Zarcha taps her foot impatiently. “So who is the High King?”

  I blink a couple times, the alcohol starting to mess with my senses. “Suffice to say, they’re the highest authority in the universe, chosen by the gods themselves to rule. The current High King is not only the Judge—the high priest—of Moran, and so basically omniscient as far as we care, but a Nelotha. He could be anyone anywhere at any time.”

  “And…” Zarcha shudders suddenly and grasps Jason’s hand hard enough to turn her knuckles white, “He wants to meet…us?”

  I return the sentiment with a grimace and a long swallow of my drink, but make no other answer. There’s no use in speculating more than necessary. It’s a hard fought ability I have to simply stop thinking about things that will cause me to spiral, an ability that’s saved me in the field too many times. An ability I hope I can pass to Jason. The ship rocks suddenly, breaking me out of my temporary fugue. Outside the window, space resumes its normal speckled darkness as we decelerate out of FTL and coast into the atmosphere of King’s Isle. An intercom buzzes to life above us.

  “If our passengers could please make their way to the foredeck, we’ll be landing momentarily on the isle. Please follow the floor lights in the hall.”

  Jason and I both sigh, down the rest of our drinks, and move towards the door. Zarcha clings to Jason’s arm fiercely. As promised, the floor outside intermittently pulses with a blue glow in the direction we’re meant to go. The ship is small, but still surprisingly empty. The hall is bare of doors, as if no one else resides onboard. The lights on the floor do little to break the almost medical quality of it all. The air is tasteless and cold outside of our room. It’s a short walk though, and then we’re standing in front of the metal doors to the bridge. A vampiric guard in the High King’s distinctive black and gold regalia—a trimmed tail-coat, loose breeches cut mid-calf, and thick metal-bottom boots—presses a palm into a scanner, and the doors swing open.

  Cardinal-Nuncio Harkon stands with hands clasped behind his back at a long semi-circle terminal flashing with numbers and messages too quick to follow, but by his posture it seems he has no trouble digesting it all. As we join him, he turns with a smile and gestures at the rest of the bridge.

  “I figure you could use a front-row view for your first visit to the Isle. Come.”

  He walks past us and down a short set of stairs to an area with several seats. It’s then I notice we’re otherwise alone on the bridge, and by Jason’s quick glance at me I assume he’s noticed the same. The ship is steered and piloted by Harkon alone it seems, or some poor sap in the engine bay is sweating away with their orders. Nevertheless, we join Harkon in front of the large viewscreen that encompasses the far wall. Through it, clouds drift by as we descend. When they peel away finally, the view forces all of us to gasp. The planet is a garden utopia. Green fields span in all directions, growing flowers in an impossible array of colors, punctuated with small fountains spewing liquid gold. The castle—though the word is inaccurate—is at least five hundred stories of blackstone that eclipses the lands behind it as the sun beats down. From above, it looks almost like a large many-legged beast comprised of towers and outcroppings that compete for space to rise higher and higher along the central body. And it only grows larger and larger as we descend to the brick courtyard that must be nearly a few hundred feet across. We disembark quickly and look up, the top of the castle no longer visible from our vantage on the ground.

  The climate is perfectly tuned. The trinary stars, felt but hidden behind the clouds, cast a mild warmth over the ground. There’s a light breeze that tickles at the edges of our coats. The air itself is crisp and perfumed with the various wildflowers, though there’s a faint undertone of petrichor from the last rain. The same as the ship, there’s no sign of people except for two that await us near the massive gateway.

  Harkon ushers us forward towards the pair, and as we get closer I can make out the intricacies of their outfits. One, a female, wears a sunset red silk dress cinched with a dark belt around her waist, decorated at the hem with floral spirals made of pearls and rubies. A crimson shawl wraps around her head and shoulders embroidered with the symbols of her station. She’s almost entirely covered head to toe except for her hands, her face with several piercings, and a small cut of her midriff just below the belt that show the deep tan of her skin. The other, a male, wears a sky-blue-tinged toga trimmed on the edges with golden thread, and a black hood lined with blue kyanite crystals and smoky quartz pearls. The man is otherwise unadorned except for a small silver dagger that seems to press into the pale skin of his exposed chest.

  Harkon drops suddenly to a knee before them, and the rest of us quickly follow suit. Best to observe custom when anyone could kill us with a thought here. I feel the two people’s gaze searing into us, and the sweat beads up on my forehead suddenly and drips onto the pavement. I can feel it tickling at my eyebrows threatening to spill over into my eyes. Neither person exudes the tell-tale scents a normal person does that convey their mood and intentions. I can only smell the faint anxiety boiling in Jason and Zarcha. The woman walks closer, her footsteps as light as leaves rustling even in the silence.

  Without another word, Harkon rises and makes his way back to the ship. The pressure of their eyes keeps us kneeling as the ship whirs back on and launches into motion to take off again. My heart drops into my guts. We’re trapped, and it’s one of the few things outside of my job I hate. It’s why I bring a car wherever I go, why I always have a ride or somewhere I can walk to, or something. The thought of being stranded, helpless, echoes in my mind over and over until it’s all I’m focused on. How was it not something I had considered until now? Of course the man wouldn’t stay, he’s a nuncio, an ambassador for the High King in the Night Republic who probably has many other orders to fulfill.

  I don’t notice Jason and Zarcha have already regained their feet until the man in blue comes over and taps the crown of my head. I jerk back violently, falling onto my ass, and stare up at him wide-eyed.

  “Detective, are you okay?” Jason asks, his brow furrowing.

  “I…I…” It’s not like me to get so flustered. But I can’t find the words. The world feels as if it’s caving in around me. Even beside the castle, and in the courtyard, the world is too small. It’s pressing on me from all directions. Every breath is forced, like I’m working my lungs manually. The man passes his hand over me again, and I feel a calm try to regain some hold over me. It’s enough at least for me to catch my breath and rise, but I still feel the ache in my stomach.

  “Be calm, child. You are safe here.” The man’s voice is smooth, like a river quietly babbling over smooth rocks. It sounds almost familiar.

  The woman speaks up. “Welcome, children, to the King’s Isle. The High King is eager to speak with you three. We will be your escorts. I am Yasmi, Judge of Pauria.”

  “And I am James, Judge of Marethyu. If you’ll follow, we’ll show you the way.”

  The gates begin to grind open, like the great mouth of the spider yawning to swallow us whole. The interior beyond is completely devoid of light until we finally cross the threshold into the foyer of sorts. My head spins as I look up, the innumerous floors crisscrossing with endless walkways and staircases going up and up forever. The very top is still hidden from view by sheer distance. I squeeze my eyes closed to stop the throbbing behind my eyes and focus instead of what’s straight ahead. The foyer is enormous, large enough to hold an army without touching shoulders, and carpeted in gray.

  Lights appear from the walls and swirl around us. The whole castle is dimly lit, but around us the lights illuminate the space as if it's a sunny day inside. Yasmi and James keep walking, leading us across the vastness to another set of doors. These open as well by themselves, and we’re transported into a cathedral of the same blackstone lined with row after row of pews. Stained plasma-glass fills the ceiling casting a rainbow of colors into every corner of the room. The lights following us zoom ahead and ignite two braziers with verdant green flames at the far end which throw the whole of it into focus. The Chapel of the Six. Six small shrines covered in unique ornaments that sit below six massive statues of the gods carved from marble. James gestures towards a pedestal with water behind one of the stone pews. Jason and I proceed, stopping only as we notice Zarcha hasn’t moved.

  “Come on, Zarcha. Don’t be afraid.”

  But the look in her eyes isn’t fear. “It’s so beautiful. What is this place?”

  Yasmi smiles and gestures around. “This is one of the Chapels of the Six, a home for all the gods and their worshippers to gather together. Normally I would say it’s simply a stop for the righteous, but the High King has made it mandatory that all visitors fulfill their rites before ascending.”

  “Oh, okay, yeah yeah. How do…I do that?”

  Jason returns across the floor and guides Zarcha by the arm to the basin.

  “Here. Dip your hands in the water.” He demonstrates for her. “Now you wash your face and your hands quickly. Pass your hands over top of your head, and then flick the rest on your legs and feet.” He finishes his demonstration and gestures for Zarcha to do it herself. She does, with a gentle reminder to pass over her hair, and I step up to do the same.

  “So what was that for?” she asks.

  “This is the rite of purity, washing away the common contaminants we carry with us in our hearts and minds.”

  Zarcha grins. “What’s next?”

  I lead the way down the aisle towards the six shrines. To each, I bow and whisper my thanks, and then I circle back around to stand in front of Marethyu’s shrine. Jason follows suit and stops in front of Tvenri. Zarcha furrows her brow, bowing to each shrine, and then stepping back.

  “Wait, how do I pick which one to come back to?”

  James chimes in. “Normally, you would return to your patron. But, as we are aware of your unique situation, we will have to hold a rite just for you to determine who your patron is.”

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  James and Yasmi step up onto a small raised dais of stone and look up at the opposing statues of Pauria and Marethyu. In unison they begin the rite of patronage, a whisper of old words I wouldn’t try to even document. In essence they beseech their respective patrons to ask Zarcha’s patron nicely to reveal themself. Nothing happens at first. It’s not a surefire rite. The gods are fickle in their choices, and it can be a long time or never that a patron chooses to reveal themselves. Then, as soon as Zarcha’s confidence begins to wane, the statue of Skyta alights with lightning and grows still once again.

  “You are patroned by Skyta, child, god of bravery and willpower. Strong are her champions, often withstanding odds others would never be able to, and usually as stubborn as a Slimeling at a traffic crossing.” Yasmi laughs at the last.

  “It makes sense,” Jason chimes in. “It took a lot of bravery, I think, to break away from your captors, and to face the unknown world outside with your head high.”

  Zarcha blushes and laughs, but says nothing as she kneels before the shrine of Skyta. We bow our heads as Yasmi and James do their own rounds and come to kneel before their own shrines, James shoulder to shoulder with me. I say my own prayer in my head. Hey, god of death. Are you sure you wanted to pick me? I would be more than happy to switch over to Pauria and keep people alive. But I guess you have plans beyond my understanding, whatever. Sorry for not praying much. I don’t…well, you know, I don’t really care all that much. Have enough on my plate without remembering you. You understand. So…bye.

  I’m the first to rise, and I sit in one the front pews to wait for the others. James is next to finish, and he casts me a dark look before coming over to sit beside me.

  “You do realize he can hear you, right?”

  “I’m sure he can. Doesn’t matter. Can’t lie to a god.”

  James sighs. “You could try. Marethyu can be touchy. He worries about you.”

  “Yeah, well. I worry about those two.” I nod at Jason and Zarcha. “Don’t have time to worry about myself.”

  “It wouldn’t hurt you to shoot off a quick prayer now and then.”

  “Seriously?”

  “What?”

  “All the trillions of people the god of death has chosen, and he’s complaining about me?”

  He shrugs. “Who can say what goes on in the mind of a god? I’m sure there’s a lot of people he worries about. You just happen to be here right now.”

  Yasmi gets up and comes to sit with us.

  “You do realize he can hear you, right?”

  “Gods, you too? What, did Pauria tell you my prayer?”

  “Marethyu is her brother. When he complains, she’s the first to hear him.”

  “Well, tell her to tell him to shut up. I don’t need them worrying about me. There’s a whole hell of a lot more people to look after.”

  Jason and Zarcha rise at the same time. I get up off the bench.

  “I don’t need religious guidance right now. We have a case to solve.”

  “You may find they are one and the same.”

  I nod to Jason, and we push back out to the foyer. The two judges follow soon after and usher us towards a glowing platform set into the center of the floor. When we’re all on, Yasmi waves a hand through the air, and the air is sucked from my lungs. I fall to my knees coughing as we transport up an indeterminate number of floors. Zarcha too is coughing beside me, and Yasmi leans down to place a hand on both of our backs.

  “My apologies. I forget you both have little experience with these kinds of things. It would do you well to exhale and hold your breath the next time we jump.”

  Her touch radiates a heat down into the core of me that soothes my lungs. I brush her away and regain my feet. Jason stares at us both unfazed.

  “Why do you know what to do, boy?”

  He just shrugs. “Pelinor upgraded their transport system a couple years ago. All us students learned the hard way.”

  “Could have warned a man,” I growl under my breath, but Jason just smiles and shrugs again. Prick.

  James welcomes us to the royal library, the largest collection of knowledge in the universe. He shows us the workings of the system, a combination of magic and quantum entanglement, where every piece of knowledge from thick codices to small scraps and fragments are sent to a dead system billions of lightyears away and able to be recalled instantly at a user’s command. He introduces us to Tothe, the librarian, another werewolf and the partner of the High King’s ward, a twitchy ginger man not much younger than Jason.

  We return to the lift, and Yasmi taps her chest to remind us before she sends us up further. We’re in the kitchens, where the various people who stay on King’s Isle eat, though the room is large enough to host more people than one could count. Finally, this part of the castle is filled to the brim with smells. Fresh-baked bread, macerated fruit, and floral honey. Roasting meat, smoked fish, and levenjal imported from somewhere far away. It takes all of my willpower to keep from diving into the buffet. We’re to eat with the High King later, James tells us.

  Yasmi smiles as she announces we have one final stop on our brief tour before we ascend to the throne room just below the apex. We hold our breath as we teleport upwards far enough that I can feel the air pressure change around us. The final room is a long hall with white tiled floors and long black padded mats along one wall. This room stinks of sweat and the faint metallic tinge of blood. A single man stands back as a handful of students in white robes spar in pairs. Their movements are fast, faster than my old bones would be able to keep up with, and they don’t pull their punches. Every mistake in a partner’s defense is punished with the sharp thud of flesh on flesh. Yasmi and James pad forwards, signalling to the man that we’ve arrived.

  The man, lithe and blond, thin round glasses flashing as he turns, simply clicks his pen and pushes it into his breast pocket. The pairs of students break apart and bow to him before jogging out a side door clapping each other on their backs and murmuring small congratulations. The man sizes us up, eyes drifting over every angle of our bodies and bringing a heat to my face as his gaze pierces through any veneer of calm I can maintain.

  “They’re scrappy. Neither of the men have any potential for magic, though they do have considerable athletics even for lycanthropes.”

  Zarcha whispers beside me, “Lycanthropes?”

  “Fancy name for werewolves.”

  The man continues unabated. “Female is strong, and shows some spark. Still injured from her escape, but quickly healing. They’ll do, I guess.”

  “Uh, hi,” Jason says, “I’m Jason Sangredo, and this—”

  “Don’t patronize me. I know who all of you are. It was at my behest you were summoned, even if I still have to get my brother to do the actual summoning.”

  Yasmi walks forwards and flicks the man cleanly in the center of his forehead producing a sharp thwack. The man grimaces and rubs the spot vigorously.

  “Don’t be rude, David. These are our guests, regardless if you were the one to invite them or not.”

  David pouts and crosses his arms. “Yes, well. Anyway.” He straightens his glasses. “As you may have deduced, I’m David Tormanaka, the adopted ward and brother of the High King. It was I who had the summons sent out for you to come, though the reasons will have to wait until we can sit down with my brother.”

  He gestures to Yasmi. “I trust my sister-in-law has been courteous? You’ll have to forgive my prior rudeness. It’s been a stressful few weeks.”

  Jason and I nod. “It’s no problem, your highness.”

  “David. Just David, I’m not nobility. I’m not even in consideration for my brother’s throne.”

  “And this,” James says, “Is where our duties end. May the gods bring all of you good luck. Remember our words, Parga Carter, they could mean more than you think.”

  My only answer is a scowl. The two judges step back onto the platform and disappear into some other part of the castle. David clears his throat and adjusts his glasses again.

  “I won’t waste your time. We should be on our way, though feel free to ask whatever questions you will. Now might be your only chance.”

  “What’s your patron?” Zarcha blurts out.

  “A fair question. I am chosen by Klarya, the god of fate. And if you’ve never met another of my kind, then yes, the rumors are true. She’s annoying and likes to pop in at the worst moments.”

  “Have either of you met your patrons?” she asks, looking at Jason and I.

  Jason shakes his head, but I nod.

  “Once, when I was much younger. It was in one of my first years as an SCD detective. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, caught a Leporided in the middle of their escape. Kicked my head nearly off my neck. I woke up with Marethyu standing above me, in a hall of endless souls that shuffled past. He was strange, there but not there. He helped me up and muttered something about, ‘Too much bureaucracy with death’ or something like that in a voice I can’t forget. Like a scream but under your breath? I don’t know. He healed me and shoved back into the world of the living, said to come back when it was actually my turn.”

  “Wow.”

  “Fascinating indeed,” David chimes in. “Anything else?” He looks around at us, but we remain silent. “Then follow me.”

  He leads us to the opposite end of the hall, to a similar teleport pad as the one we used before, though this one swirled a different color. We jump to the end of a walkway that looks down to the foyer, though it’s just a speck from our vantage. We cross the walkway and stop at the wall blocking the other side. David traces a sigil in front of himself, the air crackling to life with static as the symbol manifests in pulsing white lines, and the bricks of the wall shuffle out of our way to reveal a staircase that leads up into darkness. The lights from before appear from the side walls and float around us as we make our way up.

  We trudge on for what feels an eternity, the path behind us and ahead of us as dark as night. Finally, the stairs level out, and the lights ascend to illuminate a massive steel door. This, too, David approaches and traces another sigil in the air, much larger and more intricate than the last, and the sigil sizzles for a moment before slowly sinking into the metal and dissolving it before our eyes.

  “What awaits before you is a sight I would not have you experience. I would blind you, temporarily, to prevent your sudden demise.”

  “Is the High King that handsome?” I chuckle.

  “Funny, but no. Were we meeting him in his throne room, as most do, you would be fine. But my brother rarely uses his throne anymore. Since he founded the Night Republic and set the new cycle into motion, he descends less and less from his tower. You know he’s the Judge of Moran?”

  We all nod.

  “The god of knowledge in your head is a terrible burden to bear. No mortal was ever meant to contain the universe, and even the High King is no exception. Moran has plans for him still, I think, but in the downtime he must expunge as much as he can. We walk now into the chaos of infinite knowing. You would be driven mad at the sight, but it’s the only way the High King will speak to you.”

  “That’s…I mean, that’s just…” I start.

  “Terrifying,” Jason finishes.

  “It’s too late to turn back.”

  And with that, David waves his hand, and the small amount of light vanishes. I feel my face, but I can’t see a thing.

  “We will now ascend. Hold on to each other tight.”

  experiencing the High King hehe