It was the logical thing to do, but that did not make it hurt any less.

Dominic approached him stiff-backed, robes tightly fastened, straight, and starched, his hair around his shoulders. He remembered - could not help remembering - a custom in some parts of the world, the 'king for a year', who would gain, for a year of his life, all pleasuries and luxuries, all worldly wonders, and at that end of a time would be sacrificed to those cultures' Ethereals.

He felt like the king for a year whose year happened all at once. Here, before him, was everything he could desire, but it was - wrong. He was wrong, still. And yet Dominic could not turn away, sacrifice to his Word. He could not deny the sinful bliss in seeing him again, could not avoid the guilty pleasure of this meeting.

"Good day, Dominic," Asmodeus said.

It was like the obsidian knife meeting his heart.

"Good day," he said, and made the necessary arrangements.