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pulse quickened at her brief touch. His blood rushed beneath her fingertips and she imagined its distress at being trapped within a frame as poor as his. Her touch could remedy his blood’s imprisonment in mere moments, and she lingered a bit before pulling away.
    “As you wish, Lady.”
    He bowed briefly and hastily returned to the circle of his brethren, seeming more content to watch the object of his unrequited lust from a safer distance.
    As she made her way to meet Khaemil, Morgynn stopped to study an ancient statue in the central square. The stone—broken, cracked, and heavily weathered—depicted elf warriors defeating a faceless enemy on a pinnacle. It was of dwarven design and looked far older than the town which had grown around it, carved for the elves centuries before when they inhabited the Qurth forest and its distant sister, the Duskwood.
    She’d studied much of the region’s history while in Innarlith to the east. That was before its leader, Ransar Pristoleph, had ousted her nomadic Order of Twilight from his court. News of its current state she gained easily from contacts in Derlusk, as well as other beneficial services.
    She quickened her step, eager to speak with Khaemil and be on her way. The near trees to the south waved and twisted in the growing wind as a pulsing sensation called to her from within the forest’s thick branches and underbrush. Since she had discovered it, she hated to be apart from that kindred pulse for too long.
    The Temple of the Hidden Circle sat alone in a large circular glade bordered by stout oak trees, their long and sheltering branches framing the simple stone building. Though the oracle-priestesses visited only a few times a year, the people of the little town kept up the grounds with pride. A cobbled path led through a once bright and flowered garden, now stripped of leaves and blooms. Morgynn gazed upon the broken stems in amusement. She’d heard them called “oracle bells” and “destinies,” and she wondered how honest their auguries had been. Had they seen her, she wondered, huddled over their teacups, fevered and chilled as they looked for signs of the future?
    The heavy wooden doors stood open before her, a stylized eye carved into the frame overhead. She walked in boldly, as much to spite Talmen’s misgivings as to satisfy her own curiosity and audacious nature. Stained glass lined the walls to either side of the sanctuary, depicting scenes of daily life and terrible battles. None seemed relevant to the history she’d studied, but perhaps they were images of the future.
    Before the altar, Khaemil stood like a shard of night, his thick black robes wrapped around him. He seemed almost a void amid the colorful glass and the bright marble floor, mirroring a small statue of a one-eyed sage set behind the altar, an image of the god Savras. Her darkening mood in the presence of the oracles’ sanctuary brightened as she approached her favored champion.
    She leaned in close, resting her head on his shoulder, breathing in his strange scent and soothed by its familiarity.
    “Talmen says you shouldn’t be here, pretty one, that you blaspheme against Gargauth.” Her tone was mocking and light, but she enjoyed the tensing of his broad shoulders. No love was lost between him and Talmen, and neither cared to hide the fact much.
    Khaemil did not move except to incline his head in supplication.
    “I remain your servant as ever, Lady, and will obey no other. The high priest has no respect for the rewards of faithful service.”
    His voice was deep, rumbling from his large chest and seeming to shake the stained glass on either side.
    Morgynn stepped back, studying his large frame, still amazed at his unwavering loyalty after so many years. He had become a symbol of her ambitions, a bold and dark knight sent by Gargauth as a blessing to the revived Order of Twilight.
    “How went your hunting?”
    The query hung like a blade in the air, razor-thin and cold, full of