"A proposal, Your Majesty. If the kingdom faces multiple threats, we need accurate intelligence. I suggest an independent review of border security reports from all duchies, particularly those that have suffered recent attacks. This would help us identify patterns, assess vulnerabilities, and ensure our defenses are coordinated."
Vencian paused, his gaze steady.
"Such a review would include Monteluz, Angante, and any other region deed relevant. It would be conducted by neutral investigators appointed by the crown, ensuring transparency and impartiality."
Duke Hadethon nodded slowly. "A reasonable asure. Knowledge is the first line of defense."
General Herrera grunted in agreent. "Intelligence sharing has always been a weakness. This would address that."
Chancellor Varethion frowned. "Such a review would require significant resources. And cooperation from every duchy involved."
"I’m willing to cooperate fully," Vencian said. "House Vicorra’s records are open to inspection. I assu other houses feel the sa."
He turned to Montaro, his expression neutral. "After all, we all want the kingdom’s security strengthened. Don’t we, Your Grace?"
Montaro’s eyes were cold, but his voice remained smooth. "Of course. House Montaro has nothing to hide."
The king considered, his fingers drumming lightly on the table. "The proposal has rit. An independent review would provide clarity and strengthen coordination. I will appoint a committee to oversee the process."
He looked around the table. "Any objections?"
Silence.
"Then it’s decided." The king’s voice carried finality. "The review will begin within the month. All relevant duchies will submit their intelligence reports for examination."
Vencian inclined his head. "Thank you, Your Majesty."
The king stood, his chair scraping against the stone floor. "We have much work ahead. Let us proceed with diligence and unity."
The nobles rose in a wave of rustling fabric and shifting weight. Bows followed, stiff and formal, as King Valanoraths turned and walked toward the door. His guards fell in behind him, their footsteps synchronized and hollow.
One by one, the others filtered out. Duke Hadethon exchanged a few words with General Herrera near the doorway. Chancellor Varethion departed without looking back, his expression carved from ice. Montaro lingered near his seat, his gaze drifting across the table before settling briefly on Vencian. Then he too left, his movents unhurried.
Vencian moved toward Larion, who stood near the far wall, already turning to leave.
A hand landed on his shoulder.
Vencian looked down at it first. Broad fingers, age-spotted but firm. He followed the arm up to the face.
Duke Hadethon Dawnforge. Dark beard neatly trimd, eyes sharp beneath heavy brows. He smiled, though it carried the weight of authority rather than warmth.
"Lord Vicorra," Hadethon said, his voice low and steady. "Might I have a word with you before the evening concludes?"
Vencian hesitated, his gaze flicking past Hadethon toward Larion. The High Preceptor had reached the door, his hand on the fra.
"Of course, Your Grace," Vencian said, turning back to Hadethon. "I’m at your disposal."
"Good. Find later, then. I’ll be near the fountain terrace." Hadethon’s grip on Vencian’s shoulder tightened briefly, a gesture that felt both reassuring and binding. Then he released him and walked away, his boots heavy on the stone.
Vencian turned imdiately and crossed the room. Larion had already stepped into the corridor beyond. Vencian followed, quickening his pace.
"High Preceptor."
Larion paused but didn’t turn. His shoulders stiffened.
Vencian closed the distance. "I need to speak with you."
"Not here." Larion’s voice was clipped. He resud walking, his stride brisk and purposeful.
"Then where?"
"Nowhere. This is neither the ti nor the place for conversation, Lord Vicorra."
Vencian stayed beside him, matching his pace. "I’ll make it brief."
"You’ll make it nonexistent."
They turned down a narrower corridor, the walls lined with portraits of past High Preceptors. The air was cooler here, the sounds of the celebration distant and muffled.
Vencian moved ahead and stopped directly in Larion’s path.
Larion halted, his jaw tightening. "Step aside."
"Why shouldn’t I tell the crown the truth about Coriel?" Vencian’s voice was quiet but unyielding. "That it wasn’t the Hollow Apostolate. That it was soone else entirely."
Larion’s eyes narrowed. "You will not."
"Give a reason."
"Because I am ordering you not to."
"That’s not a reason. That’s a command."
Larion’s expression hardened. "Then consider it both."
Vencian didn’t move. "The king believes heretics massacred an entire village. He’s directing resources toward the Hollow Apostolate while the real culprits operate freely. You’re lying to the crown. Explain why."
For a mont, Larion said nothing. His gaze bored into Vencian, cold and calculating. Then he exhaled slowly, his shoulders lowering a fraction.
"Because the Church will handle them," Larion said. "The group responsible for Coriel is a problem we are already addressing. The crown doesn’t need to know. The crown needs to focus on the Hollow Apostolate, which is a far greater threat to the kingdom’s stability."
"So you’re using the crown as a tool."
"I’m ensuring resources are allocated where they’re most needed."
Vencian’s lips thinned. "That’s a convenient rationalization."
"It’s pragmatic." Larion’s tone grew sharper. "The Church has the ans to deal with the group that attacked Coriel. The crown does not. What the crown can do is suppress heretical uprisings before they spiral into civil war. That’s where their strength lies. I’m simply directing it appropriately."
"By lying."
"By prioritizing."
Vencian crossed his arms. "You’re asking to trust the Church while withholding the truth. That doesn’t inspire confidence, High Preceptor."
Larion’s expression darkened. "Your confidence is irrelevant. What matters is the kingdom’s survival."
"And if the Church fails? If this group continues unchecked?"
"They won’t."
"You’re certain of that?"
"Yes."
Vencian studied him, his thoughts churning. Larion’s confidence was absolute, unshaken. Either he genuinely believed the Church could handle the Pentarch, or he was hiding sothing deeper.
"Maybe the Church and this group are aligned," Vencian said quietly. "Maybe you’re protecting them because they serve the sa purpose."
Larion’s eyes flashed. "How dare you."
"How dare I what? Question the Church’s motives?"
"Suggest the Church would align itself with crooked thieves." Larion’s voice was low and dangerous. "We are nothing like them. Do you understand ? Nothing."
Vencian raised an eyebrow. "Crooked thieves?"
Larion realized his mistake too late. His mouth tightened.
"You know more than you’re telling ," Vencian said. "Explain yourself."
Larion’s silence stretched. Then he exhaled sharply and glanced down the corridor, ensuring they were alone.
"Fine," he said. "I’ll tell you what little I know. But you will not repeat this, and you will stay out of it. Agreed?"
Vencian said nothing, waiting.
Larion’s jaw worked. "The group responsible for Coriel calls itself the Pentarch. The Church has been tracking them for years. They’re collectors. Scavengers. They dig up relics and artifacts from eras that should remain buried. Things from before the Shift. Things that belong to dead gods and forgotten kingdoms."
Vencian kept his expression neutral, giving no indication that he already knew the na.
"The Pentarch moves in shadows," Larion continued. "They infiltrate, steal, and vanish. They’ve been targeting sites connected to the Sunsleep era. Coriel was one such site. They ca for a chalice, an artifact tied to an ancient ritual. Now that they have it, they’ll move on. They have no reason to bother you or anyone else connected to that village."
Vencian’s mind raced. The conversation he’d overheard while spying on Gundal ca back to him. An artifact from the Sunsleep era. The chalice. They’d been talking about the chalice.
But they didn’t have it.
The chalice had shattered. Or transford. Or rged with him. The Hollow Eater had called him the chalice itself, branded his palm with its mark. The sashed man and Jerenir had seen it. They knew.
Which ant the Pentarch didn’t have what they ca for. Which ant they would keep looking. Which ant Vencian was still a target.
He cursed inwardly. This was the worst possible outco.
"Understood," Vencian said aloud, his voice steady. "I’ll leave it alone."
Larion searched his face, suspicious. Then he reached into his coat and withdrew a small object. A coin, silver and smooth, engraved with a circular pattern that resembled interlocking rings.
He held it out. "Take this."
Vencian accepted it, turning it over in his palm. The tal was cool, faintly warm at the edges where the engraving caught the light.
"If you’re in danger," Larion said, "imbue your will into it. Think of . I’ll know. And I’ll co."
Vencian looked up. "Just like that?"
"Just like that." Larion’s expression softened slightly, though his tone remained firm. "I don’t trust you, Lord Vicorra. But I made a promise to protect you within the academy’s bounds. This extends that promise. Use it wisely."
Vencian slipped the coin into his pocket. "Thank you."
Larion nodded once, curt and formal. "Stay out of trouble. And stay away from Roselys."
Vencian studied him. "Is she here?"
"Yes," Larion said. "She arrived this morning."
So she ca after all. He thought in his mind and answered Larion instantly.
"I’ll keep my distance."
The high precepter turned and walked away, his footsteps fading into the distance.
Vencian stood alone in the corridor, the coin’s weight pressing against his thigh.
The engagent evening had only just begun.
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