She remained chained, beaten, spat on. The torture seemed to last forever, an eternity of pain, leaving her squirming and unable to beg for mercy. Finally—it must have been ages before it happened—a voice spoke over the soldiers' laughter.
"Enough."
It was only a cold word, spoken softly, but at once the boots and spears ceased their torture. The boots backed off, slammed together in attention, and one soldier cried out, "The Commander, his lordship Dies Irae, Light of Osanna!"
As the dust settled, Lacrimosa moaned and blinked feebly. She could still not raise her head, and saw only the men's boots and dust, and droplets of her blood upon the ground. A new pair of boots strode between the soldiers, but these boots were not leather. They were made of golden Vir Requis scales—the rarest color—and steel claws grew from their tips, like the claws of a dragon. Dies Irae's boots, Lacrimosa knew.
For a long time, Dies Irae merely stood above her, and though she could not see his face, she felt his eyes boring into her. Then he turned to face his men. "All right, men, you've had your fun. This beast must reach Confutatis alive. If we reach my city, and the weredragon is dead, it will be your hides. Understood?"
"Yes, Commander!" a dozen voices shouted together.
"Leave us," Dies Irae said, and the boots marched away.
For a long time, Lacrimosa lay on the ground, struggling not to whimper. His boots faced away from her, as if he still watched his men depart, or maybe gazed upon his camp in reflection. Finally he turned back toward her, placed his boot under her chin, and forced her head back painfully. Lacrimosa grimaced, the muscles in her neck creaking, and found herself staring up at Dies Irae.
He looked down upon her, cloaked in samite, his armor bearing the jeweled likeness of a griffin. His visor was raised, and Lacrimosa could see his face—a hard face, golden and cruel, so much like the face of Benedictus, but colder. His eyes stared at her, ice blue, and she shivered under his gaze.
"Hello, Lacrimosa," he said. "Hello, sister-in-law."
She could not speak for the muzzle around her mouth, nor had she any words to say to him.
"How is Agnus Dei?" he asked, his boot still under her chin, its steel claws painfully close to piercing her. "How is my daughter?"
Lacrimosa growled, and smoke rose from her nostrils. How dared he? Fury and pain bloomed inside her, a hundred times more powerful than when the men tortured her. She struggled against her chains, but could not free herself, and only froze when she felt the claws of his boots press closer against her. She froze but fumed, a growl in her throat. Agnus Dei is not your daughter, snake, she thought. She is everything like Benedictus and nothing like you. There is nothing pathetic, base, and cruel to her, and you are all pathetic cruelty. I will kill you, Dies Irae, or my husband will.
It was as if he heard her thoughts. "She is my daughter, sweetness. I remember that day in the woods. That day you surrendered to me. You want to kill me now. I see that in your eyes. You may think, even, that you can kill me, or that your husband can. Yes, I imagine that he will emerge from hiding now, that he will fly to Confutatis on some bold rescue mission. I am sure he is flying now in pursuit. I will kill him, Lacrimosa. I will kill him, but I will not kill you, and I will not kill our daughter. No. You two will live."
The way he said it, Lacrimosa knew: Benedictus was getting the sweeter deal.
She growled again, and blew flames from her nostrils, but Dies Irae only laughed. He pulled back his boot, letting her head hit the ground with a thud. He marched away. Soon Lacrimosa heard the cries of griffins, the thud of their wings and the scratching of their talons, and the scurrying of soldiers as they gathered their camp.
Griffin wings fluttered above, a shadow covered her, and talons grabbed her. Dies Irae cried "Fly!" above her, and the griffin lifted her. The ground grew far below her, and a hundred griffins flapped wings.
They flew over fields and forests, and over marble cities where statues of Dies Irae glittered. They flew over mountains and lakes. They flew over Requiem Forest, where the ruins of the Vir Requis courts lay burned and toppled, and when Lacrimosa