“ Sometimes it is not the shadow of hell that remains, but your own doubts.” Violâta La Reue, Celestial Mystic       Fourth Lady's Day of Mortis, 126 HR The incense had almost burned out. Only a thin wisp of smoke curled above the polished silver bowl in which Archbishop Juliana had lit it for her ritual. Sarin knelt before her and tried to concentrate on his prayer. But his thoughts kept returning to the abandoned naga palace, to the throne room, the pillar, the chains ... to her . After the kiss, after freeing the prisoners, he and Faith had returned to the room where he had taken the enforced bath. The chamber had been empty, lying in complete silence. But the basin was still filled with water, albeit significantly cooled off. He had taken the second bath voluntarily. Although he had been reluctant to step into the basin again, the idea of returning home in the clothes he had worn during the kiss would have been even more unbearable. The wedding garb tha...