It took a day and a half before the Azure Knights were able to search the catacombs and find the hidden chamber.

  Ailn knew they were extensive, but studying the map clued him into how lucky Ceric really was. The man had strayed from both the access tunnels that went straight to the surface, and the string-marked paths the criminal ring had made. He’d been wandering completely aimlessly through a tunnel system whose labyrinthine paths sprawled for hundreds of miles.

  They found the chamber by cross-referencing Ceric’s vague recollections with landmarks on an old map, back from when the catacombs were still a limestone quarry.

  “Kylian, is alchemy a legitimate discipline?” Ailn asked. He’d sketched the elaborate alchemical circle at the center of the chamber.

  “It’s supposed to be hogwash,” Kylian said. “Even with the scant evidence procured from the chamber, however, it would seem…”

  Besides Ailn, the remaining knight officers and Kylian were seated in the council room. Emergency missives had been dispatched, but Sigurd and Sophie had yet to return from the northern wall.

  Sat on the long table was the obsidian jar which Ceric had found in the chamber. Inside the jar was strips of… something. They had the texture of coal, but the striations of meat—and they gave off a constant waft of miasma.

  With what they’d seen, they could only speculate as to the activities that took place in the chamber. But it was clear that the contents of the jars were the ultimate result.

  There was a central alchemy circle drawn with chalk, and above it a huge hook—the kind from which you’d hang meat about to be butchered.

  A ventilation shaft ran downward, faintly carrying the sound of an underground stream below. Iron grates, with thin interlocking bars, were laid across the top. It was hard for Ailn to see it as anything except the racks you’d use to dry jerky.

  And… at the back of the chamber were holding cells.

  "Right now," Ailn said, his jaw beginning to set, "as much as I’d like to turn over every stone, the smartest move is to hire a team of surveyors. We need a complete map of the catacombs, with the walls physically marked into distinct sections. Pull half—no, a full dozen knights from the northern wall to guard them. Just to be safe."

  “That seems… quite reasonable,” Dartune nodded.

  “Is there anyone at the cathedral who can study the jar contents?” Ailn asked.

  "I would be surprised if they could offer meaningful assistance," Fontaine remarked. "And I say that not merely as an Azure Knight, but as sergeant-prior.”

  “The closest discipline would be the mages,” Kylian said, sounding certain.

  “Mages?” Ailn rubbed his forehead, and light consternation entered his expression. He’d lost sleep over this. “The ones from El Dorado?”

  “Vilesyel Dorado, Your Highness,” Kylian corrected him. “Mages are not the legendary magi.” He paused a moment, considering whether to elaborate. “They’re…”

  “Poseurs and imitateurs,” Dartune interrupted with a scoff.

  “Right,” Ailn blinked a few times, and rubbed some dirt out of his eye. “I remember you mentioning a magic tower now. Could we hire researchers?”

  “It would… be costly, but it’s possible,” Kylian said.

  “Are there any mages in the empire at all who would owe Varant a favor?”

  “The Fleuve family has skilled mages,” Fontaine offered. “They don’t ‘owe Varant’ perse—they are, however, the highest nobility with territory in the duchy.”

  “Are they vassals?” Ailn asked.

  Fontaine brows furrowed, as he seemed to find this a complicated question. “They’re an autonomous ter—”

  “Yes, for God’s sake,” Dartune rolled his eyes. “We are their benefactors.”

  “The distinction would be subtle,” Fontaine admitted. “...I’ll warn you, however, not to say the quiet truth out loud. A summons may be in order; as the new duke, you would be obliged a visit from Count Fleuve at any rate. It wouldn’t be seen as impertinent, especially since Sussuro is a mere five days’ ride—”

  “...Sussuro?” Ailn’s eyes narrowed. “The Fleuve county contains Sussuro?”

  “Sussuro is the seat of the count, yes.”

  “Then I’ll pay them a visit myself,” Ailn said. He didn’t exactly look refreshed, but some of the tiredness left his eyes. “Lucky me.”

  Looks like he wouldn’t have to put off the hunt for Noué’s vault.

  Renea scowled, thinking about the last shock of a few days ago.

  On the balance, it had still been a thrilling experience, but she wished it hadn’t left such a bitter taste in her mouth.

  She couldn’t pretend it hadn’t scared her. Rather, Renea was almost shocked by how visceral her reaction was. Even that night, she woke up with a sweat when she imagined Noué’s mummy, with its face set in the facsimile of a scream.

  Noué got one last scare on Renea and Ciecout: when they ran up from the lower chamber, Renea nearly slipped on a powdery substance. It clung to the hem of her dress—and when she looked closer, she realized it was from a desiccated arm that had crumbled upon hitting the floor.

  Despite the growing dread pooling in her stomach, Renea couldn’t help but crane her neck. Pure, no longer ‘debased’ by a false eye and an artificial leg, Noué Areygni did in fact rise again—her corpse had risen straight to the upper chamber, where it took the place of The Weighing of the Heart.

  Now everything in the upper chamber was three-dimensional.

  The artist had apparently not realized just how fragile her body would be after three centuries; one arm survived, the tenuous grip of its dried out hand barely clutching a glinting something.

  That glinting something, Renea was holding right now.

  It was a perspective finder—the kind beginner artists used. Crafted from hand-blown glass, it wasn’t perfectly flat but was so close to it that the fine craftsmanship was evident. Gold filigree made its frame, while gold leaf filled in its etched grid lines.

  At the bottom were the words ‘home sweet home,’ etched in the same delicate manner, shimmering soft and aureate.

  They’d found another hint, before they left the cathedral, by examining Noué's portrait through its lens.

  There were fishing poles in the background.

  When Renea had first looked at the portrait, she’d been so mesmerized by the sight of Noué herself, that she’d barely registered the painting’s backdrop. It wasn’t rare for portraits to be staged in quaint settings, irrelevant to the subject’s life—the dark wood walls and hearth behind Noué certainly gave off that impression.

  But the couple of fishing poles leaning against the rope-wrapped stand next to the door—ready to grab at a moment’s notice—suggested a real home.

  And according to Ciecout, Noué Areygni hailed from Sussuro, the city on the river that also happened to be the economic capital of the eum-Creid duchy.

  “I didn’t realize she was born in Sussuro,” Renea muttered, admiring the perspective finder. “I wonder if that’s too obvious, though…?”

  Unfortunately, they wouldn’t have the irascible priest’s assistance for the journey. By repeatedly bringing outsiders into the cathedral’s crypt, Ciecout had earned the bishop’s ire—and for the foreseeable future would be leading liturgies morning and evening, seven days a week.

  It certainly had not helped his case that he’d surreptitiously let Ailn take the portrait.

  “What’s your smile mean, Noué…?” Renea asked.

  Renea sat cross-legged on her bed, perspective finder raised to her eye as she examined Noué’s portrait once more. She’d rolled it out onto a trestle table she’d dragged next to her bed in the lord’s chamber.

  “Somehow it feels different with that little bit of context…” Renea muttered. “Was it a happy place for her…?” Her gaze halted. A chill ran down her spine. “Huh?”

  She moved the perspective finder away from her eye then back again. In. Then out. Then in again. Each time she looked through it, Noué’s eyes seemed to flick upward.

  Such a small thing. Yet it was as mesmerizing as it was creepy. Renea was so caught up in the subtle flutter of Noué’s gaze that she nearly missed the soft footfalls of someone entering the lord’s chamber.

  It was Sophie. And she flinched at the sight of Renea.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  “Welcome back,” Renea said, letting the perspective finder drop, and clutching her arm.

  Sophie didn’t say anything, but she was biting her lip. Their beds were right next to each other’s, and Sophie evidently wanted to avoid a conversation enough that she was about to simply leave.

  But Renea stopped her.

  “Sophie, please,” Renea said, firmly. Then her voice softened. “I want to know what you’re thinking.”

  “... You confuse me as well,” Sophie said tersely. However brief her utterance, she couldn’t keep the emotion out of her voice.

  Aldous’s execution was a but a few days away. And Sophie and Renea simply couldn’t see eye to eye on the matter of her administering his last rites.

  Sophie had been so adamant, in fact, that when she hadn’t been able to convince Renea she tried to sidestep her completely, attempting to invoke her authority as Saintess apparent to forcibly prevent Renea from attending.

  “Sophie… why did you do that?” Renea asked. “You know as well as I, that it’s not right.”

  “I simply don’t understand,” Sophie gave an exasperated groan, “why you insist on seeing that man.”

  “That doesn’t give you the right to prevent me,” Renea said.

  “Why shouldn’t I stop my sister from inflicting harm upon herself?” Sophie asked, her voice sharp. “He doesn’t deserve your presence.”

  “...Even Aldous deserves last rites, Sophie,” Renea said. “It’s his last chance to make his peace with God.”

  “But why must it be you?” Sophie retorted.

  Renea clutched her arm more fiercely. She didn’t have a counterpoint on hand. “That—you still don’t have the right to stop me, Sophie.” Her voice was quiet and sad.

  “Aldous is—” Sophie’s voice dropped off with a desperate tone.

  Her father.

  Sophie couldn’t even finish the sentence. From the way she avoided eye contact, it was evident even she thought it was childish. Aldous being her father didn’t give her any sort of ownership over him.

  Still, Renea understood her feelings. She would’ve been angrier, except she knew Sophie’s emotions were even more complicated than hers.

  “...What are you trying to do, Renea?” Sophie stood there, awkward and unmoving, unwilling to step closer to the bed. Her nervous energy translated into her right hand unconsciously tugging at the fabric of the Saintess robe.

  Renea didn’t know, really.

  She didn’t want to see Aldous again. And given his attitude during the inquisition, Renea had her doubts that it would bring her closure. The knight would likely have more sharp words, more venom.

  But she’d always done it. It was one of the few things she could still do, as last rites could be performed by anyone who knew the custom.

  To Renea, the matter seemed settled now that Ailn had approved her request. Yet Sophie’s demeanor—more anxious than angry or domineering—worried her. Sophie, usually so combative, now looked cornered, vulnerable in a way Renea hadn’t expected.

  “Why are you so insistent, Sophie?” Renea asked, her voice softer. “I don’t… understand what you’re feeling.”

  “I don’t want you to be—!” Sophie started, but her voice faltered as a lump caught in her throat. She stopped, turning her face away, unable to meet Renea’s gaze. It wasn’t just avoiding eye contact anymore; she was hiding her face while she admitted the truth.

  “When that man dies,” Sophie’s voice was hoarse, “I want him to be alone.”

  Renea didn’t know what to say.

  Ailn and Kylian ascended the winding steps of the tower where Aldous was being kept. The castle had lacked a proper dungeon ever since the old one had been repurposed into a kennel.

  In light of that, the knights had deemed it safer to keep Aldous confined in the high tower. A knight as formidable as Aldous certainly couldn’t be kept in Varant’s common prison. Nearly a dozen knights accompanied each meal delivery, though Aldous had yet to make any attempt at escape.

  “She… withdrew her request?” Ailn asked. He was genuinely surprised.

  “It would appear so,” Kylian said. “Which means your current visit—”

  “Will be the last time Aldous ever speaks to a eum-Creid, huh?” Ailn muttered.

  “I would be remiss not to ask, Ailn. Are you at ease meeting him?” Kylian raised an eyebrow. “Bear in mind, I’m in no way calling you fragile. It’s merely that… the man did try to kill you.”

  “The knights chained him up, right?” Ailn shrugged. “Should be fine.”

  The oak door at the top of the tower was best described as stout. Just seven feet tall, and half a foot wider than typical, a thick iron bolt stretched across its width, while doubled sets of iron bands ran across its diagonals. Three of the strongest knights stood outside, waiting for Ailn’s arrival—including Sir Dartune and Sir Reynard.

  “Your Highness,” Dartune greeted him respectfully. “Allow us to accompany you into the prison chamber, and ensure your safety.”

  Whatever petty grievances the knights held against Ailn, this part of their duty they took seriously. More than a few would have relished seeing him stripped of his title, but none would tolerate a threat to his safety—not now that he was the duke.

  “Appreciated, Sir Dartune,” Ailn said. “My business with Aldous will be quick.”

  With a nod, Dartune gave a glance to the other two knights, who worked in concert to unlock the bolt. Reynard gripped the bolt’s lever and heaved it upward with a grunt. The rotation revealed another handle, which a second knight grasped with both hands.

  Together, they slid the bolt just a foot before releasing it, the heavy iron bar setting into a different notch with a metallic clunk. Then, Dartune pushed against the unlocked door, his muscles straining with the effort.

  It was half a minute of screeching iron and groaning wood before the knights opened the chamber door—a testament to its security—and Ailn was stunned to realize the door was nearly a foot thick.

  Waiting inside was Aldous, hands manacled to his seat of granite, each ankle chained to the stone wall behind him.

  The knights entered before Ailn, positioning themselves at Aldous’s sides, ready to seize him should he escape his bonds by some miracle. Two stood at Aldous’s side, ready to grab his arms should some miracle release him from his bonds. Dartune and Kylian remained at Ailn’s sides, a step ahead, ready to shield their liege if necessary.

  “Greetings, Your Grace,” Aldous said. “Or is it Your Highness now?”

  “Call me whatever you want, Aldous. Whatever you’re comfortable with,” Ailn said, scanning the chamber, and eyeing Aldous’s arms and legs. “Looks like they’re treating you pretty well here. Is that why you were so cooperative?”

  The chamber was several degrees colder than the tower’s base, but that couldn’t be helped; rushes scattered across the floor indicated basic efforts were made for the prisoner’s comfort, and Aldous himself was dressed in a tunic and trousers of coarse wool.

  It was better than a burlap sack, at least.

  Given how strong Aldous was, it should’ve taken half a dozen men to restrain him, but there weren’t any signs of bruising around his limbs. He must have let himself be chained willingly.

  A glimmer entered Aldous’s eye.

  “Now, Dartune! Seize him!” Aldous shouted.

  Ailn’s pulse spiked. His hand shot to the hilt of his blade—the other knights followed suit. Heads snapped toward Dartune, whose face twisted first in confusion, then annoyance.

  “Oh, do you truly believe I would?!” Dartune snapped.

  Ailn let out a long sigh as Aldous’s laugh echoed through the chamber.

  “I’ve no reason to fight,” Aldous said, still chuckling. “With my sentence uttered, my honor is forfeit; delaying my death matters little to me.”

  “...I can see you didn’t spend the winter in penance,” Ailn said. He gestured to Kylian, who unhooked a leather pouch from his belt, and removed the obsidian jar. Ailn took the jar, pulling the stopper free, and let the miasma billow out.

  Dartune and Kylian had already seen it, but instinctively tensed nonetheless. The other two knights’ eyes widened in shock.

  Ailn reached inside, his stomach rolling as he removed the bizarre ‘shadow meat.’ Divine blessing or not, even he had an instinctive physical repulsion.

  “Recognize this, Aldous?” Ailn asked. Aldous’s brows knitted, but a subtle arch in them revealed his surprise. Then there was a flicker of amusement.

  “How could I not?” Aldous murmured, his tone somehow both soft and sharp, his emotions elusive. “Had you uncovered this sooner, your sister might have been spared her tears.”

  “Who gave it to you, Aldous?” Ailn asked, ignoring the gibe. “How does an Azure Knight stumble upon a substance like this?”

  Aldous’s lips pursed, and he stared into the distance as he considered how to answer the question.

  “We’ve found your conspirators,” Ailn lied. “Every single one of them, down in the catacombs, and they’ve singled you out as the ringleader.”

  Taking a moment to process Ailn’s probing lie, Aldous just chuckled.

  “My bones are too weary to play games, Your Grace,” Aldous said. “Whoever you speak of—if they even exist—I have only the faintest relation.” Somber and dry, he looked Ailn in the eye. “Sir Envont approached me as I was visiting Celine’s grave.”

  Ailn glanced at Kylian, whose eyes turned sharp.

  “Sir Envont, whose disappearance you testified you had no hand in?” Kylian asked. He stared gravely into the eyes of his former mentor.

  “As I still do,” Aldous said, his eyes dull. “As I said, he approached me. He spoke cryptically to me, asking if I had any desire to grasp revenge. To acknowledge the darkest whispers from the echoes of my heart.”

  “And you said yes?” Ailn asked.

  “I said I would strike him down where he stood if he ever again presumed himself privy to my mind,” Aldous grunted. His expression was one of mild repulsion as his eyes drifted in memory. “He responded timidly, as such a man would, and retreated from my sight.”

  His pupils halted, as if he’d caught sight of something in remembrance. “Then, whence next I visited Celine’s grave… there was an obsidian jar sitting upon it. The moment I had opened it, miasma escaped. It was not hard to determine the nature of the jar’s contents.”

  Then Aldous met Ailn’s gaze once again. “I visited the kennel, intending to demand an explanation from the pathetic drunkard. And what should I find except that he has disappeared? The mutts within left unattended. In my hands, the jar filled a meat-like substance that reeked of the miasma.” His face remained impassive. “I’m certain you can infer the rest of the tale.”

  “...Should I trust you on this, Aldous?” Ailn asked. “Tell me.”

  “Young master, what reason have I to avoid complicity in Sir Envont’s disappearance?” Aldous asked. “Will I hang any gentler for it?”

  First, Ailn’s eyes reflected a moment of quiet analysis—a judgment of whether or not to take Aldous at his word. With a nod, he evidently accepted what Aldous said. After that, however, his expression tightened. His eyes flared momentarily, before turning cold.

  “Were you aware,” Ailn said, flicking his wrist to gesture at the strange, meat-like strip of shadow in his hand, “that humans were possibly slaughtered for this, Aldous?”

  For once, outright shock flashed across Aldous’s face. However fast it settled, none in the chamber missed it.

  “...I was not,” Aldous said. “That is the truth.”

  Ailn’s face slowly smoothed into neutrality. “...Alright then. It wouldn’t have changed anything, anyway.” With a grimace, he put the dark substance back into the obsidian jar, and replaced the stopper. “You know, Aldous, there’s one thing I just don’t get about you. No matter how you felt about Renea… did you really think Celine would forgive you for what you did?”

  “I never intended to meet her,” Aldous said dryly.

  Their conversation was at its end.

  Ailn handed the jar back to Kylian, walking toward the door without another word. The knights followed suit, heaving it open with a pull. But just before Ailn crossed the threshold, his steps faltered, knowing it was pointless—yet still, he asked.

  “Do you have anything at all to say to Sophie? A few kind words here could better your daughter’s life. Anything, Aldous.”

  Aldous’s expression didn’t change at all.

  “If I falsely claimed to care about that girl, Ailn,” Aldous replied, “do you truly think she would believe it?”

  “...I suppose you’re right,” Ailn said.

  He walked out, the knights following as they released the heavy, groaning oak. The door slowly ground to a close, and without looking back Ailn gave him a few final words.

  “See you then, Aldous.”

  The door slammed shut, the sound echoing down the tower as Ailn descended.