The church was the best place to meet, for any who could stand its stagnant air. Man’s God had been out of favor long before Aaron had been born. He wiped dust off the front pew and sat, his basket next to him. He was nearly done with Mrs. Summers’ shopping list. Big flat mushrooms and round capped ones and the little white kind that grew in clumps like a dead man’s fingers; samples from sellers he knew but she didn’t, with delivery orders placed with those she already trusted, though not all of those had looked like they’d trusted him. The old woman would be pleased. At the least, she’d have no particular excuse to scowl at him.

He sat in the pew and tried hard not to flinch when the dagger was pressed to his throat.

“You’ll be wanting to sit still, friend.” The man’s voice was pleasant. Always pleasant.

“Clever Hands—” Aaron began, but the dagger tip pricked against his skin. The hand that held it rested on his collar bone, its fingers long and thin, its fur soft but sparse. Aaron kept his gaze strictly forward. The church had no altar or pulpit. It held only the statue of Man’s God, its male and female aspects standing back to back on their marble base. A vein of darker rock ran through the back of the man’s sword hand. Aaron focused his gaze on it and took slow breaths.

The man behind him shifted. “Nice basket. Shopping?”

The vein traced from hand to arm, all the way to the elbow, where it met the woman’s shield. “I’m His Majesty’s new errand boy. Seems the uptown trembles to set foot down here.”

The man behind him snorted, a warm puff of hair on the nape of Aaron’s neck. “I’d heard His Majesty had an Aaron locked up. Suspected doppel, or maybe a fey.”

From shield to chest, tracing up her neck, ending finally in a spider-webbing on her cheek like a bruise, or a fey mark. “You heard right.”

“I heard an Aaron got knifed in a back alley. Heard it from the man who took credit for it. He was lying, as it turned out, but the bastard didn’t bother to squeal that until I’d already made a bit of a scene out of him. No one’s been too eager to claim credit since. Not even the Raffertys, though I hear they raised a toast at the news.”

The woman’s other hand was gone. Shattered at the wrist, the pieces long ground to dust. “Nice of them.”

“And then I get this little Face coming up to me, bold as can be, telling me I owe him a silver for his message. I give him a silver eye, and he tells me some fellow’s asking for a meet in Man’s own church.”

“You didn’t really hit him, did you? He’s a kid.”

“Don’t you go lecturing me.” The flat of the dagger rapped lightly against his collarbone. “Don’t you dare die, and get locked up, and come back from the both to lecture me.”

Aaron tried not to grin. He really did. “Mind if I turn around?”

“Yes. I do, in fact.” But the speaker took the dagger away, all the same.

Aaron turned and looked on a face that was far from human. “Good to see you too, Clev.”

A doppelgänger wasn’t a pretty thing. When an animal wanted to walk as a man, when they stole a face, there was no hiding what was underneath. It bled through, little by little, like water running through rust. It was the same for the men they stole from. It could be months or years, but the corruption always showed.

That was the militia’s line, in any case. Personally, Aaron had always found his friend’s rounded ears and patchy fur to be endearing, like a child’s badly sewn toy.

“Your winter coat’s coming in,” Aaron said.

The stoat doppel’s eyes flashed. He self-consciously scratched at a tuft of ermine white on his chin where a real man might have had a beard. “Don’t think I’m believing you. You can wear a man’s face without being him. Doppel or ghost, you’d have his memories.”

Aaron rested his arms on the back of his pew. “I know.”

“It doesn’t prove anything.”

“I know.”

“You killed him, left him in an alley, got your stupid self arrested. You look human still so you’ve got them fooled, but you’re not fooling me.”

“Ever wanted to go up to the castle? They’ve a whole floor inlaid with kirin’s bone in their council chamber. I’m supposed to sweep it after I’m done with my errands. Ride in my pocket, and I’ll tell you the whole story. Most of it, anyway.”

The stoat flicked an ear. “You really work there? They really let you in?”

“I could tell it before a kirin’s own council, and you’d not believe what my month’s been like.”

“He always wanted out.”

“I always did.”

The man’s movements were swift, like pouncing on prey. He dragged Aaron forward by his shirt front, twisting the fabric until the new sweater was nearer a noose. “It takes you a month to tell your friends you’re alive? We had a funeral. Tossed some ash into the river. It was everyone together again, even them that went to the Raffertys. Only had one fight, and it was only fists.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Gwen near cried. Yevin told a joke. The bloody blacksmith came. Didn’t even spit. The old coon did, but the blacksmith didn’t, and you’d best believe I lost money on that wager.”

“I’m sorry.” There was nothing else to say.

The doppel’s grip tightened. “Is it really you?”

“Yeah.”

Clever Hands released him, all at once. Aaron caught himself on the pew back. There was silence then. The kind of silence where someone thought their friend was dead and it turned out he wasn’t, and the someone was wondering if that was a good enough reason to murder said friend. Aaron might have been reading a bit much into the stoat’s silence. Maybe.

Clever Hands set a long-fingered paw on the back of the pew. Aaron just managed to rescue his basket from the doppel’s feet as the man hopped over. They sat side by side and stared at Man’s God. The male aspect held sword and shield. The woman held shield and the broken emptiness of things best left forgotten. There were candles on the wall behind the statue, rows and rows, their lights as sparse as the ermine’s fur.

Aaron had expected anger, but not this kind.

“Why did you come back down here? What if someone sees you? You’ll get yourself killed.”

“Again.”

“Again,” the doppel agreed. “Who was he?”

Aaron leaned back, the basket in his lap. “Markus Yin Sung. Bastard of Duke Sung, member of the Late Wake, with more than a passing resemblance to me.”

The ermine’s silence was long. “That’s a southern noble, isn’t it? Always thought you looked southern.”

“So does the spy master.”

Long, and longer. “You didn’t.”

“And what was I supposed to do? When the woman who decides whether you get skinned or not thinks you work for her, you don’t try to quit.”

“Lucky for you she didn’t know the brat better.”

“Luck’s one word for it,” Aaron agreed, because it was easier than explaining being given his speaking lines by Death.

“So what? You’re playing at being a noble?”

“Playing at being a noble who’s playing at being me. To be specific.”

“You’re a dead man.”

“So I’ve heard.”

There was dust on the floor, on the pews, passing in motes through the candlelight. But none on the statue itself. There were still those who came here to pray. Aaron wondered what they said. Please, God, don’t let them kill the last of us. Probably it was a more personal thing than that. Keep my wife safe, my husband, my son daughter cousin friend. People weren’t good at thinking big.

Clever Hands flopped back on the bench, propping his head up on the pew arm. Aaron shoved the man’s feet out of his lap, but they came right back. He settled for resting his basket on top of the pest’s shins.

“Why are you down here?” The doppel twitched his feet, bouncing the basket. “Doesn’t look like you’re planning to come back. Looks like you’ve made yourself all respectable.”

The candles flickered in a passing draft. “Are the Kindly Souls under contract to kill the prince?”

Clev’s feet stilled. He tucked an arm behind his head. “So you can go back and tell this spy master of yours?”

“No, so I can point out what a stupid idea it is. By First and Last, Clev, you didn’t really accept that contract?”

“It’s not like we’ve got other offers. Raffertys have a bounty out on anyone who hasn’t sworn to them.”

“So swear to them.”

The ermine made a little trill. It wasn’t a noise a human could make. Maybe not one a real stoat could produce, either. “Not that easy. Keep an eye on that council floor when you sweep it—word has it they pried out a piece of bone. You can’t swear unless you mean it.”

For a moment, Aaron could only stare. “How have they gotten anyone to follow them?”

“Most don’t. Welcome to Twenty Kings.” The man spread his arms wide, then tucked them again. “I never thought I’d miss the bastard.”

Aaron let a breath out, slowly. It was like hearing a rock dropped down a cliff, that. It felt like something was echoing up from a hollow space. He shut his eyes and forced it back down. When he opened them again, Man’s God stood exactly as it had been. Proud and tall and broken.

“The contract is for Orin and Rose,” Clever Hands said. “It’s very clear that we’re not to harm a hair on little Connor’s head. Seems uptown is having its own issues with succession, isn’t it?”

“Having someone weak on the throne can be convenient.”

“Aaron.” The doppel frowned, but left it. He turned his gaze to the side, towards the statue. “It’s pointless, anyway. We don’t have a way into the castle. Something’s got the Letforget cracking an eye up there. Gwen tried flying in the night the fox came—good a distraction as we’d ever get, she said. She just about had her fur singed off. It’s not as strong as at the heart, but it’s strong enough I don’t want to meddle with it.”

“How is she? How is everyone?”

“Do you want to know?” The doppel straightened up on his elbows and looked at Aaron. It wasn’t a gaze Aaron was interested in holding. “Do you want me to tell them you’re alive?”

Aaron hesitated, then nodded his head. He couldn’t tell whether the man was pleased or disappointed. “How much money is it?”

“A lot. Enough to sway oaths made on bone, maybe.” The ermine flopped back again, an arm over his eyes. Now it was his turn to dodge Aaron’s startled look.

“You want to be king?”

“No. Twins no. But someone’s got to be, right? We’re tearing each other apart. Next time the rat catchers get it in their heads to hold a proper hunt, we’ll be pushing each other onto their swords.”

“The fox might take you back. I met him, a bit.” Fighting next to the fake Chereau counted for that much, at least. “He seemed good to his people. Concerned they’d make it out safe.”

“And live my life as—what? I’m not going to hunt rabbits and live in a leaf nest. Never play court, never have a bloody drink. You don’t understand, Aaron. You’ve always been human. What you are, it’s so much fuller than what we are. You have all these choices—”

The doppel stilled, his ears swiveling towards the back of the church. In an instant, the man was gone. A stoat, its coat turning to ermine white, crouched on the pew in his place.

A moment later Aaron heard it too: footsteps down a stone hallway that most had forgotten. The door was pulled open. A man blinked into the dimness. He didn’t bother to keep the surprise from his voice.

“Aaron?”

“Lieutenant Varghese.” Aaron kept his gaze towards the back of the room, even as he felt something slender and furry worm its way up into his coat sleeve. There was a reason he always wore a coat that made him look drowned.

The man stepped inside, his eyes flicking around the empty seats as if seeking the phantoms of other parishioners. He came up the aisle slowly. “I didn’t take you for a believer.”

“I’m not.” Aaron gave an easy shrug. A shrug that happened to loosen up the fabric at his shoulder, so the ermine could squirm through to his back. “But it’s a nice enough place to sit when you want to think things through, isn’t it? Most don’t come here.”

“No. Most don’t.” The good lieutenant seemed awfully tense as he came to Aaron’s pew. He swept his gaze over it as soon as he could, but there was nothing to see except a basket full of mushrooms.

“I used to hide up in here when I was a kid,” Aaron said. “Didn’t get found too often, either. It’s a good place.” He faced the man, as a little warm body with a quickly beating heart pressed itself between his shoulder blades, its claws digging through his sweater and into his back. “I’m sorry. Do you want me to leave?”

“No, it’s fine. Please stay. You only surprised me. Every man should feel welcome here.” The redcoat lowered himself into the seat across the aisle. He tugged at a chain around his neck. Aaron couldn’t see the medallion well, but he could guess: the sword and shield of a believer. If Lochlann was from an old family, it would be sword, shield, and scroll. His certainly looked like an older one. Thick iron, its embossing shining dully in the candlelight where generations of fingers had polished it smooth.

“What do you pray for?” It was an impulsive question. A stupid question, when he should be politely leaving.

The lieutenant’s look was hard for a moment, like he expected to find mockery behind the question. When he saw none, he turned his eyes on the statue. “A lot of things. Little things, like keeping my men safe on hunts. For spring storms that will keep the dragons off our shores another week. I pray that I’m still myself, when all is done.”

The male and female aspects stood in the candlelight, no less dead with a true believer in attendance than they’d been for Aaron.

“Do you really think it changes anything? Praying?” Claws dug into his skin. He should really, really be leaving. Not insulting a redcoat’s religion while a doppel clung to his back.

“No.” It was a simple answer, given without hesitation. “I pray so I know what I fight for. If we wait for something to save us, we’ll all be dead. Man’s God is man.”

The statues stood. Male and female, back to back. They were the same as they’d been his whole life; just a man and a woman.

“I like them better as humans,” he decided. The lieutenant cast a glance his way. When the officer looked away again he was shaking his head, but there was a smile on his lips.

A furry head worked its way up, just below his collar. Whiskers tickled the back of his neck. “I’m glad you’re alive, Aaron. Even if you’re not my Aaron. Stay safe.”

The stoat worked his way down Aaron’s coat, to the back of his pant leg, to the floor, careful all the while to keep Aaron’s body between himself and the guardsman. Then he was gone, leaving prints in the dust that looked like nothing so much as human hands.

Aaron sat with the lieutenant for a while longer. He shifted, and his boot wiped the floor clean.