The figure at the lectern shifted, and when she turned her head, Vencian finally saw her face clearly.
Roselys Marendil.
His pace slowed, though curiosity carried him forward.
"I told you, I would think about your offer. No need to stalk over it." He asked the mont the mont their eyes t.
Her nose scrunching up. The expression was too plain to mistake. It scread ’The audacity.’
Oh, co on.
He ignored the weight of it and slipped behind his usual shield. Shalessness could smooth over more than honesty ever would.
"I didn’t know you had passed the test for the fourth floor," she said, tone shifting from faint disapproval to surprise as she gathered the parchnts she’d been studying. "Color surprised."
"I know. I’m an overachiever."
Her eyes flicked to him, unimpressed. "Well, I can see that."
"I see."
He had no intention of getting into a prissy exchange of barbs with this woman, particularly one who supposedly want him in her dubious plans.
She turned slightly, tucking the last parchnt under her arm. "I’ll take my leave then."
He recalled their last eting. She had controlled the flow of the conversation, revealed only what she wanted too. If he wants to have so kind of control and leverage than her, he’ll need more than just scheduled etings.
Vencian tilted his head. "No, wait. I need sothing from you."
Roselys gave him a wary look. "What?"
"What do you know about rituals? I an the kind with patterns drawn in blood."
She reacted at once, pressing a finger to her lips and dragging him toward the shadow of a corner pillar. Her voice lowered to a sharp whisper. "You can’t talk about this in broad daylight."
He raised an eyebrow. "Wouldn’t it be more inappropriate if we talked alone at night? Considering our gender."
Roselys blinked, caught off guard. "Wha— That’s not what I ant. Bringing up subjects like this at all can be called heresy. Don’t you know that?"
"Of course I know."
The church of the True Light condemned anything resembling shamanic rites. In their scriptures, rituals were always linked to temptation, corruption, and the fall of man. Old practices were never portrayed as knowledge—only as gateways for ruin.
"Then why bring it up?" she asked, arms crossing over her chest.
"Didn’t know you were so afraid of the church," he said lightly.
Her jaw tightened. "I fear recklessness more than the church."
"I don’t need it for myself," he continued, lowering his voice as well. "Let’s call it a private investigation of mine."
It was only half true: curiosity dressed up as caution, a question tossed out carelessly—just to see how far she’d lean, and what she’d let slip.
She stared at him, lips pressing into a thin line. "That’s the kind of answer people give before they disappear into madness. Do you even know what usually happens in those so-called investigations?"
He kept silent, letting her fill the space.
"Failure cases are everywhere in the records. Drawn patterns that burned straight into the skin of the scribe. Blood that was swallowed instead of received, as if the ritual itself rejected them. And madness when the channel opened to sothing they couldn’t hold." Her tone stayed low, but each word carried a certain weight. "Those who survived were no longer people. You can’t call them that after their minds snapped."
Vencian tapped his finger once against the stone pillar. "Then you admit so of them survived."
Her eyes narrowed. "You heard the rest of what I said."
"Of course. But fragnts of success matter more to than the endless stories of failure."
Roselys exhaled, the sound closer to resignation than agreent. "I’m not an expert. But I do have notes. Records of people who attempted such things. If you want the origins, that’s harder. I can lend the notes later."
"That would be appreciated." He leaned slightly against the pillar. "Why were you here anyway?"
Her expression shifted to contemplation. After a brief pause, she seed to make up her mind.
"Well, you’ll know soon enough anyways." A faint breath escaped her before she continued. "I wanted to check whether this archive has anything predating Ilvor Therix."
"Why?"
"Because I suspect the ruin we’ll be investigating belongs to an era before his."
We? She talks as if I’d already agreed to her plan.
Vencian pondered but didn’t voice it out.
He nodded slowly, filing the thought away.
Roselys leaned back against the pillar, arms still crossed. "If you were listening when you spied on last ti, then you should already know. I inherited so of Danis Belwyn’s notes. She was my ntor. Among them were several pieces of evidence pointing to the sa conclusion."
Vencian tilted his head. "Which is?"
"That the church is keeping certain knowledge buried. Entire passages about pre-Ilvor history are missing. When people like Belwyn pieced fragnts together, they found themselves marked."
He frowned. "Fragnts? Then what exactly did those notes say?"
Her eyes darted toward the lectern across the chamber before returning to him. "If you rember what I said before, the church has gone out of its way to keep that period sealed. And one more thing—its rise to influence started after Ilvor Therix’s death. You think that timing is a coincidence?"
Vencian felt the thought press in. The True Light condemned rituals, shamanic practices, all of it. But to erase history wholesale? That was different.
Roselys’s voice carried a quiet edge. "They seldom block access directly. Instead, they slander the seekers. Anyone who cos to Quesil Migdol too often is whispered about. Labeled a danger. And if extremists hear, the consequences beco real."
Vencian tapped his thumb once against his knee. Extremists. That part I believe.
His family had never been pulled into the church’s grip. The south didn’t worship with the sa fervor as the north. His mother was the exception. She ca from the Noriel bloodline and carried their habits into his upbringing. If anything, her persistence had been more of a nuisance than faith.
Maybe that’s why she actually dared to approach so straightforwardly.
His eyes returned to Roselys. Last ti his vision had been drained of color, the world washed out by the pact’s toll. He hadn’t noticed her properly then. Up close, he saw it. Her eyes carried a distinct pink shade, rare in Airantis. Her hair matched his own, though hers was finer, falling loose where she had forgotten to tie it back.
She didn’t look like a native of this kingdom. More like soone who could have co from the southern countries across the straits.
The observation pulled another thought to the surface. Her surna. Marendil.
"Your grandfather," Vencian said, watching her carefully. "Matheor Marendil. He’s the one rumored to have climbed higher than almost anyone before."
Her jaw stiffened, but she didn’t deny it.
Matheor’s na carried weight. He was rembered as a scholar who broke through where others failed. But in the church’s circles, the whispers called him heretic. Once the rumor spread that he had unlocked a floor never seen before, he was said to have left on a pilgrimage. No one saw him again.
Vencian recalled the stories—part reverence, part warning. Those loyal to the True Light painted his disappearance as divine punishnt. Others claid he had gone too far, that the tower itself consud him.
"And now," Vencian muttered under his breath, "his son stands as High Preceptor, suspected of allying with the sa church that branded the father a heretic."
His gaze shifted back to Roselys. "While the daughter investigates behind his back."
The irony wasn’t lost on him. A family split in three directions—one chasing knowledge, another bending to power, and the last trying to reconcile what was left. Strange, though fitting, in its own way.
But that was not his concern. What unsettled him was the way she spoke now—unguarded, unlike before. He could not explain why, in their last conversation, he had not pressed her as hard. Her request seed certain to run against her father’s will. He could extract the information he needed and blackmail her in her father’s na.
Yet, for reasons he could not define, the thought carried the sa weight as when Roselys first proposed her bargain—a heavy sense of distrust, a warning that it would be the wrong move.
Noticing the silence stretch, he shifted the subject to sothing unrelated to her.
He leaned his shoulder into the pillar. "The tower itself complicates matters. From the outside, everyone sees a fixed height. But inside, the floors never end. No one knows the true count."
Roselys gave a small nod. "And those who climb higher make a pact. They sign a contract with the tower’s consciousness after passing each floor. It binds them, limits what they can share."
"Unless it’s with soone who’s cleared the sa floor," Vencian said.
"Yes. Then they may compare what was shown to them. But hierarchy never fades. Those above know more and remain silent. Always silent."
Vencian rubbed his knuckles along his jaw. The tower gave knowledge yet barred it from spreading freely, a gatekeeper deciding the order of learning. That silence was more dangerous than any book burned by the church.
Vencian’s thoughts drifted while she spoke of hierarchy and silence. She had the notes, the background, the lineage. He had his own hunt for answers. Of course she would use him the sa way he planned to use her. That much is certain.
Roselys’s eyes shifted, catching sothing in his expression. She didn’t bother to soothe it. "You think I’m hiding knives behind my back. Maybe I am. The difference between us is that I’m honest about needing help. You’re still pretending you have other options when we both know you don’t."
Her words weren’t defensive. They were weary, more admission than threat.
The difference is I know what happens when you trust the wrong person. You apparently haven’t learned that lesson yet.
He mused but decided to give a neutral reply. "Fair enough. Though I’d argue there’s a difference between having options and having good ones."
A faint crease touched her brow, though she didn’t answer right away. When she finally spoke, her voice was low. "We may end up needing each other. But that doesn’t an we should trust each other."
"On that, at least, we agree." Vencian allowed himself the smallest of smiles as single thought ford inside his mind.
I’m sorry, Roselys. But whatever your intentions toward are, I can’t trust them. So just give the information I need as soon as possible, and you won’t find by your side anymore.
The parchnts at his side rustled faintly in the still chamber. For now, that fragile understanding was all they had.
Reviews
All reviews (0)