...tin?" Cocking his head, he looked to Honora Allemeade for direction on the name they were after.

Honora stood at Hiram’s side as if she were a shadow, following without a presence of her own to fill the space. Her entire being was focused on the cacophony of psychic energy around her, the weaving melodies that for so long she’d forced herself to be deaf to. Not now. Now, Honora did not hold back. She let the void in her mind reach without tight-fisted restraint.

“Queston.”

“Tin…tin.”

No.

“Quinton? What has he done?”

Honora's gaze sharpened. Her attention snapped to Elliot and she held up her hand—not touching him, but as if she were calling memories into her palm.

“Enough.”

Honora’s eyes went white, and Elliot would drop painfully and entirely out of the present. She’d tear through his mind, searching for the man whose breath she could still feel on her neck. It didn’t take her long. The memory was not too old, close enough to seize and dive into.

She could feel the stubble on her—no, Elliot’s—cheek. Fine wine slipped past her lips as she smiled in satisfaction. Quinton’s words were as clear as his face that she saw through Elliot’s eyes with warm kinship.

“We all wear a mask to a certain degree. Inevitable, but unfortunate when they show you what they truly are—”

Honora could feel it all—Elliot’s irritation and upset. His relief at his connection with the devil at his side. The names Eloduir and Allemeade spit from his tongue as if it burned to have them stay there too long. And Quinton nodded. He smiled. Another name, Ikisina, caught Honora’s ear. She knew her. The schoolteacher that had come to her for aid, that she’d turned away and brushed aside. Honora felt cold guilt in the corner where her own feelings remained separate from Elliot’s.

Again.

The encounter ended, and Honora chased Quinton’s voice like Alice pursing the white rabbit. She dropped into another memory, this one even newer than the last. A milling crowd. Electric air, and Quinton’s cordial smile that filled her—no, Elliot—with warm affirmation. And then…everything came to pieces.

“By the sun and stars! What in blazes is going on here?”

Elliot’s body—her body—twisted amidst the chaos of creatures and witch magic, panic and confusion. Honora felt every ounce of ire, fear, humiliation—everything that Elliot might have taken in. It was the woman that remained the focus; the one with short dark hair that emerged once again as a crone from the sand. Why wouldn’t they listen? Why wouldn’t anyone listen? And then—

Vindication.

Elena Eldouir ’s familiar face and shock of red hair was the last thing Honora saw before throwing herself back into the present. Elliot would have relived every memory with her in excruciating detail that only Honora could summon. There would have been physical pain as well, like someone cutting open his mind with a white-hot knife.

Elliot would likely collapse, though he would still be conscious and aware of his surroundings. Dazed, with his mind frayed by Honora’s invasion. Honora would stand there, trembling with adrenaline as she lowered her hand.

Hiram didn't speak. This wasn't his show, really. Honora had made a deal with this devil and he was simply holding up his end of the bargain. He would grab the drink before Elliot's man could take it back behind the bar, tossing a wink at the shaking fellow, fully aware of how quickly the heart pumped the blood through his veins. He downed both glasses with zero appreciation, not even bothering to look at Honora as she worked her magic, and ignoring the likely moans from the tavern owner.

Honora looked down at Elliot for a long moment, reconciling the vision of the whimpering man before her with the feeling of having been in his skin. It had only taken moments, but Honora likely knew Elliot better than anyone who met him ever would. After a beat, Honora turned her eyes to Hiram.

"They’ve taken her. Elena—the crown has her.” Honora delivered the words as a detached offering of fact.

Hiram rapped on the bar for another drink just as Honora dropped her news. The head Eldouir grew still except for his eyes, those hideous honey things that crept slowly from the man behind the bar to something in front of him. Whatever he was thinking, it wasn't good. Not for Elena, and not for the crown. Maybe he was angry. Maybe he was afraid. Maybe he was resolved. Maybe it was a mixture of those things and more. Whatever the case, after a short pause he raised his brows and took the drink made for him, if the man had done as he'd demanded.

"I suppose we'll have to pay the crown a visit then." He said it as any nobleman might say it, casually and with an air of entitlement. He'd down the drink in one fell swoop and then turn to face Honora. "Did you get what we came for?"

Honora had little concern for the crown. For Elena. For anything other than the promise of vengeance. Iliana had failed to support her when she’d needed it most, and so Honora would not stray from her pursuit for their sake.

“Featherton is the family name. That’s all he knows,” Honora said, “So unless that name means anything to you…” She paused, and then, “Maybe we should pay the Wyndhams a visit.” Whatever Hiram decided next Honora would follow. She'd been hollowed out; nothing left but to seek vengeance to wash the taste of shame from her mouth.