The silver dagger lay between Soma Locke and Cardinal Rodriguez.
It was an unremarkable weapon, scarcely longer than the boy's hand, with a polished handle and a thin, carefully sharpened blade. Under ordinary circumstances, Soma might have appreciated its craftsmanship.
Tonight, he regarded it with considerably less enthusiasm.
He had already been stabbed once.
Voluntarily adding another injury to his collection seemed excessive.
"Father," he began, looking toward Preston, "I feel obligated to point out that I've had a rather unpleasant relationship with sharp objects today."
Under different circumstances, the king might have laughed.
Instead, Preston rested a large hand against his son's shoulder.
"I know, son."
"Then perhaps we could postpone the ceremonial stabbing until tomorrow?"
Cardinal Rodriguez smiled faintly.
"I assure you, young Soma, this isn't something I would request without considerable reason."
Soma studied him.
The Cardinal was remarkably young for someone occupying one of the highest offices within the Holy Cathedral. His immaculate white-and-gold vestments bore intricate embroidery depicting the divine hierarchy, while a silver emblem rested against his chest.
His expression was gentle.
His eyes were not.
They possessed the unsettling intensity of a scholar who had spent his entire life searching for something and had suddenly been told it was sitting directly in front of him.
"Before we begin," Soma said, "what exactly are you hoping to confirm?"
Rodriguez considered the question.
"Whether the blood Captain Jaspar witnessed is truly divine in nature."
"And if it is?"
"Then your existence raises questions the Cathedral has never been required to answer."
That was hardly comforting.
Soma looked toward the king.
"Should I be worried?"
His Majesty leaned back in his chair.
"I would be more concerned if the Cardinal already knew exactly what you were."
Rodriguez gave the king a mildly offended look.
"Your Majesty."
"What? It's true."
Despite himself, Soma smiled.
Apparently, even the highest religious officials weren't immune to royal sarcasm.
Preston gently pushed the dagger toward him.
"Only a shallow cut, son. Rodriguez has already prepared a healing spell."
Soma looked at his father.
"You're certain?"
Preston's expression softened.
"I won't allow anyone to harm you."
The words carried a weight Soma couldn't quite describe.
After everything that had happened, he wanted desperately to believe them.
He picked up the dagger.
Soma extended his left hand.
His fingers trembled slightly.
He hated that.
Not because he believed trembling was shameful, but because the sensation reminded him of the bandit he'd killed.
The resistance of the blade.
The man's final expression.
The terrible realization that a life could end in the space between one heartbeat and the next.
Soma closed his eyes.
This is different.
He pressed the dagger against the back of his hand and made a small, shallow cut.
A sharp sting followed.
Then a bead of liquid emerged.
Gold.
Pure, shimmering gold.
It welled beneath his skin like molten sunlight, gathering into a luminous droplet that rolled slowly across his knuckles.
Soma stared.
He'd seen it once before, on the forest road, but the chaos of the ambush had left him questioning his own senses.
Now there was no battlefield.
No screaming horses.
No bloodstained carriage.
Only a quiet room, three extraordinarily powerful men, and the impossible substance flowing from his body.
Cardinal Rodriguez shot to his feet.
"By the Pantheons..."
His chair scraped violently against the floor.
He approached the table, his eyes wide with unmistakable astonishment.
"True divine blood."
The words emerged barely above a whisper.
Rodriguez stopped himself from reaching toward Soma's hand.
"May I?"
Soma hesitated, then nodded.
The Cardinal held his palm a short distance above the golden droplet.
A faint white radiance gathered around his fingers.
For several seconds, he remained perfectly still.
Then the light flickered.
Rodriguez inhaled sharply.
"Remarkable."
Soma raised an eyebrow.
"That's generally what people say right before informing me something is terribly wrong."
The king actually laughed.
Rodriguez barely seemed to hear him.
"The essence is unmistakable. This is not an alchemical alteration, nor some illusion intended to imitate the divine."
He looked toward Preston.
"Your Grace, your son's blood carries a genuine divine nature."
Preston's expression remained grave.
"Is it dangerous?"
Rodriguez hesitated.
"That depends on what you mean."
"I mean," Preston replied, his voice becoming dangerously quiet, "is my son in danger because of it?"
The Cardinal looked at Soma.
Then lowered his hand.
"Yes."
The answer settled over the room like winter frost.
Soma stared at Rodriguez.
"Well, that's encouraging."
The Cardinal gave him a sympathetic look.
"Please understand. Divine blood is not inherently harmful. Quite the opposite. In every accepted account, it is associated with beings whose nature exceeds that of ordinary mortals."
Soma glanced down at his hand.
"Yet here I am. Ten years old, recently stabbed, and apparently incapable of surviving a birthday without causing an international incident."
The king rubbed his forehead.
"He's definitely Preston's son."
"Unfortunately," Preston muttered.
Rodriguez continued.
"The Cathedral has records concerning demigods and descendants of divine bloodlines. But what Captain Jaspar described, and what I see before me, is extraordinarily unusual."
"Unusual how?" Soma asked.
The Cardinal's expression grew thoughtful.
"Enough that I would rather study our records before offering you an explanation."
Soma appreciated the answer.
It was considerably better than inventing certainty where none existed.
"Can anyone identify it just by looking?"
"Possibly. A sufficiently knowledgeable observer might recognize the blood's appearance or magical nature."
"And what happens if someone does?"
Rodriguez exchanged a glance with the king.
"Some would consider you blessed," he answered carefully. "Others might regard you as a threat. And there are certainly people who would wish to possess what they don't understand."
Soma's stomach tightened.
He remembered the bandit leader's expression when his blood had appeared.
Greed.
Astonishment.
The sudden realization that Soma was worth more than any ransom.
"That explains Jaspar's reaction," he murmured.
Preston nodded.
"The fewer people who know, the safer you will be."
Rodriguez finally placed his hand gently above the cut.
Warm white light gathered around his fingers, and the small wound closed without leaving a mark.
"There," the Cardinal said. "No further experiments tonight."
Soma flexed his hand.
"Excellent. I've reached my recommended daily limit of being stabbed."
This time, Preston smiled.
Only briefly.
Then the seriousness returned.
"We need to determine what to do next."
Rodriguez moved back toward his chair.
"There are certain Cathedral records I would like to consult before—"
The doors exploded open.
"YOUR MAJESTY!"
An armored royal tracker staggered into the room.
His breastplate was dented. Blood darkened one sleeve, and he was breathing so heavily that he could barely form the words.
Preston stepped forward.
"What is the meaning of this?"
The tracker dropped to one knee.
"Forgive the intrusion, Your Majesty. Your Grace. Your Eminence. But we've found Lord Simon."
Soma's heart lurched.
"Simon?"
His father seized the edge of the table.
"Where?"
"The lower dungeons, Your Grace."
The king rose immediately.
"Why would he be in the dungeons?"
The tracker swallowed.
"There's been an attack."
Silence.
"What kind of attack?" Preston demanded.
The man looked up.
His face was pale.
"Two guards are dead. The cells have been opened. We encountered armed intruders."
He drew a ragged breath.
"And Lord Simon is badly wounded."
Preston's chair struck the floor behind him.
"Show me."
The king was already moving.
Rodriguez gathered his robes and followed.
Soma stood.
"Father—"
"Stay here."
It wasn't a request.
Preston's voice held a command Soma had rarely heard directed toward him.
Then the adults swept through the doorway, accompanied by the tracker and the guards stationed outside.
Soma remained motionless.
For approximately three seconds.
Then he looked toward the open door.
Absolutely not.
The corridors of Locke Manor blurred around him.
Soma hurried after the adults, keeping enough distance that the movement of armored guards and servants concealed his smaller figure.
Every stride pulled painfully at his wounded side.
He ignored it.
Not because the pain didn't matter.
Because Simon mattered more.
His brother had been missing.
Suspected of treason.
And now someone had found him bleeding in the dungeons.
Why would Simon go there?
The question repeated itself with every step.
Perhaps he'd been taken.
Perhaps he'd discovered something about the ambush.
Perhaps the people framing him had decided he knew too much.
Soma forced himself to slow his thoughts.
There wasn't enough evidence to choose between those possibilities.
Not yet.
Ahead, the king disappeared through a guarded passage leading toward the manor's lower levels.
Soma followed.
The air grew colder as the polished marble gave way to older stone. Enchanted lanterns illuminated steep staircases, narrow corridors, and heavy iron doors reinforced with silver bands.
He'd never visited the lower dungeons.
He knew they existed. He'd even studied the manor's defensive layout with his father.
But knowing where a place was on a map wasn't the same as standing at its entrance.
Especially when the smell of blood was drifting upward from below.
Soma stopped.
His stomach twisted.
The familiar scent from the forest road returned with sickening clarity.
He remembered the bandit's throat.
The blood.
The way the man's body had collapsed.
For an instant, his fingers went numb.
Then he heard his father's voice echo from the stairs.
"SIMON!"
Soma started running.
The first dead guard lay at the bottom of the staircase.
His throat had been cut.
A second lay beside the entrance to the cell corridor, one hand still resting against the hilt of his sword.
Soma had to step around a dark pool of blood.
His breathing shortened.
He wanted to look away.
He made himself notice what was directly in front of him without lingering on the bodies.
Two guards.
Both attacked at close range.
And neither appeared to have escaped far enough to raise an alarm.
Beyond them stretched a long chamber lined with black iron cells.
Every door stood open.
Every cell was empty.
Torchlight flickered against damp stone walls, revealing overturned stools, discarded restraints, and the remains of a shattered lantern.
At the far end of the corridor, a young man lay slumped against the wall.
Dark hair.
Familiar clothing.
One hand pressed weakly against his abdomen.
Blood spread beneath him.
Soma's heart stopped.
"Simon..."
Three cloaked figures stood nearby.
One held a bloodstained sword.
The other two turned toward the intruders, their faces concealed beneath deep hoods.
For a moment, nobody moved.
Then one of the hooded figures drew a dagger.
The second did the same.
Preston's sword came free with a ringing hiss.
"STEP AWAY FROM MY SON!"
The king raised one hand, and golden-white light gathered around his fingers.
The intruders hesitated.
Then heavy footsteps thundered down the stairs behind them.
"YOUR MAJESTY!"
Jaspar emerged with Kara close behind.
Both were armed.
The captain took in the scene with a single glance.
The corpses.
The opened cells.
The wounded Simon.
And Soma.
His expression transformed.
"Why the FUCK is the boy here?"
Soma winced.
Well, that didn't take long.
Preston spun around.
"SOMA?"
The look on his father's face was terrible.
Not angry.
Terrified.
"Soma, get behind me!"
He reached toward his son.
Before he could take another step, a voice echoed from the entrance.
"Well. This has become inconvenient."
Another figure descended the staircase.
He wore a long dark cloak, its edges embroidered with thin silver patterns that caught the torchlight as he moved. Unlike the others, he made no effort to conceal his face.
His features were sharp.
His hair was dark.
And he wore the faint, amused smile of someone arriving late to a dinner party.
Jaspar immediately shifted his stance.
Kara tightened her grip on her hammer.
The stranger looked around the dungeon.
"His Majesty. The Supreme Archduke. A Cardinal. And the legendary Undead Berserker."
His smile widened.
"Quite the gathering."
Preston raised his sword.
"Identify yourself."
The man placed one hand against his chest and bowed.
"Vain."
He straightened.
"One of the hands of The Righteous."
The name landed heavily.
Jaspar's expression darkened.
Kara muttered something deeply unpleasant beneath her breath.
Soma looked between them.
The Righteous?
He'd encountered references to shadow organizations during his studies, but the name carried no immediate certainty.
Vain gestured toward the wounded Simon.
"My associates and I came to resolve a rather unfortunate problem."
"You stabbed my son," Preston said.
Vain glanced toward Simon.
"Ah. Yes. That."
The casual response nearly made Soma lunge forward.
His father's sword shifted.
"Choose your next words carefully."
For the first time, Vain's smile faltered.
Only slightly.
"We were sent to remove certain loose ends," he explained. "Unfortunately, the person we expected to find wasn't here."
The king's voice was cold.
"Who?"
Vain spread his hands.
"Now, Your Majesty, you understand that I can't simply reveal my employer's business."
"Then you're welcome to explain it from a cell."
The stranger laughed softly.
"I don't believe that arrangement would suit either of us."
Jaspar stepped forward.
"You're surrounded."
"Am I?"
"Three armed assassins at the end of a corridor and you standing between us and the stairs. I'd say your evening's looking rather unpleasant."
Vain's eyes flicked briefly toward the captain's damaged eye.
"You're certainly confident for a retired soldier."
Jaspar smiled.
It was an expression Soma recognized from the training grounds.
Only this time, there was no humor in it.
"Try me."
Soma studied the strangers.
Something about the situation didn't fit.
The bandits had ambushed his convoy.
The handwritten message had apparently been intended to help them seize him.
Now another group had invaded the dungeons, killed two guards, and attacked Simon while searching for someone they claimed wasn't there.
If these were the same people, their plans seemed bizarrely disconnected.
Unless they were lying.
Or unless he was missing something.
He looked toward Vain.
"Excuse me."
Every adult in the chamber seemed to tense.
Jaspar closed his eyes.
"Boy..."
Soma ignored him.
"Are you looking for the bandit we captured this morning?"
Vain turned slowly.
"What?"
"The man with the arrow in his arse."
Silence.
Kara made a strangled noise.
Even in the middle of the dungeon, surrounded by blood and armed killers, Soma heard Jaspar mutter, "For fuck's sake."
Vain's expression flattened.
"What man with an arrow in his arse?"
"The surviving bandit from the attack on my convoy. He's probably spent the entire afternoon complaining about his backside."
Vain stared at him.
Then looked toward Preston.
"What attack?"
Soma's stomach tightened.
"The bandits who tried to kidnap me."
The stranger's smile vanished.
"I don't know anything about a kidnapping."
Soma studied him carefully.
Vain seemed genuinely irritated.
But that proved nothing.
A skilled liar could look surprised.
An assassin could deny anything.
Still, the timing bothered him.
"You attacked our carriage this morning," Soma continued. "Now you're here searching for someone in the dungeons. That sounds connected."
Vain gave a humorless laugh.
"Young Lord, if I'd been hired to abduct you, do you genuinely believe I'd stand here admitting it?"
"No," Soma replied. "But I'd expect you to know what I was talking about."
For the briefest instant, Vain looked caught off guard.
Then his smile returned.
"Clever little noble."
Soma didn't feel particularly clever.
He felt frightened.
And increasingly certain that something much worse than a single betrayal was happening around him.
A weak groan came from the far wall.
Soma turned.
Simon had moved.
Only slightly.
But enough.
"SIMON!"
He tried to run toward his brother.
Preston caught him before he'd taken two steps.
"Stay back!"
"He's alive!"
"I can see that!"
"Then help him!"
Soma's voice cracked.
His father froze.
Only for an instant.
Then Preston looked toward Rodriguez.
"Cardinal."
Rodriguez had already begun gathering divine magic between his hands.
Vain watched the movement.
His expression sharpened.
"I believe we've overstayed our welcome."
Jaspar raised his sword.
"You're not going anywhere."
"Oh, Captain."
Vain smiled again.
"That's a rather optimistic statement."
He snapped his fingers.
A small black sphere struck the dungeon floor.
Jaspar moved immediately.
"DOWN!"
The sphere burst.
Thick black smoke erupted through the corridor, swallowing the torches, cell doors, and intruders beneath a roiling cloud of darkness.
Soma coughed.
His eyes burned.
Somewhere nearby, metal rang against stone.
Kara shouted an oath.
Jaspar's sword cut through the darkness.
But there was no answering clash.
Only the sudden rush of displaced air.
Then silence.
A gust of wind magic tore through the corridor, scattering the smoke toward the ceiling.
The intruders were gone.
All four of them.
Jaspar stared at the empty passage.
"Motherfucker."
Soma broke free of Preston's grip.
This time, nobody stopped him.
He ran toward the far wall and dropped to his knees beside Simon.
His brother's face had lost almost all its color.
A deep wound marked his lower abdomen, and blood seeped between his fingers where he'd tried to hold it closed.
"Simon?"
No response.
Soma touched his shoulder.
"Simon, it's me."
His brother's eyelids fluttered.
For a moment, Soma thought he might speak.
Instead, Simon coughed weakly.
A thin line of blood appeared at the corner of his mouth.
Soma felt the world tilt beneath him.
"No, no, no..."
He looked toward the adults.
"HELP HIM!"
Rodriguez knelt beside them.
"Move back, Soma."
The Cardinal's hands glowed white.
Gentle radiance spread over Simon's abdomen, illuminating the torn fabric and bloodstained stone.
For several agonizing seconds, Rodriguez remained silent.
Then his expression tightened.
"The wound is severe."
Preston dropped beside his sons.
"Can you heal him?"
"I can slow the bleeding and stabilize him. He needs immediate treatment in the medical wing."
The king turned toward the guards arriving from the staircase.
"Clear the route. Now!"
Jaspar sheathed his sword and moved to help Preston lift Simon.
Together, they carried him toward the stairs while Rodriguez maintained the healing spell.
Soma followed.
His injured side burned.
His legs felt weak.
But he refused to fall behind.
At the foot of the staircase, Simon's hand moved.
His fingers caught Soma's sleeve.
Soma stopped.
"Simon?"
His brother's lips parted.
A faint sound escaped.
Soma leaned closer.
"What? What are you trying to say?"
But Simon's grip loosened.
His hand fell.
"SIMON!"
Rodriguez quickly checked his condition.
"He's unconscious. Keep moving!"
Jaspar and Preston carried him up the stairs.
Soma remained frozen for half a heartbeat before stumbling after them.
By the time they reached the medical wing, the physicians were already preparing a treatment chamber.
The healers took Simon from Preston and disappeared behind a set of reinforced doors.
A moment later, the glowing sigils above the entrance shifted from white to amber.
Emergency treatment.
No visitors.
Soma stood in the corridor.
His hands were shaking again.
He stared at them.
Only hours earlier, he'd watched a stranger die because he'd driven a sword through his throat.
Now his brother was lying behind those doors with a blade wound of his own.
The symmetry was unbearable.
Preston knelt in front of him.
"Soma."
He looked up.
His father's emerald eyes were wet.
That frightened him more than anything else.
"Is Simon going to die?"
Preston swallowed.
"I don't know."
Soma's throat tightened.
His father pulled him into an embrace.
For once, Soma didn't make a joke.
Didn't protest that he was too old to be held.
Didn't try to disguise his fear behind some clever remark.
He simply hugged his father.
Hard.
And wished, with a desperation he had never felt before, that knowing how to fight was the same thing as knowing how to keep someone alive.
Across the corridor, Jaspar stood beside the king and Cardinal Rodriguez.
Kara leaned against the wall, her hammer resting on the floor.
Nobody spoke for several minutes.
Finally, the king broke the silence.
"Four assassins entered our dungeons, murdered two guards, and nearly killed the Archduke's son."
Jaspar nodded.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"They escaped."
"Yes."
"And the person they were looking for wasn't there."
"That's what Vain claimed."
The king's expression darkened.
"Then we have two questions."
Jaspar waited.
"Who sent the bandits after Soma?"
The king looked toward the medical doors.
"And who sent The Righteous into our dungeons?"
Kara folded her arms.
"There's another question."
The king glanced at her.
"Go on."
"How the hell did four assassins get through the manor's security without raising an alarm until they reached the lower cells?"
Jaspar's face hardened.
"Someone knew the route."
"Or someone helped them," Kara replied.
The king closed his eyes.
For a moment, he looked far older than he had that morning.
Then he straightened.
"Lock down the estate. Nobody leaves without my authorization."
Jaspar saluted.
"Understood."
"And Captain?"
"Your Majesty?"
"I want answers."
The veteran's expression was grim.
"So do I."
Soma heard the orders from where he stood beside his father.
He looked toward the closed medical doors.
Simon had been accused.
Then he'd disappeared.
Now he'd been found bleeding in a dungeon filled with dead guards and assassins.
Samantha had been removed from her duties because someone suspected her.
Someone had tried to kidnap him.
And the bandit leader had witnessed the impossible secret flowing through his veins.
He thought about Vain's reaction to the mention of the captured bandit.
The man's confusion might have been genuine.
Or it might have been another performance.
Soma didn't know.
That uncertainty bothered him more than he'd expected.
For years, he'd believed that enough information could solve almost any problem.
Now he was discovering how dangerous incomplete information could become.
A single false assumption could send an innocent person to prison.
A delayed decision could cost someone their life.
And a clever theory meant absolutely nothing if he couldn't prove it.
He looked down at his hands.
I need to get stronger.
The thought came immediately.
But this time, it wasn't followed by excitement about new techniques or the next level of training.
He remembered Jaspar's warning.
Strength wasn't invincibility.
And strength alone wouldn't tell him who to trust.
He needed experience.
Judgment.
Patience.
The ability to recognize danger before it reached the people he loved.
Above all, he needed to understand the difference between what he knew and what he merely believed.
Soma clenched his fists.
The stitches along his side pulled painfully.
He relaxed his hands.
Right.
Step one: stop reopening my injuries every time I have a dramatic thought.
Despite everything, a faint smile crossed his face.
Igor would have called him a dumb little bastard.
And for once, the old man would have been completely right.
Soma looked toward the medical chamber again.
"Hang on, Simon," he whispered.
Beyond the doors, healers fought to save his brother's life.
Elsewhere in the manor, Samantha remained under suspicion.
And somewhere beyond Highmere, four members of The Righteous had vanished into the night.
The attack on the forest road had been only the beginning.
Tomorrow, the family would return to the situation room.
This time, Soma intended to listen very carefully.
Because somewhere among the missing pieces was a truth that someone had gone to extraordinary lengths to conceal.
And he was beginning to suspect that finding it might be every bit as dangerous as facing an enemy with a sword.