Dawn Walker

—

He knew when to let women speak to one another without stepping into the center of it.

Seraphiel moved then toward the guest room that had been hers during this stretch in Dawn House. She did not need help. She took it anyway, because Lily followed, Elena followed, and two of the maids trailed behind carrying nothing but the instinct to be useful if a god-level guest so much as looked in the direction of luggage.

Bat Bat followed too, because of course she did.

Inside the guest room, Seraphiel wasted no time.

Her belongings had never spread much. That was the way of truly powerful travelers. They learned not to root too deeply into temporary spaces unless they intended conquest or marriage, and Seraphiel had done neither here.

The room still carried traces of her presence, though. Not in clutter. In the atmosphere.

A folded shawl over the back of one chair that somehow still looked too expensive for the chair.

A faint perfume in the air, clean and floral at first notice, but older and stranger underneath, like moonlit gardens that had once watched blood spill.

A teacup on the side table that one of the younger maids had been too nervous to remove because she had convinced herself divine guests might become offended if their cups disappeared before they personally dismissed them.

Bat Bat noticed the forgotten cup first and immediately pointed at the maid. “You left it there because you were afraid.”

The maid, already blushing from being perceived at all, tried to recover. “I was preserving order.”

Bat Bat nodded solemnly. “That is servant language for fear.”

The maid looked as though she wished the floor would open and show mercy.

Seraphiel, to her credit, did not laugh.

Not visibly.

She simply opened her space ring.

The inner blue-white fold of it caught the room light for one breath.

Then, one by one, her things vanished inside.

Folded garments. A small chest. Three books no servant had dared touch. A case of blades no one had dared ask about. A sealed bottle of something older than the room itself.

A comb of pale bone that one maid had privately believed belonged in a shrine instead of a dressing table.

Everything disappeared into the ring with crisp efficient motions.

One of the maids watched too intently and startled when the small chest vanished faster than her eyes could follow. She made a tiny sound, clapped both hands over her mouth, and immediately bowed as if apologizing to the laws of space themselves.

Bat Bat looked delighted. “I like that ring. It steals with dignity.”

Elena did not even turn her head. “Do not ask for one.”

“I was not asking.”

“You were preparing to ask.”

Bat Bat folded her arms. “You know me too well. It is oppressive.”

Meanwhile, Lily stood near the bed and watched with the expression of someone trying not to let goodbye become visible on her face too early.

Seraphiel noticed, of course.

She always noticed.

When the last item was packed away, she turned and looked at Lily fully.

“You will survive four weeks.”

Lily almost smiled.

“That was not the part I was worried about.”

“Good.”

Seraphiel stepped closer and touched two fingers lightly under Lily’s chin, lifting it enough that their eyes met levelly.

“Use the time well,” she said. “Do not waste what time I bought for you. Make it count until you leave.”

Lily nodded. “I will not.”

“I know.”

Then Seraphiel stepped back.

Her eyes moved once across the room.

To Elena. To Bat Bat. To the maids. To Sekhmet at the doorway.

There were many things she might have said.

She chose almost none of them.

That was often wiser.

To Elena, she said only, “Do not let him become impossible like Eyra before we meet in the middle domain.”

Elena’s mouth moved faintly. “That would require the laws of the world to change.”

Bat Bat looked very pleased by that answer, as if Elena had just confirmed a long-held academic theory about Sekhmet’s personality.

To Bat Bat, Seraphiel said, “Study.”

Bat Bat looked scandalized. “Even now.”

“Especially now.”

Bat Bat drooped with theatrical suffering. “Everyone keeps acting as if growth should involve effort.”

One maid, forgetting herself, muttered, “That is usually how growth works.”

Bat Bat turned at once. “I will remember this betrayal.”

The maid nearly jumped out of her skin, then looked immensely relieved when Seraphiel lightly waved her onward instead of turning the moment into formal discipline.

Then Seraphiel looked to Sekhmet.

For one second, the room became much quieter than before.

“You will go there eventually,” she said.

She did not need to name the Middle Domain.

He understood.

“So will you,” she added. “Do not arrive unprepared.”

Sekhmet held her gaze. “I will not.”

Then, after half a beat, with that same dangerous calm he used when sincerity slipped out before anyone could stop him, he added, “If / when I go there, I wish to see you with my father.”

The room stopped.

Not moving stopped.

Thinking stopped.

Seraphiel actually blinked.

Bat Bat’s mouth opened so fast it nearly became a spiritual event.

One maid made a tiny choking sound and disguised it so badly as a cough that no one respected the attempt.

Lily looked from Sekhmet to Seraphiel and then, very slowly, to the floor because if she kept looking at their faces she was going to laugh in front of a god-level woman and die from the consequences.

Seraphiel, who had stopped wars with fewer internal difficulties than this sentence caused, narrowed her eyes at him. “What exactly do you mean by that?”

Sekhmet answered as if he had not just thrown a flaming branch into a quiet room.

“I mean I may have to act as the matchmaker.” His face remained perfectly serious. “You and my father have wasted enough time. Perhaps if things go well, I will get a little brother or sister out of it.”

That did it.

Bat Bat made a noise like a delighted bird being stepped on by surprise.