east.
"I will find the griffins," she whispered into the wind. "I will find Volucris, their king. I will bring them back as allies. We will rebuild our home, Ben. We will rebuild our life and love among the birches."
Her wings stirred clouds. She could see nothing but sea on all horizons.
GLORIAE
Gloriae rode into the city of Confutatis, her sword drawn, her eyes narrowed.
The place lay in ruin.
"Stars," Kyrie muttered. He sat behind her in the saddle, arms wrapped around her waist. "This place is a graveyard."
Gloriae nodded, riding the horse at a light clip. The city gates were smashed open. Guards lay strewn around them, dead or empty shells. Their swords were drawn in their hands, but clean of blood. Past the gates, bodies littered the streets. Vultures, crows, and rats were feasting upon them, tearing off skin, fingers, faces. Blood and sewage flowed across the street. Stray dogs slunk in shadows, growling.
"I hope the library still stands," Gloriae said. Many buildings had fallen. Others burned. Wind shrieked through the streets, billowing smoke.
Kyrie pointed his dagger to a statue of Dies Irae, twenty feet tall and gilded, that stood in a square. "If that statue still stands, the library better too."
Gloriae gestured with her chin toward a distant wall. Soldiers moved there, crossbows in hands.
"Not all here are dead," she said. "Masks on."
She placed her priestess mask on. It was a blank mask, expressionless, formed of white wood. Kyrie did the same. With the white robes they already wore, she hoped nobody would recognize or trouble them.
A child came running toward them. Gloriae raised her sword.
"Halt!" she said. "Do not approach us, or you'll meet my blade."
The child, his clothes tattered and his face ashy, froze.
"Gloriae!" Kyrie said. "He's only a boy. Lower your blade." He looked at the child. "Are you hungry, kid?"
The child—he looked eight or nine years old—nodded. "There is no food here," he said meekly. "The people took what they could. They left the city." He had a black eye and was missing a tooth. "The ink monsters drove them away. They'll be here soon. They'll kill you too. The Light of the Sun God does not shine on them."
Kyrie rummaged through his things, found walnuts and an apple, and tossed them to the boy. The child caught the food, turned, and ran into an alley.
"You shouldn't have done that," Gloriae said, watching the dark alley. She wondered how many more children hid there. "This city must be swarming with beggars, and beggars are like stray cats; feed one, and they'll pester you in numbers. We need our food."
"You are sweet and caring as always, Gloriae. Your reign must have been a fabulous time for the city. Dies Irae the Benevolent and Gloriae the Kindhearted, they must have called you two." He snorted.
Gloriae frowned. "The reign of Dies Irae has not ended yet, Kyrie Eleison. I may be banished from his favor, but he rules still."
Kyrie snorted again. "Rules what, a pile of rocks, bodies, and looters? Aside from a few soldiers on those walls ahead, I see nobody. And in case you forgot, I freed the griffins."
Gloriae turned to face him. She gave him a blank, cold stare. "Dies Irae rules the nightshades now, and they are greater than any soldiers or griffins. Their worlds are greater than any cities of stone."
Kyrie stared back at her, eyes flashing. Then he turned his head, spat, and grunted. "Let's find this library."
Gloriae kneed her horse, leading it up the cobbled street, past the statue of Dies Irae, and up Market Lane. She wasn't used to travelling the city this way. Usually she flew over these streets on Aquila, her griffin, or rode in a procession, surrounded by guards and banners and horses clad in splendor. Riding alone with Kyrie, robes hiding the gold and jewels of her armor, she felt like a commoner.
As they rode deeper into the city, they saw more people. Most were beggars and outlaws and other commoners, those too poor to have fled the city. Gloriae wrinkled her nose at their filth and stench. There were soldiers too, their faces gaunt and their eyes sunken. All who saw Gloriae and Kyrie bowed, reached out dirty hands, and begged for prayer and favor. Even the soldiers dropped to their knees and pleaded.
"Pray for us, Sun God priests. Bless us. Shine your light on these dark days."
Behind her mask, Gloriae gritted her teeth. Soldiers bending the knee, forgetting their post? She was half tempted to