They let him rest, cold and alone, guarded by impassive Silvermoon guards who knew their orders and did not care anything about what happened to a lone priest. And Eonthane slept, exhausted, and was troubled by his dreams once again. The river again, as always, only it was dark and he drifted near the bottom of it, feeling like he was being washed out to sea in a murky tide of thick liquid that wasn't fluid enough to be water… he saw the faces of those he'd killed, of the paladin he'd murdered in Tranquillien, and woke with a scream.

It dissolved into a hacking cough, for his interrogator had woken him by a sharp kick to the ribs. The priest doubled over, feeling some of his wounds open again and swam on the edge of consciousness, wondering how long he could keep this up. But did he have a choice? Would they give him one? Of course not.

"Raineigh and Natalyia," he said simply, "Go over everything you know about them again."

What was this? Eonthane struggled to stand but was quickly knocked back to his knees by a well-aimed blow.

"Stay where you are, dog," the man snapped, "Two of our guards are dead. Tell us about the Forsaken beast."

"De-dead?"

The interrogator's lips twisted into a thin smile.

"They were sent by your leader to find you, apparently. Magister Akedas did not appreciate their harassment, especially at so late an hour, and so called for the guards to have them removed. Apparently your… Remnants of Honor… cannot handle diplomatic releations without the use of violence. And if that's how your guild works then that's how they shall be treated."

No. No. They didn't do this. Eonthane groaned and clutched at his head, his long hair a tangled mess. He had to think but it was difficult – he had to think. For their sakes. What did he know of the two? Rain, he knew much, but Natalyia, not as much. He could use that to his advantage perhaps.

He focused on what he had been given. The hurt, the misery… and used it hone his mind. It was a trick he had learned, drawing from the suffering of others, and now he would use it to focus his own. Give him a chance to think and possibly feed this man some lies.

"Natalyia… is unstable," he finally said, "A Forsaken warlock… what do you expect? I'm amazed Nastin sent her, but he has never been known for his good judgment, only for his overwhelming sense of trust for others."

The man wouldn't give him anything. He'd have to guess. Raineigh knew better. She had a sharp tongue on her and so did Akedas but she would not be the one start a fight. Not at all.

"Raineigh can be controlled – easily," Eonthane finally said, "I've done much the same."

The interrogator's expression changed from hostility to curiosity and allowed Eonthane to continue with a slight nod.

"She is prone to the arcane addiction – I have mentioned this before. I have threatened her with it, used it to control her as I wished… keep her silent about some things… and I could easily do the same again. Just give her to me as a spy and I'll be able to get her to do anything you want."

"She will be our spy," the interrogator corrected, "We do not trust you either, Eonthane."

The priest's lips narrowed. Well, it was something. He could still work with this.

"And the Forsaken?"

"Unstable. But Raineigh wishes to protect everyone and that too can be used. If you kill her, Raineigh and I have far too much to answer to. Better to silence her, keep her magic – which she cannot control – bound and under control. Raineigh holds the same delusions as Nastin and will do anything to protect her friend, even one that hast lost her sanity beyond the point of redemption."

The interrogator studied Eonthane for a moment. It was hard not to tremble. That was a lie. He knew little of Natalyia… but the Sin'dorei knew of Eonthane's past. They would use that.

"And she wishes to protect you."

Eonthane nodded slightly. The man stood and smiled broadly, looking down at Eonthane like one would a favored dog. Eonthane felt the hate twist in his gut and he breathed slowly. He could not touch the shadow magic here – the room was warded – but he longed for it keenly. It burned for him.

Then he was left alone again, to wait, to wonder, and to know that there were two more lives he'd destroyed. Willingly, yes, but what unnerved him the most was that this time he had done it out of desperation, in an attempt to save him. He had lied about Natalyia. And he felt very cold, knowing that some line had been crossed and that there would be consequences beyond just what he had done.

The priests were methodical in their ways. The guards bound Natalyia so that she could not fight back. They traced the rune in blood against her skin, cold-eyed and uncaring, and invoked the arcane arts. It wrapped around her voice, around her magic, binding her to silence. It was a simple shadow spell, one that Eonthane knew well. He had cast it many times, a crude burst meant only to interrupt for a few seconds. This was more elaborate, more permanent, and fueled by Silvermoon's elite.

They did not question. What must be done must be done and the integrity of the city was first and foremost.

They were just as cold and uncaring with Raineigh. Again, the guards held her and the rune was drawn in blood. There was a small hesitation from those performing the spell, a quiet sense of unease, for all felt keenly what it was they were about to. Another priestly spell, meant to drain the victim of their mana until none was left… only prolonged over the space of a month. It was a cruel spell and briefly they wondered what this girl had done to deserve such a thing. But again, they did not question.

"Natalyia has been silenced," Akedas told Eonthane, who sat up against the wall, feeling keenly his injuries. He had not been allowed to heal himself, nor had anyone given him any relief, "She will not speak of what has happened. In turn she will be used as a means of keeping Raineigh silent – if the girl speaks of any of this the Forsaken will die. I'm sure you know we have our methods."

"I do," Eonthane replied, "Our dear sister employs them."

Akedas's lip's tightened. Here it was again.

"You were supposed to be better than this."

"Oh, I know," the priest replied, "I was going to redeem our name. A pity it didn't work out that way. I suppose you're still bitter that your own magic is only half-rate and the only person with true talent among our household rejected carrying on the family line… our elder sister will not marry… our younger will marry into someone else's household because everyone abandoned us when our parent's left… whose fault was that? I recall the eldest being the head-"

His brother struck him then. For a moment Eonthane could only gasp, his fingers up against the split lip and feeling the blood that trickled forth.

"You're a disgrace," Akedas said tightly, "Yes, I had hoped that you would somehow redeem our family line. Restore it to what it once was. Instead, you leave Silvermoon and squander your talents on the Remnants. You're nothing but a traitor and a murderer."

Eonthane found the strength to stand. He faced his brother, his eyes burning.

"The Remnants was more of a home than you ever provided, dear brother," he hissed, "You have driven us all away, one by one. I'm not surprised you resort to force, when you know everything is slipping away and no one – not even your own kin – will help you. May the sa'Lara name rot."

Akedas took a step back. Glanced at the guards and then back at Eonthane.

"I do not wish to listen to him any longer," he said casually, "See to it the priest learns proper respect when addressing a Magister. That is all."

And he turned to leave as the guards closed in, Eonthane pressed against the wall, feeling the cold stone against his back and the tightening of his lungs in anticipation.

Nothing would ever be the same.