Even though she had the key, Sally still knocked on the door. The guards had already announced her arrival.
"Demitria. Are you awake?"
She heard the rustling of a dress. Nothing more.
"I'm coming in." She pulled out a key engraved with a blood cross insignia and inserted it into the lock, only to find the door wasn't locked. The door was heavy; a light knock with her knuckles couldn't tell whether it was locked or just closed. But at the same time, it was an unnecessary door. The hallway it connected to was guarded by four soldiers less than twenty steps away. More soldiers were at the end of the hallway and around the mansion.
Upon entering, Sally found Demitria sitting in front of the vanity mirror, her right hand resting on the table, her left hand on her knee. The struggling light of the setting sun passed through the iron bars newly installed on the window, falling on Demitria's long hair draped over her back, resembling a row of silent blades.
Sally walked up behind her, looking at their reflections in the mirror. I really need to get more sleep today. Demitria, you too. She had often chatted with Demitria while combing her long hair in just this manner; but now, her right hand hovered stiffly over Demitria's shoulder, undecided whether to touch those pale golden strands. She bit the inside of her lip.
"Why didn't you lock the door?" Sally asked.
Demitria didn't answer the question. "I heard."
"Heard what?"
"I heard early this morning. They were shouting that the Alliance had defeated Arlaki."
Sally felt a bit awkward. She had finally made up her mind to tell her the news herself.
"The battle is over, but there's no official scout report yet. We don't know who…"
"Do you think it was Jemar?"
"I don't know. Nothing is certain yet."
Demitria looked up. Sally glanced at Demitria's eyes in the mirror and quickly turned her head away.
"But, I think it's very likely," she continued, "because the battle ended last night, and there's still no official word from the Alliance claiming they've obtained Araki's ashes. That's not how they usually operate."
"You're saying Jemar got the ashes, and that's why the news is late?"
"I can't guarantee anything, but I hope…"
"You hope?" Demitria interrupted Sally, standing up to face her. "What do you hope for? I don't want to hear that word from you again. Get out." Her hand rested on the edge of the table. "Get out."
There's no need for this. Sally tried to suppress her irritation. Although Demitria was nearly ten years older than her, in all their past arguments, Sally had always held the upper hand. Those were harmless disagreements that even strengthened their friendship, but this moment was different. Sally understood that her presence made Demitria uneasy and angry. She had the right to feel that way.
"I'll inform you as soon as there's any further news." She turned to leave before she even finished speaking. After stepping out, she firmly closed the door, ensuring it was locked, then stared at the ground, taking a deep breath. It took a while to dispel the tightness in her chest.
She descended the stairs, crossed the square, and headed toward her own residence. Before long, a voice called her name from behind. She turned and saw a man in his fifties approaching. He stopped at a close distance, clicking his heels sharply, wiped a bit of dust off his collar with his fingertips, and looked down at her with a smile.
"Lord Ethenrion," Sally said. The man exuded a unique scent: his signature perfume mixed with a faint hint of blood.
"I was planning to inform you that the Holy War has ended, but it seems you've already taken care of that."
"Yes."
"How is our esteemed Saint doing now, after all our hard work? I suppose I'd better go see for myself."
"Sorry, but I think it's best you don't go to her right now. She's in a very bad mood."
"I understand the pressure she's under and wish I could alleviate her suffering, but I'm powerless. This matter is not only a test for the Saint but also a test of faith for all of us. What do you think?"
"You're absolutely right."
"Of course, it's still crucial to keep her emotions stable. Only you can accomplish this."
"I'll do my best. Lord Ethenrion, if there's nothing else…"
"What, are you busy?"
"No, I just don't want to waste your time."
"Then, do something for me. We captured a spy today, a tough one. My useless subordinates couldn't get anything out of him; it's embarrassing. I'd like to entrust this matter to you. There's an hour before your dinner, right? Could you make good use of that time? Go find my assistant; he'll take you to the prisoner."
"I'll go right away."
She walked past him, but he suddenly grabbed her left shoulder and leaned close to her ear.
"Answer me honestly. In this situation Demitria's in… do you pity her?"
She didn't turn her head. "I… worry about her. But as you said, this is a test."
"Good." Ethenrion released her. "That's the answer I wanted. A person who lacks compassion can't handle the role of Inquisitor. You still have work to do before you earn that title, but you're on the right path. Frankly, Demitria has disappointed me greatly, but you'd better not disappoint me, Sally Whitemane."