pull back her cloaks, reveal her identity, and send them to the stocks. She forced herself to keep riding, shoving through them.
Kyrie muttered impromptu blessings to them. He obviously knew nothing about the Sun God; his blessings were probably botched translations of Dragontongue prayers.
Once they had moved through the people, and were riding down Blacksmith Road, Gloriae turned in the saddle to regard him.
"Kyrie," she said, "teach me to speak Dragontongue."
He raised an eyebrow. "Gloriae, this is hardly the time to request tutoring in dead languages."
"Firstly, I am not requesting; I am telling you. Secondly, it's not a dead language. It's what you speak with the other Vir Requis. I just realized that. You were all speaking High Speech for my benefit, but you probably speak Dragontongue amongst yourselves."
"Well, yes," Kyrie said. "But you probably used to speak it too. When you were three. Before Dies Irae kidnapped you from Requiem and took you to Osanna."
"I want to learn again."
Kyrie sighed. "Gloriae, first let's learn how to defeat these nightshades, or ink monsters as folk here seem to call them. All right? Now where's that library?"
"I'm taking us there. Be patient."
They kept riding deeper into the city. Gloriae couldn't help but frown at the devastation. Statues of Dies Irae lay toppled in every square. Most of the buildings were nothing but rubble, and blood seeped from beneath them. Several times, Gloriae saw hands, heads, and legs peeking from the rubble. They were rotting and raising a stench. Around one fallen column, she saw several survivors huddling around a fire, eating what seemed to be a dog. Gloriae covered her mouth, looked away, and rode by.
Soon they rode by the palace. A colossus of Dies Irae had stood here once, marble and gold, gazing over the city. Today the statue's head lay on the road, ten feet tall. As Gloriae rode around it, she wondered where the real Dies Irae was. Did he still sit on the Ivory Throne, encased in nightshades?
She looked up to the palace. Several of its towers had fallen. The main hall's walls were cracked, but still stood. Gloriae stared, feeling a chill.
"Dies Irae is in there," Kyrie whispered, echoing her thoughts.
Gloriae nodded. "Yes. How did you know?"
"I can feel it. Let's not go there. I don't want to get anywhere near Irae. At least, not until we figure out how to hurt his nightshades."
"Agreed. The library is behind the palace. We're almost there."
As they rode around the palace, they saw guards manning the walls and remaining tower. More guards patrolled the streets, crossbows in hand. Kyrie and Gloriae muttered prayers at them, raising their hands as if to bless them. The guards bowed their heads, whispering prayers in return. Their eyes swam with fear.
What has happened to my home? Gloriae thought. She felt close to tears. She had spent years in this palace, since she was only three. Here she had trained with blade, arrow, and fist. Here she had lived with May, her handmaiden and sweet friend. Where was May now? Did she still live in this palace, or had she fled the city? Gloriae had never had a friend but May.
"We must enter the palace," Gloriae whispered.
Kyrie groaned. "What? You're crazy, Gloriae. There's no way I'm going in there."
"So stay here. I... I must look for somebody."
"Who, Dies Irae? I thought we were going to avoid him."
"No. My... friend."
Kyrie snorted. "You have a friend? What, your favorite sword? A man-eating tiger? An iron maiden? Forget it, Gloriae. Benedictus sent us to the library."
"We'll go to the library. It'll only take a moment."
Kyrie moaned but said nothing more. Gloriae led her horse under a gateway, nodding to the guards.
"We've come to bless the palace with the light of the Sun God," Gloriae said to them.
They nodded and bowed their heads, and Gloriae and Kyrie rode through. They drew rein in a courtyard. Gloriae remembered that Dies Irae had once chained Lacrimosa here and tortured her. Pushing the memory aside, Gloriae dismounted, helped Kyrie off the horse, and they entered a back door into the palace.
The palace interior had fared scarcely better than its exterior. Suits of armor, tapestries, and swords had fallen. Bloodied prints covered the floor, and ash coated the walls. A servant lay soulless by a doorway, drooling, eyes staring.
"Not the best house guests, nightshades," Kyrie muttered.
Gloriae stared at the servant, a chill claiming her. Would she find May like this too, mindless and drooling?
"Come, Kyrie. Quickly."
They walked down several hallways and up