Son of Kristos: Argevane Series, #2

By Andrea J. Graham and Adam Graham

Having lost Princess Hosanni, Prince Meleon Kristekon rides into Diakrinth to honor her memory. And to outrun his guilt over his patrol partner's death. While he risks his life to protect Diakrinth's daughters and ensure taxes are collected fairly, a mystery emerges on his estranged, eldest son's villa—a boy with Hosanni's laughing eyes and Meleon's rare blue undertone to his purple skin. The boy bears his younger son's name, Havan, and is the age his baby would've been, but a mortician swore Hosanni was cremated while pregnant with Havan. Indeed, the boy is Princess Hosanni's son and destined to become the next Kristos and the Bridegroom of Lady Veritas. That requires he grow up to be a man of honor, yet the more Meleon fights for the young prince, the more Emi's hand seems bent on giving the child over to Hades and a wolf's dead heart and total ruin.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Reignburst Books
• Release date: Jul 14, 2020
• ISBN: 9781386046417

Andrea J. Graham

Andrea Graham studied creative writing and religion at Ashland University, has been envisioning fantastic worlds since age six, and has been writing science fiction novels since she was fourteen. Bear Publications released her book, Avatars of Web Surfer, which she wrote with three co-authors. She is the wife of author Adam Graham and edits his novels, including Tales of the Dim Knight and Slime Incorporated. Her own publishing imprint, Reignburst Books, released the Web Surfer Series and the Life After Mars Series. Find her as an author at christsglory.com and as an editor at povbootcamp.com. Andrea and Adam live with their dog, Rocky, and their cat, Bullwinkle, in Boise, Idaho. They're adopting their first child.

Book preview

Chapter One

City Patrolman Meleon Kristekon Difelippo leaned against the gas street lamp beside a cobblestone street as he armed his crossbow and flicked the safety across the bolt. Difelippo peered at the frosted glass doors of the brick Fargo and Wells and Company. Something was going down in the bank. It shouldn’t take so long to make a loan payment. And since Diangelina went in the front, he’d want Difelippo to go around back.

Hugging the building, Difelippo ran around it to an alley paved with asphalt. He held his nose as he dashed under empty clothes lines, scattering old newspapers. From the foul smell, the tenement next door dumped their chamber pots out here. He much preferred the salty ocean spray and the coal smoke that blackened quite a few of the buildings in this part of the City by the Bay. Haze hid what passed for a blazing summer sun here. It was chilly compared to his native Georgia.

At the bank’s rear, he skidded to a halt. A white and purple pinto mare stood hitched to a black convertible chariot, with the reins tossed lazily over the windshield. A tarp and two canvas bags full of the bank’s money already sat in the back of the vehicle.

Bet the horse and chariot were stolen, too. Meleon tossed his crossbow over his back by its shoulder strap and kept his hands out as he approached the mare. Sorry about this, lassie. But regulations are regulations.

Once behind her, he snatched up the knife hanging beside his leather sporran on his kilt belt. The peace officer’s kilt belt also supported handcuffs and a sheathed steel sword that hung to the knee. He sliced through all four straps connecting the mare to the vehicle and slapped her rump.

The pinto cantered away without the robber’s chariot.

Meleon shouted, Get on home before Animal Control picks ye up!

He took his crossbow in hand and pressed his back against the bank’s brick wall, right beside the ajar employee’s entrance. His ears trained for any sound. Amen, Amen, Emi, please protect any civilians inside.

Silently counting to thirty, he kept his crossbow trained on the space one of the robbers would likely come through any moment.

Either a very ugly woman or a man ashamed of his gender popped out in a black frock dress, with oily midnight purple tresses pinned up in a school teacher bun. A masquerade mask covered a lilac face from below the nose to the hair. Meleon let the robber lugging the bank’s money rush right by.

A curse popped out of the bank robber’s mouth.

Meleon jammed his crossbow into the robber’s back. Keep your mouth shut, or I will kill you. On the ground.

The robber dropped face down.

Meleon shouldered his crossbow and yanked the robber’s thick hands behind his back as he unclipped his handcuffs from his kilt belt.

He slapped the cuffs on the robber. You have a right to remain silent. Anything you say will be taken down. Nod if you understand.

The robber’s head rattled against the blacktop.

Good. Now stay down, eyes closed, and the court might let you live long enough to rethink your choice of careers. Make me chase you, and you will definitely be crucified. Meleon sped to his position by the door.

Back against the wall, he peeked in. Three young pink lasses in clerical gray frock dresses and two male employees in black kilt suits crouched, faces to the floor, tied up behind the teller line. Tied up right alongside them was a pink peace officer in their army blue tunics, kilts and kilt jackets. Familiar strawberry-colored hair was cut above the ears. Diangelina.

Closing his eyes, Meleon slammed his rush of weak-kneed emotions behind bars. It would only interfere with getting the job done. He eyed the bank robber standing guard over the hostages with a crossbow. This one looked like a pirate, complete with eye patch and a buzz cut leaving but a thin layer of their tight coils on his fellow Erini man’s midnight purple head. Also like Meleon, the pirate had the blue undertone that got all dark-skinned humans habitually called blue despite its growing rarity.

The pirate glanced his way and took a shot at him with a crossbow.

Meleon ducked out the door and let the bolt sail by. Now. He swept into the doorway, his crossbow aimed for the pirate’s heart. Drop it!

I told you, Diangelina said.

The pirate whipped out a knife and snatched Diangelina up, slapping the blade against the peacekeeper’s throat. Thank ye for the tip, lad. The pirate sneered at Meleon. Now, am I goin’ to get out o’ here nice and slow with your partner, or are we goin’ to have us some fun killin’ hostages?

The threat has to be real or they won’t back down.

But it was Diangelina.

He’d want to be the one in this position. It was for the greater good of society. The shot regulations required him to take would kill instantly. He’d suffer more from the pirate aiming lad at a pink man in his late forties.

But it was Diangelina.

The more peacekeepers followed regulations properly, the fewer wolves bothered to take hostages, and the fewer innocent civilians who died. No one would take hostages if it wasn’t effective.

But it was Diangelina.

Well, peace officer, what’s it goin’ to be?

There had to be another way.

Difelippo! His partner swallowed hard. As your commanding officer, I order you to follow regulations. Let him go and you’ll face court martial.

The robber laughed. Your lassie doesn’t have the guts, lad. He leered at Difelippo. Get out of my way, and we all live. No one will have to know.

The internal coward whining like a lassie afraid of offending her Mum slammed behind bars, too. Difelippo flicked the safety off his crossbow and fingered the trigger. No deal. We’re professionals. This will go right by the book, no exceptions. Now on the ground.

So you can crucify me? I don’t think so. The pirate cut a bead of blood across Diangelina’s throat. I’m not playing, either, peacekeeper. Now does he live or die?

"His blood is on your hands if I miss." Meleon aimed the crossbow for the pirate’s head.

No! You will miss. Diangelina winced. Take a kill shot, at the heart.

His partner was right. The pirate would shove Diangelina in the way of any shot he took. That attempt to bend regulations would only inflict more suffering on an innocent man. Meleon shifted his aim to Diangelina’s heart. His finger trembled on the trigger. No.

Difelippo again visualized shoving into the dungeon the coward named Meleon. He took time to picture himself locking the prison door and hurling the key out a window for good measure. A wolf’s cold calm at last fully settled over him. No more chances. He’d take the pirate by surprise and then punish him for killing his partner.

The pirate laughed and lurched forward, pushing Diangelina along.

Difelippo released the bolt which shot clean through his partner’s heart and ended Diangelina’s life.

Tossing the crossbow down, Difelippo pounced upon the gawking pirate. The bolt had the pirate pinned by the shoulder to the fresh corpse’s back. Difelippo threw a right hook to the murderer’s ear, yanked the bolt free, and beat the murderer to a bloody pulp barely recognizable as human.

Breathing hard, he retrieved handcuffs from the blood-soaked corpse’s belt and slapped them on the half-dead pirate. Good thing for justice that ye didn’t have your hearts aligned. Ye are in fine shape to be crucified.

No one would fault his excessive force in subduing a peace officer killer when the pirate was the racist and his murder victim was the minority. The House of Erin was the pinks’ historical oppressor, and Difelippo was Erin’s son by birth, and he fired the kill shot, but so? He’d only followed orders.

WATER DRIPPED IN THE prison cell. Difelippo lay on a straw bunk in total darkness, his arms and legs heavy from the irons encasing his wrists and his ankles. The putrid odor of his own filth choked the moist air. Compared to this wretched place, the bank alley had smelled like the ocean breeze.

His stomach twisted and growled. He winced. Hunger’s return meant he’d endured this injustice for over a month now, closer to two at his muscle mass. Could it have been so short? The endless seconds turned into endless hours that he had little better to do than try to count. Aye, well, that and day dream about assassinating his adopted father. No man who’d so completely betray a son who had trusted and loved him was fit to rule anything.

Crucifixion started sounding preferable to this torment an eternity ago.

The parched desert in his throat combined with the press of his bladder. Needed to move. He pressed up slowly, raising himself into a sitting position, but still his head spun. Food.

Before his eyes danced visions of mincemeat pie, grilled bison steak, and baked Idaho potatoes from his wife’s native Diakrinth. He drooled.

His late wife appeared also, holding the feast’s platter, and wearing only a skimpy red apron. His loins ached.

He shook the hallucinations off and wobbled to his feet. Five paces. He counted them off as he shuffled to the wall. The heavy balls at the end of his chains scraped over the stone floor. He felt along the slimy sandstone surface until his fingers found the iron door. Finally. He squatted and groped until his fingers brushed his precious canteen. The prison guards regularly slipped it through the door’s meal slot. Barely enough hydration to live.

He allowed himself three swallows and shuffled back to the wall. One more piece of business before he could lay back down.

Once he finished increasing the smell in this hellhole, footsteps echoed from the hall. A bright glow flickered through the meal slot. He squinted his eyes shut, turned his head, and groaned.

The footsteps stopped and the window in his iron cell door groaned with the scrape of metal on metal. Orange light washed in still brighter. A shadow stepped in front of it.

Are you ready to come out yet? King Felippo Romin asked.

Difelippo bit back the flood of curses springing to his tongue. If that got him put on a water fast and locked in irons last time, it definitely wouldn’t improve his situation now.

I know you’re mad at me. But this was your choice.

My choice?

Hands slapped on metal. Do you know why you’re here?

My ex-grandfather-in-law adopted me, then tossed me into the army, supposedly for my own good, and put me into the hands of men who were authorized to execute me if I didn’t obey them or otherwise failed to follow the regulations? How is it just for you to turn around and toss me in prison for doing my job as I was supposed to?

No, that is not why you are here. We’ve tried, convicted, and crucified the man legally responsible for the murder of Senior Patrolman Diangelina. You’re here on suspicion of lycanthropy.

Me, a wolf? Difelippo laughed. Da, come on. Ye know me.

No, I don’t. Meleon wouldn’t beat unresisting criminals half to death or threaten to assassinate me, nor would he give the clinical report you gave on the death of his best friend.

Ye locked me up and left me to starve because I let a bit o’ foolish rage run free but didn’t break down into a useless pile o’ mush?

As much as I hate mush, grieving is healthy. This is not.

Difelippo spat at the torchlight burning his eyes. If I’m sick now, that’s your own doing.

I knew this risk. But I know my son. Meleon will make it through this, learn from his mistakes, and move on, if you will only let him out of jail.

Am I my own jailer now?

Legally, I could’ve crucified you two months ago, wolf. But I didn’t. You happen to have a son I love very much imprisoned inside of you. He locked himself there, but the army didn’t teach you how to mentally transform into a wolf without teaching you how to change back again.

Unlocking that sniveling coward didn’t appeal. I’m a better man than I was. I’ve proven my willingness to courageously sacrifice and to boldly do whatever my country asks of me.

What you’ve proven is your willingness to betray God just like I did.

So what if he had? He shook his head. Intellectually, his indifference to that should concern him. Romin had medical grounds for this, after all.

Son, I’ve known few who loved God as much as you did. When was the last time you spoke with Emi?

The divine name hit Difelippo with a physical force that knocked him backwards and stabbed his gut. He snarled. Don’t speak that name! What has God to do with us?

Where had that come from? Difelippo frowned. If memory served, that was indeed most unhealthy for him. Sure, he’d never properly converted, but Emi had been a dear friend. He’d employed a peacekeeper’s mental tricks as little as possible. The coldness of lycanthropy had no room for Emi in it.

Closing his eyes, he visualized the mental dungeon cell and groped in the darkness for the key. Where had he left it? He didn’t remember. Think. The instructor said not to get hung up on that. He could tear down any walls he’d mentally built. That trick required cheating his way inside the jail cell, but visualizing himself inside a prison wasn’t at all hard right now.

A murmur tickled his ears. Please, Emi. Set him free.

His mental image changed from a prison cell to the ocean the instructor started them out at when first teaching them this trick. His waters churned black. Torrential rain poured from angry, booming skies flashing lightning.

Gasping, Meleon’s eyes flew open to his literal prison’s darkness and the torchlight too bright for his eyes. He sank to his knees, weeping. Emi, I’m here. Please come back.

Diangelina’s bloodied body flashed in the cold inside him. God, why have you forsaken me? Emi, I know I’m not of your chosen people, but I need you more than ever. This grief on top of losing my wife and sons—please. What have I done?

Romin said softly, Son you followed the odious regulation I permit to remain in effect for my own purposes, but Emi’s regulations say, ‘you shall not murder.’ Even before killing an innocent man turned you into a wolf, you’d begun acting like a machine, only doing what you are told. A machine would have freed their horse as required, but a machine wouldn’t think to let them go and catch them by surprise when they have no horse.

No. Regulations said he couldn’t let them go. Regulations said he had to kill the hostage.

It was wrong. Meleon trembled and sobbed hard. You’re right, Emi. I’m filthy and bloodstained. Why should you want anything to do with me?

Wasn’t it also his fault he’d lost his wife and sons? He never deserved Emi’s friendship. Would Emi tolerate a pesky Erini murderer, too? Only one way to find out.

But he owed Romin an apology. An urge to blame Diangelina slammed Meleon. No. He had a family history of congenital lycanthropy, and the best diagnosis he could hope to walk away from this trauma with was lycanthrope bite. If he wanted to fully recover his health, he’d have to lay aside all others’ contributions and take responsibility for himself.

Meleon sucked in a deep breath. I’m so sorry, Da. I was wrong to spill innocent blood. I was wrong to curse you out and to threaten you. I don’t deserve it, but I’d be most grateful for another chance.

A key turned in the lock and the door moaned open. Romin shuffled into the cell and touched Meleon’s head as the aged king of half the Union knelt on a filthy floor. The key squeaked in rusted locks four times as the weights fell away one by one.

Bony arms wrapped tight around Meleon. You passed, after all.

Huh?

Welcome back, son. You had me worried. Romin tugged Meleon up on his feet. You’re staying with me until you’re ready to go back to work.

No way. I’m not going back on patrol, ever. Not without— Another sob choked the name off. I can’t do this anymore, Da. Please. Let me do anything else. Anything.

Romin chuckled. I know just the assignment. I’ll tell you about it when you’ve got your strength back. But remember, you said anything.

A BRISK AUTUMN WIND battered Meleon Kristekon. He cantered on horseback in southern Diakrinth. The dirt lane hugged a stream that cut between pine-cloaked mountains. His old city patrolman sword bounced in its sheath in time with the crossbow slung on his back.

Like always, he’d donned his standard issue army blue kilt over the army blue riding pants. The loathsome, confining, leather trousers were too much like ladies’ underpants. Thankfully, he didn’t often need to be some place fast enough that taking a chariot wasn’t feasible.

Too bad he hadn’t been on horseback the day his wife had been burned alive in a crematory.

No, meditating on that was as unproductive as stewing on his regrets over killing his patrol partner. The pain of losing his family could crush him just as quickly, and it wouldn’t bring Astor or their baby back to this world. No, all he could do now was seek to honor their memories.

Ahead, a platoon of pink soldiers also wearing army blue dress uniforms pushed ahead of them a cart detaining six lilac-skinned Diakrinthian lassies in irons. An armed guard rode with the weeping children huddled together. From their white linen tunics, none of the girls had turned thirteen yet.

This practice eased the anti-Union sentiments in Diakrinth. Sure, and Chanukah celebrated how thrilled Diakrinth had been when the Helenes had slaughtered pigs in Emi’s Temple. Not.

Time to arm. He drew his crossbow, yanked a bolt out of the quiver under the stock, and slid the bolt into the channel. He notched the bolt against the taunt string and snapped the safety across the bolt to prevent it from moving or misfiring.

Meleon flung the crossbow over his shoulder and glared at the armed fools nearly upon him. I suggest you turn around.

The platoon leader stepped forward. He bore a captain’s gold leaf pin on his dress jacket and his hair cut above the chin, like all commoners on active military duty. Who are you to command his Majesty’s tax collectors?

His Majesty’s son.

The armed bureaucrats’ captain stumbled backwards, as if Meleon had slapped him across the face like he deserved. The captain trembled. Prince Meleon! I didn’t recognize you.

With his notoriety? How could you not? I’m the only man in Romin’s service with both midnight purple skin and shoulder-length dreadlocks.

Yes, sir. The idiot nodded. I shall remember that, thank you.

I suppose I could’ve ridden here wearin’ a diamond-studded crown and a royal brown caftan, Captain . . .

The platoon leader swallowed. Dionigio.

Well, I’ve been commissioned as Chief Tax Collector for this district.

The armed bureaucrats raised their eyebrows. Dionigio coughed. Your Highness, it is my honor to serve you.

Sure it was. We’re going to march ourselves back to the village and take these lassies home until I can set things in order.

But they have no money to pay their taxes. It’s proper procedures.

Your proper procedures are bringing bloodshed. In this district, the proper procedure is what I say it is. Now do as you’re told.

As you wish, Your Highness. Dionigio turned to his men. You heard Prince Meleon. We’ll await his wise decision.

Meleon grunted and followed the platoon and their captives.

They headed back through the pine-cloaked valley, in the direction of the City of the Twin Falls.

The path turned away from the stream. Birds chirped in the canopy. The quiet of the country was like the woods of Georgia, where his first da had taken him fox hunting. Except, out here, when men hunted, they needed the food, not a trophy.

Feet rustled in the brush. Meleon raised his hand. Halt!

An arrow twanged out of the thick underbrush, sailed inches past the lassies, and downed the guard on the cart.

Meleon jumped off Síocháin’s back and slapped her posterior, sending the black warhorse off toward the village. Zigg zagging, he ripped his crossbow from his back and flipped off the safety.

The thick underbrush shifted. Between the brambles, a lilac archer no more than sixteen drew his bow and aimed his arrow for Meleon’s heart.

Chapter Two

Meleon spun away from the flying arrow and fired a bolt in return. The lad’s body fell out of the brush. Meleon breathed heavy , grimacing, as he restrung and rearmed his crossbow. If the rest o’ ye fool boys don’t want to be dying, stand down. We’re returning these girls to their homes.

He turned to the tax collectors. Surround the girls, crossbows drawn. I don’t want any of these lassies getting hit.

The platoon leader protested, But they’re only money.

Ye may think, since I’m an artist, I’m here to debate. But if one o’ these lassies dies, the next thing I’ll be paintin’ is your crucifixion.

The pink, armed bureaucrats surrounded the lassies.

Arrows twanged after the platoon and felled three soldiers out the thirty.

No more time for diplomacy. Hey now, ye sons of dracas! You bastards are targetin’ the wrong enemy! Sure, the House o’ Romin has gone back on a promise. Sure, Kristos should be rulin’ the nations the rebels won. But I was born to the Queen of the House of Erin. Or have you forgiven my ancestors for decimating your people?

The arrows stopped hurling after the platoon shuffling back toward the lassies’ village and whizzed instead at Meleon.

Move out! he ordered. The platoon scurried away with their burden.

He retreated in the opposite direction while watching his back. Between trees dashed a pursuing teenager with a Diakrinthian man’s silky, shoulder-length, plum-colored hair, lilac skin, and a rough indigo tunic that fell to the lad’s ankles. The drawn bow silently asked Meleon to kill him. He complied with the request. Another fool made a dash for it and drew his bow. Meleon reloaded and put yet another bolt through a human heart.

Mourn later. He ducked into the thick brush on the opposite side of the road. It barely provided cover for his six-foot three height without the need to crouch.

A young male voice shouted, Go in after the Blue.

Why don’t you go? Show us how a brave warrior goes to die.

Emi, I pray you, help that lad to discern between brave and stupid.

Silence buzzed. We’ve showed the enemy not to rob our mothers. Our work here is done.

Meleon breathed a sigh of relief. Thank you, Emi. I don’t deserve your favors, not being one of your people, and bloodstained and all.

He hiked through the brush alongside of the road until he came upon Síocháin munching on clover. He stepped out of the brush and stroked her neck. Well, ye missed one tangle, Síocháin. It was me against a bunch of Diakrinthian boys. I felled three o’ them.

Aye, and in the tellin’, it’ll be known as the Twin Falls Massacre. How brave young fathers stood up against the invaders takin’ away their nieces, or their wives’ younger sisters. In their tellin’ of it, we’ll return the lassies for fear of their mothers’ might, by Emi’s hand. Meleon laughed.

Síocháin whinnied.

Oh, ye don’t think their families will buy it? Well, ye don’t know human nature. A lie will travel half away around the world before the truth has put her chemise on. Meleon sighed, his heart aching. Lassie, what are we doin’ out here, killin’ fool boys shootin’ at us when we’re tryin’ to help them?

Síocháin whinnied and tossed her head, pawing the dirt road.

Oh, I suppose you would like this mission. But this place brings back painful memories, even without fool boys. At least Da didn’t send me to Astor’s district.

The horse blinked at him, her tail swishing at flies.

Shaking his head, Meleon mounted his horse and nudged her into a trot, headed toward the village. Emi, I’ll never understand why you let dragons learn to talk with their wee arms, but the majestic horse is unable to speak.

If Astor were here, he would’ve asked her if she’d ever been in this part of Diakrinth. She’d have laughed and said Diakrinth was a large nation. Her people rarely traveled far from home, besides to visit the City of Trees.

Aye, but whatever part of Diakrinth I’m in, it reminds me of Astor. It’s her nation, her good land, and I must do what I can for it.

Forest gave way to harvested fields and unpainted, gray pine out buildings guarding a circle of round stucco hovels with thatch roofs instead of the glass domes Astor had described. The platoon clustered off the path, searching amidst the corn stubble for something edible.

Meleon eyed the empty cart. If you’ve let the girls go, get back to camp.

Yes, Sir. Dionigio saluted and snapped to his men, Fall out!

Meleon rode the path winding around the hovels, to the center of the deserted village. He dismounted outside the assembly hall and walked up to its closest door. The stone buildings always had rounded corners and ten doors and ten stained glass windows.

Behind him, a door creaked. An aged voice called, I am Ravane Pikri, the chief elder of this village and head of the assembly. What do ya want?

Meleon turned to face the toothless, lilac, and oh-so-loving woman of God in a homespun palla in the dark violet of untreated mastodon wool. She stood in one stucco hovel’s semi-circular pine door.

He cleared his throat. I’m here to help the village pay their taxes.

The door slammed shut.

He strode over and knocked on the door. Ravane, I don’t want to take your daughters. I brought them back, but I have to set things in order. The taxes must be collected, but we’ll spare your wee ones if you open the door.

The door remained closed. He plopped in front of it. Hey now, I may be a stranger, but I married a Diakrinthian! The crown princess of the house of Kristos no less!

He rambled on about Astor for around half an hour.

The elderly lilac woman opened the door, her eyes red and puffy. If I agree to hear you out, will you stop telling me this sad story?

Sure, may I come in?

"I’ll bring out chairs. Xenos can’t enter the house, lest it be unclean." She brought out two large pillows with straw poking through in places.

Meleon grunted. Xenos was everyone who wasn’t Diakrinthian. Meleon plopped into his straw-filled pillow and sat cross-legged. How many of your people can pay the tax?

Ravane Pikri settled into her pillow, folding her legs under her. Emi’s hand has blessed us. Most can pay.

But not all?

Maybe six families.

Can ye make up the difference?

We could, if we only had to pay the three silvers levied per household.

Two silver and thirty coppers. Romin reduced the rate at my request. How much have the tax collectors been taking?

Ravane Pikri snorted. As much as they like. Sometimes, they’ve shown up three times, insisting the tax wasn’t paid until they get a daughter or a son, depending on what the market demands. They go from house to house like thieves and cowards. They kill the dragons if we don’t call them off.

Well, that last part was necessary. Cain had it right when he called those bipedal carnivores terrible lizards. They stood as tall as a woman when they reared up to their full height. Milady, I’ve seen a supposedly domesticated dragon snap a human arm clean off, and they can kill just as easily. We have to protect ourselves, if your dragons attack. Now, are you familiar with the courthouse located in the City of the Twin Falls?

She shrugged. Xenos built the courthouse.

That must have been her notion of yes. "In three days, we’ll meet at the courthouse to discuss