h

by freesayan

h

5. e

46

Awards Banquet

Bale crept along the ground with a contingent of two-dozen soldiers, keeping to the darkness as best as they could. In front of them, the thick wall of Karad stood imposingly. Behind them, 10,000 Norshewan soldiers hid patiently in the woods. Lights illuminated the top of the castle over the fortification above them.

Bale stopped for a moment behind a large boulder and used his spyglass to scan the base of the rampart ahead. Most of the wall looked identical. Smooth stones stacked in rows to the top, but a darker section formed a small alcove ahead of them. Bale motioned for the rest to follow as he continued.

The opening itself was small—not even as high as his chin. Unless someone knew to look for it, it would be easy to miss. Bale had to crouch while turning sideways to fit. A body-length into the space, the path ended abruptly at a thick iron gate. It was so dark that Bale didn't even see it until he ran into it.

He fumbled in the dark until he found the thick lock that hung from the latch. As he turned it, the clasp swiveled easily. It was unlocked, just as he was promised it would be.

Veron walked through the gates of the castle for the second time in his life. The sky was dark, but the rooms and courtyards inside the walls were lit in festive anticipation of a banquet. He felt overly fancy in his blue and black puffy outfit. The only reason he wore it was because Henry and Greta worked on it all day, insisting he have nice, new clothes for the banquet. The white-striped sleeves looked like balloons. The high, itchy collar wouldn't stay, no matter how often he tried to push it down. He did like the black velvet pants though, which tucked into the high boots he recently purchased.

After a day of rest, the pain in his leg was practically gone. He tried to forget about Chloe as he approached the castle alone. Having a day to work through the disappointment helped, but seeing other merchants with their wives, dressed up and happy, made the hurt fresh. Veron tried to think the best about her, but he knew it would take a while to get past it.

Veron only saw the grounds outside the last time he was there, so getting to enter the castle itself was exciting. It did not disappoint. The grand foyer was intricately ornate, boasting elaborately curved gold and silver designs on the walls. Expensive, polished marble covered the floor, and a grand staircase ran up both sides of the room and met at the top.

He made his way through the castle, marveling at every doorway he came to, each opening to a new and exciting room. Following the other guests, Veron arrived at the castle's banquet hall, and his mouth dropped. The ceiling was easily six times his height. Four separate enormous tables

spread throughout the room, each set for thirty to forty guests. Large paintings covered the wall, and a fire roared at both ends of the hall, keeping the large space warm.

A few dozen people mingled, but the room felt empty. I guess not everyone arrives on time for these things, Veron thought as he traded polite greetings with other guests. So far, he didn't know anyone.

While he waited, his curiosity led him out an open door to the side of the room into the hallway beyond. No guards stopped him, so he figured he was allowed to explore. The hallways were maze-like, connecting to other hallways that led to others. He had no idea where any of them went.

A sunny looking room with yellow walls caught his eye. Filled with expensive chairs and rugs, the space boasted a large window that spanned the entire wall and looked onto the castle courtyard below. The room was large and ornately decorated but felt intimate and inviting at the same time.

If I lived in the castle, I would spend most of my time here.

Veron followed a stone staircase up to see where it led. Each floor opened on a new and unexplored hallway. Three floors up, the stairs stopped, and he exited through the open doorway. A blast of wind hit him as he stepped outdoors atop a high structure.

I'm on the city wall! Veron thought as he walked to the edge of the battlement and set his hands on the thick stone.

In the darkness, little was visible as he gazed through the crenel out over the land. Spots of light dotted the area, identifying small villages or individual houses. Leaning through the opening over the edge, he looked down. At first, Veron thought he saw dark shapes on the ground at the base of the wall, disappearing into the structure. When he squinted to try to see better, he decided it was nothing.

Veron moved to the opposite edge of the wall, and the beauty of the city struck him. The towers of the castle rose high above him, but around them, he saw the entire wall of Karad with the river making up the far side. In the middle, like a bowl, rested the order and chaos that was Karad. The streetlamps and lights in windows made the city glow. He smiled at the grandeur.

A dark spot in the Bottoms next to the river indicated where the old mill was. I wonder if anyone's found the bodies yet? Veron pictured the gruesome scene. Three people who were alive yesterday no longer live because of me. I only killed them in self-defense—no, that's not entirely true. I killed them because I wanted them dead.

A rush of wind flowed over the wall, causing him to shiver, so he made his way back down the stairs to return to the banquet.

"There you are!" Brixton said as Veron reentered the banquet hall. "I was wondering if you decided to bail."

Veron cringed when he saw him, but knew it was pointless to avoid his friend. Standing with Hailey, Brixton appeared normal as if the conversation between them the day before had never happened.

"I like your outfit," Hailey said as she touched his puffy sleeves.

Veron noticed her own outfit was stunning. She wore a dark crimson gown, which matched her hair with long black elegant sleeves. The dress cascaded to the floor in an elaborate pattern of lace and fabric. What he noticed the most was her plunging neckline. It revealed much more of her chest than he felt he should see, which was accented by a glittering sapphire necklace. He had to force himself to keep his eyes on her face.

"I was here a little early, I guess, so I explored around a bit. I found my way up to the top of the wall. It was pretty neat," Veron said. "By the way, congratulations on your upcoming wedding, Hailey."

Hailey bit the side of her lip and looked down at the floor. "Thanks. Yeah, it should be nice."

That's odd. I would have thought she'd be more excited, he thought. A large amount of powder was on Hailey's cheek, appearing to cover a bruise. "Are you all right?" Veron asked, indicating to her cheek.

"She's fine," Brixton said as she opened her mouth to answer. "She hit it on a doorframe like an idiot."

Hailey looked at Brixton in an odd way. Embarrassment? Fear? Anger? Veron thought, unable to read her expression.

"Did you get a drink yet?" Brixton asked Veron.
"No, I hadn't."
Brixton threw back the rest of his glass and traded the empty one for

two full glasses of red wine from a server's tray passing by. He handed one to Veron. "For you. Tonight is a big moment. You should be celebrating!"

Brixton lifted his glass in a toast with Veron and Hailey, and all three drank as Veron thought. I know tonight is a big moment, one way or another, but it doesn't feel like a celebration.

Baron Rycroft stood at the end of the room and raised his hands to collect everyone's attention. The crowd quieted. "Thank you all for being here tonight as we celebrate the merchants of our wonderful city," the baron said. "I'm personally thankful to all of you for your hard work and . . . for the taxes you bring in." The crowd laughed. "If you'd all find a seat, we'll begin with a feast, which will be followed by the awards ceremony."

Murmurs rose as the crowd resumed talking and began finding seats. The baron turned to engage in conversation with Lord Billings.

That's odd that the Lord of Defense would be here for a merchant banquet, Veron thought.

Veron, Brixton, and Hailey sat at the closest table, with Brixton in the middle. Bread and cheese arrived, but Veron didn't feel hungry. He nibbled on the bread as he stared distractedly across the table.

"Hey, are you there?" Brixton asked, bumping Veron to get his attention.

"I'm sorry? What?"

"I said, what happened to Chloe?" Brixton's tone attempted to be conversational, but it sounded like taunting to Veron.

"Sorry, I . . . My mind was wandering," Veron told him.

"So, you couldn't work up the courage to ask her to come?" Brixton asked. Both Hailey and Brixton watched him, waiting on his answer. Veron hung his head. "Did you even ask?" Brixton said.

"Oh, I asked. Apparently, she's married."

Brixton laughed out loud. "Married! Oh, Veron, I told you not to mess with her. I can't believe you fell for a married woman. You're such a fool!"

Hailey glared at Brixton as Veron clenched his jaw.
"I'm really sorry, Veron," Hailey said across Brixton's body.
"So, how did that happen?" Brixton asked, continuing to laugh. "Did

she have a husband hiding in her wardrobe or something?"
"I'd rather not talk about it," Veron said, racking his brain for another

subject. "So, where's your father? I figured he'd be here."
Brixton looked around. "He's somewhere. We arrived together. Maybe

he'll show up just before the awards." He grabbed a piece of cheese then

leaned in close to Veron and spoke softly. "So, what've you decided about our deal?"

This is it—the moment I've been dreading. "I haven't decided yet." Well, I have decided, but Brixton isn't going to like it. When they announce the award, I'll tell the truth in front of Raynor, the baron, and all the other merchants. His mind was fixed, but the thought of it made his stomach feel upset. Brixton will never forgive me.

The servants brought out a course of roasted pork served over carrots and onions. The hall felt stuffy to Veron. The number of people, food, and noise in the room overwhelmed him, and he began to feel dizzy.

"I'll be back in a bit. I need to stretch my legs," Veron said as he stood abruptly and stumbled off.

Veron followed the winding passageways, not knowing exactly where he wanted to go. Eventually, he found himself back in the yellow room with the large window looking over the courtyard. He gazed outside at the torches lighting up the castle courtyard.

His thoughts turned to Chloe. Before today, I expected us to fall in love. I pictured us married with kids, and growing old together, but now that's all gone—she's gone. I'm so alone. I wish I had someone I belonged with— someone who would love me back.

"Veron?" He turned to find Hailey approaching. "Are you okay?" she asked.

Veron angled back to the window. "I'm fine. I just needed some space," he said.

Hailey arrived next to him. "I really am sorry about . . . what's her name?"

"Chloe."

"And I'm sorry about Brix. He can be insensitive at times," Hailey said. Her words were gentle and felt like a warm caress to his aching body.

Veron sighed. "I feel like a fool."
"It sounds like Chloe is the only one who's a fool here."
He laughed softly through his nose and turned back to her. Hailey was

beautiful. Her skin was soft and smooth, and her lips were perfectly shaped. Tight curls of dark crimson hair cascaded down the sides of her face like a waterfall.

Veron narrowed his eyes and indicated to the side of her face by a subtle movement of his chin. "Is he hitting you?" he asked.

Hailey took a step back. She was about to protest but hung her head instead. "He gets angry sometimes."

"That's not right. I'm going to say something to him about it," Veron said, his voice growing in strength.

"No! Please don't!" Hailey reached out and grabbed his hand with both of hers. She paused, looking at their hands. Her words were soft and tender. "Not everyone's as kind as you are."

Veron squirmed and gently pulled his hand free. "It's not right."

She took a step closer and rested her hand on his upper arm. Her body pressed up against his, and she looked at him directly in the eyes. "Veron, I'm sure it must be difficult being rejected by a girl. If you ever need to talk with someone, someone who's not going to reject you, you can come to me anytime you like."

Veron started to sweat, and his throat felt dry. He craved distance and looked back out the window to try to create some space.

"Veron . . ."

He turned back to look at her as her hand found the back of his head and her fingers intertwined themselves in his hair. Before he realized what was happening, she pulled his head down gently, and her lips met his. Her kiss was soft but firm at the same time. Her other arm wrapped around his back and pulled him closer. Something inside of him fluttered, and his legs felt weak and tingly. He knew he needed to pull away but was so taken by the moment that he found himself kissing her back. The feeling of acceptance washed away the rejection and betrayal he had wallowed in as Veron wrapped his arms around her.

As they kissed, his mind soon brought him back to reality, and panic crept in. What am I doing? No. No! NO!

"I knew it!" shouted a voice filled with fury and disgust.

Veron pushed away, and he and Hailey turned to find Brixton standing in the room. "Brix!" Veron said. "I—I—" Fear covered his shame and embarrassment.

"I knew you two were seeing each other behind my back!"
"Brix, please—" Hailey started.
"Shut up, you!" Brixton yelled before turning to Veron and

approaching. "I knew that street-girl love was a farce from the start. You've always had your eye on Hailey. I could tell from the beginning."

"No, I promise I never—"

"First, you steal the attention of my father! And now you steal my future wife!"

"I never intended to do any of that!"

"And you!" Brixton said, focusing on Hailey. "You were trash ever since you were a girl, but I was willing to marry you because I wanted to help you and your family."

Hailey dissolved into tears.

"I was going to give you everything! One day, I'll run this city. You could have been by my side, but you had to throw it all away with this . . ." Brixton paused and stared at Veron, spitting the last words out with disgust, ". . . peasant!"

Veron's breath caught. He stared at Brixton with a look of bewilderment. Does he know? How can he know? Maybe he talked with Mortinson? he thought.

Brixton glared at him. "Oh, that's right, I found out all about you. You lived on the streets most of your life in filth! The only way you could make anything with your life was to lie, cheat, and steal to get where you are now. I trusted you, Veron! I thought you were my friend, but it was all a lie! When my father finds out how you falsified your sales numbers and lied on your application, he's going to strip you of your license, and you'll rot in prison!"

Veron's mind reeled as he rubbed his head. This can't be happening! Everything's falling apart.

Brixton's expression changed. His voice became light and playful, taunting. "Or maybe it'd be better to let Lord Turnbill know about how you murdered a highly ranked army officer?"

The statement hit Veron in the gut, and he froze. How does he know?

"Captain Charles Mortinson was an upstanding servant of our city. I wonder how the Department of Justice will feel when they find out what you did?"

As if a lightning bolt struck him, the pieces suddenly came together for Veron. His shoulders slumped as he turned to Brixton with sadness in his eyes. "It was you. You had Chloe kidnapped to blackmail me," he said.

Brixton smirked. "Do you know what your weaknesses are, Veron? You care too much about other people and about being honest. I figured you might not go for my three percent plan, so I needed a backup. Mortinson proved valuable in helping me figure out who you really were. He was happy to help play out my idea. The street thugs were a regrettable but necessary addition to the team. It's a pity they were so inept."

Veron rested his hands on his knees as he leaned over. His head spun, and he felt nauseous.

Brixton turned back to Hailey with a look of revulsion and got in her face. His words were slow and deliberate. "Do you like how it feels to betray someone? Why don't we see how you like it on the other side?"

What does he mean? What's he going to do? Veron thought as a wave of fear flooded through him.

Before Veron or Hailey could react, Brixton pulled a knife from his sleeve. Hailey's hand flew to her chest, and her eyes widened in shock as she stepped back. Veron didn't even have a chance to yell before Brixton stabbed the blade deep into his fiancé's stomach.

A brief cry escaped Hailey's lips as she folded over and fell to the ground. Veron stood motionless, paralyzed, looking at Hailey as she lay with the knife sticking out of her. The blood spreading through her dress was barely visible against the crimson fabric.

Brixton ran, but Veron stood frozen, balancing on his weak legs. "Guards! Guards! He killed her! Come quickly!" Brixton's shouts echoed down the hall.

Veron snapped back into the moment. I didn't do it. The guards can't arrest me. He kneeled by Hailey's side. Can they?

Hailey's eyes frantically darted around. She tried to speak but could only sputter blood from her mouth as she gasped for air.

"Hailey, I'm so sorry," was all Veron could think to say.

Metal clanking and loud footsteps sounded up the hall, coming closer. Veron reluctantly got to his feet and backed away, holding Hailey's gaze.

"I'm so sorry," Veron repeated before turning and running down the hall in the opposite direction.

47

The Last Shadow Knight

Shouts and the sound of footsteps followed Veron as he tried to lose his pursuers in the maze of passages. He wanted to find the stairs that led to the wall but got turned around while the soldiers grew closer. Rounding a corner, he ducked behind a tapestry displayed in an alcove, hoping the soldiers didn't look too closely where his feet were visible. A few moments later, they ran by without even hesitating.

Veron breathed a sigh of relief but then realized he wasn't sure where to go. Both directions now have people searching for me.

A clash of steel and shouting echoed down the hall, but from his hiding place, he couldn't tell which direction it came from.

What would that be? Who else could be fighting? He came out of his hiding place and cautiously made his way in the direction he had been running.

Not knowing what might be waiting, he peered around the first corner to find nothing but a short, narrow hallway with a single lantern in the middle. When he checked the next corner, he discovered the stairwell he searched

for at the end, but emerging from it was a group of soldiers in black and red uniforms.

Black and red uniforms? Who are they? he thought.

Not wanting to face this new group, Veron backpedaled in the other direction. As he peered around the last corner, he jumped back. Raynor Fiero just passed his old hiding place and was heading his way.

No, anyone but him! His breath came quickly. There were no other doors or paths to take to escape. The hallway was barely wide enough for two men to pass each other, much less provide a place to hide. I wish I could disappear. Darkness!

Veron ran to the lone lantern, lifted its door, and blew it out. While not completely dark, it was better. Veron braced his feet against the narrow walls and shimmied up as high as he could go. As soon as he got to the top, he froze as the soldiers came around the corner.

I'm not sure who these soldiers are, but Lord Fiero is about to run right into them.

Veron held his breath as the two parties met directly underneath him, oblivious to his presence.

"There you are," Raynor said, approaching the man in front. "You found the gate?"

The man Raynor spoke with was tall and menacing. His hair and beard were black and thick, and he had a scar on the right side of his face. "Yes, unlocked, as you promised. The rest of my men wait just out of sight of the walls," the man said, his resonant voice bouncing off the walls.

Who is that? Veron thought. What are they talking about? Veron's arms ached as he pushed with all his strength to remain wedged between the walls. His foot began to slide.

Raynor nodded. "Everyone is ready in the banquet hall." "Good," the man said. "The baron?"
"Yes, he's there. Remember our agreement though." "You'll be in charge, but only under my authority."

"Of course, Your Majesty," Raynor said.

Your Majesty? Who is this man? I don't think King Wesley is that tall. Veron's foot slipped again. Just hold on a bit longer!

Raynor continued, "Once the baron is gone, the army will follow Billings, and he's with us."

Drops of sweat dripped down Veron's face as he strained to keep his feet from moving. He gritted his teeth. His legs shook from the effort.

The man held up his finger in front of Raynor's face. "And if they don't follow, they will die."

"It won't be a problem."

The soldiers followed Raynor back down the hall he came from. Veron counted twenty-five in total. After the last one disappeared around the corner, Veron slid his way down the wall, relieved to be able to move his legs. He peered around the edge where they went. In the better light, he could see the uniform of the soldier in the rear more clearly. Across his back was an emblem of two swords crossing above a bear—the symbol of Norshewa.

The King . . . of Norshewa! Veron's blood felt like ice, and his stomach turned as bumps formed along his arms. He knew who the tall man with black hair was—the man he'd been waiting on for years—his destiny. Edmund Bale. But I'm not ready to face him yet! I still have so much to learn! This can't be the time yet. Fear battled anger inside of him, growing steadily. Bale must be stopped. Who knows what he'll do to Karad? He

killed my father. Veron pictured his father, William, lying on the floor, riddled with arrows as he bled to death.

I know he needs to be stopped. I know I'm the one to do it, but I can't yet. I can't take on twenty-five soldiers. If I go after him, all that will happen is for me to get killed . . . just like the prophecy said. He paled. Veron turned and looked in the other direction down the hallway. Escape should be easy. He could get back to the market, take what money he could, and get out of the city. Maybe my destiny is to confront Bale later when I'm better trained and ready to face him?

Veron longed to be selfless. He wanted to stand up to him, fight against evil, and fulfill his destiny. Instead, he ran along the passage toward the wall, and away from Bale.

Bale entered the banquet hall ahead of his men. The tables were filled with people eating and talking, oblivious as to what was about to happen. Right away, he spotted Gareth Billings, who stood with a cane and gave him a solemn nod as he entered.

The man sitting next to him must be the baron, Bale thought.

As Bale's soldiers entered the room, conversations hushed, and everyone turned to stare.

Baron Rycroft stood, using his hand on the table to support his hefty body. His face was red from the intrusion. "Who are you? What is this?" he asked.

Bale's soldiers fanned around the room, and a murmur began. Without breaking stride, Bale walked to the baron, took a dagger from the sheath on his hip, and stabbed him through the neck. Rycroft flailed his arms and grabbed at his neck. Making no sound, he crumpled to the floor, dead.

Chaos erupted in the room. Women screamed. Chairs flipped over as people jumped to their feet. Shouting began in unison. Most tried to flee through one of the four doorways while some attempted to fight. The fighters didn't last long. When the dust settled, eight Karad merchants lay dead or dying on the floor.

Bale glared at Raynor as he entered the room after the people were gone. Coward! He wants to align with me but is afraid of anyone knowing. "Gareth, Raynor, assemble your men," Bale said. "I'd like to address them and have them swear allegiance as soon as possible."

Both men gave quick bows and left the room.

Bale turned to another of his soldiers. "Raise the signal to Ryker. Have him bring in two battalions."

"Yes, Your Majesty," the soldier said as he bowed quickly before hurrying to the door.

Suddenly, the soldier stopped mid-way across the hall. Bale followed his gaze to see a boy who couldn't be more than twenty years old standing in the doorway. He had a defiant look on his face as if he didn't plan to let anyone pass through the corridor. The boy held a sword over his head, and he looked like he intended to use it.

"Bale!" Veron yelled. "You will not take this city!"
He stood with a sword pointed toward the Norshewan ruler. Veron knew

what he needed to do. He had a destiny to fulfill, and it couldn't wait—the people of Karad needed him, even if it cost him his life. He had picked up a sword from a fallen soldier as he made his way back through the castle to encounter his fate.

Bale looked at him curiously. "I'm sorry, but I'm not sure what you expect to do about it," he said in a thick Norshewan accent while nodding to his soldiers.

Dozens of soldiers converged on him, but Veron felt no fear. What he felt was the warm tingling sensation of the origine. The core of his body shuddered from the power as he pulled from his energy and met the soldiers head-on. Unlike the night before, when he used up the origine without control, he used only what he needed. His movements and strength were heightened, but only just enough.

Two soldiers' weapons flew from their hands as Veron knocked them away with a swift attack. Repeating the motion, he struck them both down with a blow to their chests. On his right, he jabbed an unsuspecting soldier in the stomach before he had a chance to react. Another was almost on top of him. He blocked the overhead strike with his sword and kicked out with his foot. The soldier flew across the room and fell unconscious after hitting the stone wall.

I didn't think I generated that much power. I guess I should conserve more, Veron thought.

He ducked under another slow-motion swing at his head then took out the soldier with a slice to the neck. Whirling around, Veron paled to find at least ten soldiers had him trapped from all sides with their swords drawn. Pushing as hard as he could, he leaped off the ground and flipped backward as he sailed over the soldiers below.

Veron struck down two as he landed then parried the attack of the next closest one. After knocking the soldier's sword out of the way, Veron grabbed him by the uniform and threw him at those on his other side. Soldiers flew from the impact. Veron dispatched several more with quick

strikes one after another. He moved so quickly that the soldiers didn't even have a chance to swing at him, much less block his lightning-fast attacks. The tang of blood and sweat pervaded the air as the bodies piled around him.

"Stop him!" Bale shouted in a thick, unnatural sounding voice.

Veron's energy started to fade, and he began to worry. I haven't done this enough to know how far is too far. I just need to hold on a little longer. If my energy gives out now, anyone remaining will kill me. Veron struck another soldier down who tried to impale him with a spear, knocking it to the side before running the man through with his sword.

Four soldiers remained, circling him. Veron leaped into the air and spun, pulling his sword through the air in an arc with all of his strength. In one continuous motion, he removed the heads of all four soldiers before he landed hard on the stone floor, the impact echoing throughout the hall as the bodies fell.

Veron stopped. Terror flooded through him as he came to a horrifying realization. The origine was gone. His well was dry as he tried desperately to drink more. Around him lay the bodies of dead or incapacitated soldiers, but the one person he most needed his energy to face was the one person who remained.

I failed. I can't defeat him. Veron wanted to yell. He willed his body to fly with fury and strike him down, but he wasn't able. He pictured his father pierced by arrows and struck down by a sword. He tried to think through what to do, but he couldn't. His mind wouldn't work. The origine was empty, but he refused to let go of his hold on it. If he did, he would die.

He stood upright, his insides straining from the effort as he fought to keep his body from shaking. He stared coldly in front of him at the only

other person moving in the room—Edmund Bale.
Bale's face was twisted in confusion. He held his sword, but it visibly

shook as he stood hesitantly with one foot a half-step back. "But . . . the Shadow Knights were all dead," Bale said, barely above a whisper. "I—I had them killed. They were prophesied to defeat me, so I had them killed— you were all dead!" Bale's voice rose with agitation. He stared wildly at his sword before turning back to Veron. "Who are you?"

I only have one hope left. Veron steeled himself for his last act, drawing every ounce of energy he had left. "I am Veron Stormbridge," he said in a clear voice, moving into dragon stance. His face was like a stone, but everything in his body struggled with desperation. "I am the last shadow knight, and I have come to kill you."

Bale's face turned pale. His body swayed between advancing and retreating as the two locked eyes. His arm shook as he lowered his sword and took a step backward. One step became two, and soon, Bale turned and ran away through the closest doorway.

I did it! I stopped him! Relief flooded Veron as he released his hold on the expended origine and fell to the floor. His body convulsed, and he gasped for air. He rolled on the ground, trying to find relief, but his body hurt from exhaustion. He didn't even care that he lay in a pool of blood from the dozens of soldiers he just defeated.

"There he is!" someone yelled. The voice sounded distant and fuzzy. Veron tried to look around, but the room spun. He was about to pass out. "What happened here?" a cloudy voice said.
"Who are these soldiers?" said another. "They look Norshewan!"
Strong arms lifted Veron. His eyes were blurry and could barely make

out Karad uniforms around him. Bale! He went that way! You can catch him

if you run!

He wanted them to go after Bale but didn't have the strength to voice his thoughts or even point in the direction. His hazy mind jolted in surprise as chains attached to his wrists. Finally getting his eyes to focus, his heart sank. Brixton's face glared at him with narrowed eyes.

I forgot all about Brixton, he thought just before passing out.

48

Waking

"Guys, she's waking!"
The indistinct voice sounded muddled. Shuffling noises echoed vaguely in Chelci's head. She slowly opened her eyes and blinked away the fatigue to find six faces and one dog staring at her.

"Are you okay?" Aleks asked. "What happened?"
"What was it?" Finley added.
"How'd you get away?" asked Royce.
Aleks and Finley sat to either side of her bed. Russell stood at the foot

while Royce and Tate stood by the door and Charlie rested his chin on her arm. They all leaned in eagerly, wanting answers.

"Out! Out! All of you!" Nevi told them as she pushed her way into the crowded room. "Give her room to breathe!" She shooed the younger boys out the door, but they didn't go far. All four of them peeked their heads around the doorway.

Chelci pushed her body to sit up, but the pain brought a grimace to her face. "Bensen?" she asked. "How is he? Is he going to live?"

Russell frowned. "We don't know for sure. He's alive, but he hasn't woken. He lost a lot of blood, and we had to take his leg," he replied.

Chelci let out a deep sigh. At least he's still alive.

"How are you feeling, Elise?" Nevi asked. "Are you in pain? You've been out for over a day."

She chuckled. Pain . . . that's an understatement. She nodded her head.

Chelci looked at her left side, covered in a bandage. A dull ache covered her entire body, but even the small movement of looking sent a sharp stab of agony through her side. She motioned with her hand to the bandaged area and swallowed hard. "Here's the worst. I think I'll live though."

Appearing content with the response, Nevi looked to Russell. "Elise," he said, "what was it that attacked you?"

Teeth dripping with blood and long sharp claws flashed into Chelci's mind. She remembered the foul odor and the sound of its growl. She shivered. Everyone in the room leaned forward in anticipation.

"It was a valcor," she said.
"No way!" Finley yelled.
Tate hit Royce on the chest. "I told you!"
"Wow!" Aleks added.
Russell motioned for the others to settle down. "Tell us what happened,"

he said to her.
"It killed the guards, Lucian and the others. I guess it was coming back

for Lucian's body when it found us." Chelci looked at Tate and considered what to say about him running away. He hung his head and avoided looking at her. "It attacked Bensen and carried him off into the woods, so I ran after them."

"You ran into the woods after it!" Aleks said.

"I found them up in a molopyr tree and climbed after them. It had a sort of nest near the top, which was where the other guards' bodies were—what was left of them. I fought off the valcor and knocked it out of the tree. Then I brought Bensen down and carried him back as far as I could go."

"Wait? What! You fought it off?" Aleks asked.

Chelci looked at him, then around at the others. "Yeah, I stabbed it through the top of its mouth."

"Whoa!" Royce said.
"Awesome!" added Finley.
Chelci continued, "It fell from nearly the top of the tree. It probably

broke some bones, but it didn't die—at least not right away. I saw it limp off. Then I lowered Bensen by his rope and dragged him as far as I could until I passed out."

"That's when we heard your bell," Russell said. "Elise, what you did was incredibly brave. You went above and beyond what anyone would ever have asked or expected of you."

"Foolish is what it was!" Nevi said, shaking her head. "I can't believe you—running after monsters in the dark. I don't want to hear any more of that from you, young lady." She turned to the boys. "I think there's been enough excitement for now. All of you need to leave, to let her get some rest."

The group shuffled out, wishing her to get better soon, and promising to be back to check on "the valcor slayer" soon. Nevi gave her some water, changed the bandage, and then left her alone.

Chelci lay in bed and stared up at the ceiling. I'm glad to be alive. I can barely believe what happened. I'm pretty sure I have an excellent chance to

be chosen for the village guard now, but I don't know if I want that anymore. Nevi and Russell feel like family, but . . . I miss my real family.

Veron awoke to a stiff, cold floor, unsure of where he was or what had happened. He wrestled through the groggy feeling. His body hurt as he got up and found his arms and feet restrained by manacles and attached to the wall.

"Hello?" he yelled into the darkness, the sound echoing uselessly off the walls.

The stench of death and disease surrounded him in his cell of smooth, damp stone. The dank air rested heavily on his tongue as he breathed. The room's only door was against the far wall, which contained a small window with bars. Veron tried to get close enough to see out, but the chains restrained him just shy of it. He leaned forward, barely able to see out the bars.

"Hello? Is anyone there!" he shouted.

The only sound he heard in return was a dripping noise coming from somewhere unseen.

This must be the prison underneath the castle. He'd heard plenty about it—the torture that occurred, the people who died. In person, it was even worse than he imagined. Why am I here? For murdering Hailey—which I didn't do? Maybe for lying when I started the market? Perhaps Bale has taken over, and they imprisoned me for how many of his men I killed?

Veron still wore his clothes from earlier. The dried blood and grime covered much of the new fabric. How can I get out of this? The origine!

Maybe that can give me the strength to break the chains? He cleared his mind and tried to tap into it—nothing.

Veron focused harder, doing the same things he'd done before, but nothing was there—no warm tingling sensation or well of energy to draw from. His frustration grew, making it tougher to concentrate.

Why isn't it working? He groaned in exasperation.

After several minutes of unsuccessful attempts, he gave up and sat back down on the ground, breathing heavily. The Shadow Knights medallion clung to his chest underneath his clothes. Its presence was heartening to him in his dire situation, reminding him of his worth and that he was destined for something great—the words Artimus spoke over him years ago.

Veron jolted awake at the clang of a heavy metal door somewhere outside of his cell. I must have fallen asleep again. He jumped up and ran to the cell door. "Hello? Please, I didn't do it! It was Brixton Fiero! He was jealous and killed Hailey Billings, then claimed it was me! Hello?"

Footsteps approached. Veron's face strained toward the bars, trying to see, but he shrank back when he recognized his visitor. Brixton.

"It was Brixton Fiero, was it?" he sneered. Veron didn't speak, and Brixton shook his head. "I accepted you as a friend. I gave you a chance. I tried to make you rich, and what did you do? You rejected my help and stabbed me in the back!"

"I didn't do it, I swear! There was never anything between Hailey and me. She came onto me out of nowhere. I didn't want her to kiss me. She . . . just did, and I couldn't stop her!" Veron said.

"Yeah, it looked like you were fighting really hard to stop her when I saw you."

He's right. I didn't try to stop her. "Brix . . . I'm sorry. I'm sorry about Hailey and your father's attention and lying to you about who I was. But my friendship was real, and I promise you there was nothing between Hailey and me. When you saw us, she kissed me. I—" Veron paused, trying to find the right words. "I know I should have stopped it immediately, but I was too surprised. I never did anything purposely to get her attention."

Brixton stared at him for a long moment and scratched his chin. "You're probably right."

Veron's hopes started to lift. Maybe I'll be able to get out of this!
"But it doesn't matter now," Brixton added.
Veron pulled at the chains, snapping them tight. His eyes were wide as

he spoke, "What do you mean? Of course, it matters! I don't need to be here! I was going to accept the award! You and I were both going to get rich! Yes, I used to live on the streets. I admit I misled you when I started the market, but I've worked hard! Now, I own a great market that's thriving, and—"

"You used to own a market," Brixton said as he pulled a document from his pocket and waved it in the air. "You signed the license over to me yesterday."

Veron's mind reeled as he stared at the paper in Brixton's hands. "What?"

"Yes, apparently, after you killed my fiancé, you signed the market license over to me as a form of restitution. It was the least you could do."

Veron bent forward. He felt like he'd been kicked in the stomach and all the wind was knocked out of him. How could he do this to me? He stared at Brixton, hoping he would admit it was all some cruel joke. "Bale!" Veron

yelled suddenly. "Did you know what's going on with Bale? He's trying to take over Karad and all of Felting!"

Brixton's gaze drifted away toward the floor.

"He killed the baron, and your father let him in!" Veron strained as he said the words.

Brixton didn't react as he remained silent, and Veron's accusation echoed uselessly through the space.

I don't believe it. "You knew? You knew your father was going to betray the city?"

Brixton straightened and spoke down his nose at Veron. "My father is now the baron of Karad after the death of Rycroft. King Wesley decreed it this morning after learning how my father and Lord Billings stopped the Norshewan king and ran him off. Under my father's leadership, this city will prosper and thrive."

Veron shook his head in despair. I've said everything I can think of, but he's not convinced, he thought. The two stood in silence.

"No, I didn't know . . ." Brixton said, his voice softer, ". . . initially . . . about my father and Bale. I found out after the banquet." He shuffled his feet as he spoke.

"Please, Brix, let me go. I haven't done anything," Veron said.

Brixton nodded but didn't make eye contact. He leaned his head against the door as he held onto the bars. "I—" he stopped and exhaled. "I know you haven't done anything . . . but I can't let you go. I'm sorry."

Veron's body slumped as his gaze drifted to the floor. "What happened to Bale?"

"No one's seen him. All his men in the castle died, but no one knows where he went." Brixton looked at Veron. "Do you know what happened in

that room?"
Veron swallowed as he returned the gaze and shook his head. If anyone

finds out what I can do, I'll be in even more trouble. "They were dead when I got there."

Appearing to accept the answer, Brixton turned and started walking away.

"Brix! No! Don't leave me here!"

He stopped and turned halfway to Veron. "Out of respect for our friendship, I won't have you killed." He made as if to say something else but stopped, and after a pause, he left.

Veron waited at the door to see if someone else was coming or if something would happen, but all he discovered was silence. He returned to the end of the room and sat down on the cold floor. Staring at the chains holding him, his body began to tremble.

What are Morgan and the others going to think? Will they be okay? How did all of this happen? Tears fell down his cheeks. Brixton betrayed me. I lost the market. The origine isn't working anymore. And now, I'm in chains. Everything he had built and gained was lost. Veron curled up on the damp stones, weeping as his body shook. His cries echoed through the prison, but no one came to rescue him.

49

Graduation

Chelci walked along the village street slowly as Nevi held her arm. She didn't need the physical support, but it felt good knowing she was there. It had been a week since the night of the valcor attack, and her healing was progressing well.

Bensen had woken two days after the attack. They decided he was going to live but expected his recovery to take a while. Russell canceled the final week of Academy training out of respect for Bensen and Chelci's healing and the guards they lost. After a week of rest, it was time to gather for the village guard selection ceremony.

"No matter what happens today, I want you to know that I'm proud of you," Nevi said.

"Thank you, Nevi. I know you are," Chelci replied.

Since her favorite vest was torn from the night with the valcor, Chelci had to wear a different outfit—a light green dress Nevi had made for her. The feeling of a dress, which she had not worn in years, seemed foreign, yet familiar. It reminded her of home.

Chelci was the last to arrive at the training hall, where rows of chairs and a platform sat outside on the patio. Candidates, their families, existing guardsmen, and village leaders filled most of the seats. When she stepped through the doorway to the patio, the entire crowd stood and applauded. She blushed and waved timidly, finding a seat as the others settled and Russell walked to the platform.

"Today we conclude another village guard training class at the Academy," Russell said. "Twelve candidates started, but only seven remain after the grueling two years of hard work. Only a few nights ago, we were reminded of the danger we face in this job. I call on you to remember the service and sacrifice of the three men who gave their lives. Lucian Whitehurst, Tomas Maribold, and Lachlan Hornbert. May we all honor them with our memory."

The crowd was silent. Birds sang in the trees around them, and a light breeze blew. Several people cried.

After a moment, he continued. "The class we conclude today was exceptional. They worked hard from the beginning, pushing past physical and emotional limits to emerge stronger on the other side. We selected three candidates from this group to join our ranks and become part of the village guard."

A low murmur ran through the crowd at the mention of the high number.

"Our first selection showed incredible promise from day one. He brought his best effort every day, which continually kept him at the top of the class. His sword fighting skills were unmatched, and his teamwork and encouragement to others were worth emulating. Our first selection is Aleksander Bellingsworth."

Chelci squealed in excitement and gingerly stood to her feet along with the rest of the crowd. Aleks walked to the platform and shook Russell's hand as he handed him a brand new, folded village guard uniform. Aleks beamed as he faced the crowd and acknowledged their applause with a wave.

Aleks stood to the side as Russell continued. "Secondly, we have a young man who excelled all-around in most every category. He distinguished himself by his skill and strength. He also showed he could learn and adapt, using his time in the Academy to grow both his character and ability. Our second selection is Royce Black."

Chelci applauded. I have to admit he's come a long way. Royce reached the platform, accepted his uniform, and stood with Aleks. He didn't smile— as he rarely did.

"For our last selection, I'll turn over the stage to my assistant." Russell gestured to his right.

Chelci's eyebrows lifted as Bensen made his way to the stage using a pair of crutches and two men at his side to help. Bandages still wrapped his right leg, which had been cut off at mid-thigh, but he looked stronger than she expected. The crowd buzzed. Someone placed a stool for him to sit on.

As he sat, Bensen spoke in a clear voice. "Our third and final selection for this class is a surprising one. An underdog from day one, they had to fight for everything they earned, which included the respect of both their instructors and their fellow candidates. Through tireless effort and never giving up, they showed what it truly meant to excel—besting those who were bigger, stronger, and faster through hard work and perseverance.

"When I faced down the most fearsome enemy I'd ever encountered, only one candidate stood by my side—only one person came to rescue me.

In the face of certain death, they thought nothing of self-preservation . . . but they survived. No one exemplifies what it means to be part of a team better, and there is no one I'd rather serve next to in the guard. For our last selection, I'm honored to recognize . . . Elise Barton."

Chelci's eyes watered, but she wiped the tears back. She blushed but cherished the attention at the same time. All around her stood a crowd of people, cheering and clapping. Even the remaining Furies—Gael and Tate —applauded wildly from the back row. Chelci made her way to the platform where Bensen and Russell waited on her with smiles on their faces. She held Bensen's hand.

"Thank you for your kind words," she said.
"No, thank you for not giving up on me," Bensen replied.
Chelci turned to Russell, who beamed. He handed her the uniform

without saying anything and rested his hand on her shoulder. He was a man of few words, and that day was no exception.

She went down the line and shook Royce's hand. "I'm glad you made it," he said with a smirk. "You deserve it."

Aleks hugged her. "Third pick, huh? Maybe next time you can work on that first or second spot." His eyes twinkled as he shot her a crooked grin. She punched him playfully on the shoulder before standing at the end of the line.

Chelci looked back at the crowd who stood and applauded for all three. Never in her life had she felt so accomplished. As she watched the faces, tears started to fall down her cheeks. She didn't try to stop them anymore, and she didn't wipe them away. Chelci was afraid that if she wiped them away, her determination would disappear along with them. They were tears of sadness and loss—not loss of the guardsmen who died, but of her

aspirations. After fighting and pushing herself for years, she had made it. She cried because it wasn't her objective anymore. She no longer wanted to be a guardsman.

It's time to go home, she thought.

That night after dinner, Chelci stood on the porch, leaning against the wooden rail. Somewhere out there is a valcor—if it's still alive. She wasn't afraid but would avoid going into the woods alone at night for a while.

Chelci tried to build up her courage all day to talk with Russell and Nevi, but she kept making excuses. She rehearsed the words over and over in her mind.

I don't want them to be mad, but I don't think they'll understand.

"Elise, there you are," Nevi said as she and Russell came outside to sit.

Well, I guess this is my time. Chelci swallowed hard as she turned to face them. She looked at each in the eye before speaking. Her heart beat fast. "My name isn't Elise. It's Chelci Marlow."

Russell and Nevi looked at each other. Chelci expected to see shock or hurt on their faces—at least some level of confusion—but instead, they smiled.

"Chelci's a beautiful name. I love it," Nevi said. "We knew it wasn't Elise."

Chelci stared with her head tilted. "What? How'd you know?" she asked.

"When you arrived here, it was obvious you were hiding something. You were running from something, somewhere. It must have been pretty bad to make you so desperate to flee on your own as a child with little food and no protection."

"We didn't know who you were," Russell added, "but we assumed Elise was a made-up name to leave behind whatever you ran from."

"We could tell you needed help, so we decided to accept you as you were and take care of you the best we could," Nevi said.

Chelci didn't know how to respond. Her carefully planned speech was ruined. "Thank you for caring for me. I'd never have made it without you. I grew up in Felting. My father is Darcius Marlow, High Lord of Commerce for Feldor."

Nevi's eyes widened. "I figured you came from a well-to-do family, but I had no idea!"

"My father was a kind man, but the cruelty of my mother, Luciana, overshadowed him. She hurt me—in many ways. She had a clear idea of who she wanted me to be, and if my wishes didn't conform to it, it wasn't acceptable. When I couldn't take it anymore, I ran away. Saying it out loud makes me sound like a spoiled little girl, but I felt like who I was in my soul was being crushed. I was trapped and suffocating, like I was dying a slow death at my young age. I had to leave."

Chelci felt as if a weight lifted off of her. She had carried the burden of her childhood memories around for years, and being able to share them was freeing.

"I'm so sorry," Nevi said, rising from her chair to stand closer to Chelci.

"When you took me in, you were everything my mother wasn't. Life here in Nasco was everything my old life wasn't. It was filled with promise. I was able to hope again. I felt free. These six years have been the greatest of my life." Chelci looked to the ground, afraid to speak any more, but she had to. Her voice shook. "But now, I need to go home."

Again, she looked up, expecting to see shock, hurt, or confusion, but they only looked at each other, like before, and nodded.

"We know, dear," Nevi said.
"What! You couldn't have known! How?"
Nevi glanced at Russell before turning back to Chelci and smiling.

"Have you ever had a Dream before?"
Chelci gasped and covered her chest with her hand. "No . . . did you

have one?"
Nevi nodded. "Do you remember what I told you many years ago about

Madeline, our daughter, and how she died?" "Yes."

"My Dream showed me way back on the night after Madeline's disappearance, when Russell went into the woods to search for her. I Dreamed that he found her and brought her home." Nevi looked at Russell. "Wolves had attacked her, and he rescued her. We celebrated our daughter's return, but she was different. She left us a young girl and returned a warrior, always wanting to fight. Later in the Dream, she killed a valcor in the woods, and finally, she told us she was glad to have been with us, but it was time for her to leave."

A crease formed between Chelci's eyebrows. "I don't understand. Is your daughter supposed to come back?"

Nevi smiled as she rested her hand on Chelci's arm. "You are the girl from the Dream." Chelci's eyes widened. "I had that Dream six years ago, the night before you arrived here in Russell's arms."

Chelci's jaw dropped.

"From the day you arrived, rescued after being attacked by wolves, we knew we only had you for a while. We knew you were going to learn to be a

warrior, one way or another. Russell tried to prevent it but realized he couldn't stop the inevitable. We decided to do everything we could to equip you as best as possible with the time we had. The valcor part seemed like a stretch, but after you lived through that, we knew you'd be leaving soon."

"But the village guard . . ." Chelci said. "I feel bad about abandoning them—"

"You don't worry about that, dear. They'll be fine," Nevi said as she smiled at Russell, who nodded.

"I'm so sorry. You've both been so good to me. There's no way I can thank you enough for everything you've done."

"So, tell me," Nevi said, "what drives you to want to go home after all these years?"

Chelci exhaled as she gathered her thoughts. "I ran away because I was afraid. I wasn't able to stand up for myself, and I couldn't bear the path my life was heading down. I felt that if I let my mother control me, she'd win. But now I'm a different person, and I realize that if I fail to face my fears and stay in hiding, I'm letting her control me in a different way. I want a chance to do it right. I want to be myself, but I don't want to give up hope that I can do it within the family I was born into."

"I understand." Nevi looked to her husband, who had been quiet most of the conversation. "Russell, don't you have anything to say?"

He looked at his wife, then back at Chelci. He sat quietly for a moment while moisture glistened at the corners of his eyes. He lowered his chin, fighting back his emotions as tears fell freely. "I'm just gonna miss you," he whispered.

"Oh, honey, I love you," Nevi said as she leaned over to kiss him on the cheek.

Chelci leaned in and wrapped them both up in her arms while all three of them cried. She cherished the moment. She loved them more than anything and was going to miss them.

50

Destination Unknown

Veron had no idea how long he stayed in the cell. It was at least a few days—possibly a week or more. Someone occasionally came to give him food and water. He tried to get answers from them, but they never spoke.

One day, three soldiers entered his cell. Veron backed up as two of them grabbed him by the upper arms, and the other replaced the chains holding his legs with a new set that allowed him to move.

"What are you doing? Where are you taking me?" Veron asked.

Without responding, they escorted him out of the cell and up two flights of stairs. Veron shuffled his way through several passageways before emerging into a stone courtyard at night. The soldiers walked him up to what looked like a carriage hitched to horses with no windows.

Veron struggled against the chains that held him, trying to tap into the origine, but he felt nothing. He kicked against the carriage as the men attempted to wrestle him into it. His resistance earned him a hit with a club on the back of his skull, searing his head with pain. He landed roughly on

the floor of the carriage after the soldiers tossed him in. The door closed behind him, and the carriage started moving, jostling back and forth as his head throbbed.

Inside, the vehicle was completely dark. Veron had no way to measure the time, but it was many hours. He slept some, but the irregular and bumpy movement made it difficult. Light eventually crept through the cracks in the door, but they continued.

Finally, the carriage came to a halt, and the door opened. Veron covered his eyes to the harsh light as he exited into a small dirt courtyard with a closed gate. The building in front of him was a disordered structure of crumbling stone. The roof slanted, and most of the windows had rotted away.

Two men met him as he came out of the carriage. The older of the men was dirty and gaunt with crooked teeth. The other, a strong man who carried a sword, looked to be Morgan's age. An older woman exited the building to join them.

They removed his manacles but left the clasp on his left leg. Veron's heart sank as he noticed the metal ring that remained. I know what that means.

Inside the building, he had to disrobe and was forced to bathe. Worried about losing his medallion, he secretly removed it along with the key to Artimus' chest when he took off his shirt and placed it in the middle of his dirty clothes. Veron tried to cover himself awkwardly while the woman scrubbed his body in a tub with a coarse brush. The bristles hurt and left his skin red and irritated.

After cleaning, his captors gave him new undergarments and a plain gray shirt and pants to wear. Once Veron dressed, the older man pulled out a

metal rod from some coals. "Pull up your shirt," he said.
What's he gonna do with that? Veron thought.
As Veron hesitated, the large man who had stood nearby stepped

forward and pulled his sword halfway out of the sheath.

Maybe the origine will work now? I could grab that sword, kill them both, and escape before anyone knew what was happening. Veron tried to tap into it, but like before, it didn't work. He tried to clear his mind, but nothing happened. Sweat formed on his forehead, and he breathed heavily. What am I doing wrong?

Veron lifted his shirt, and the man pressed the metal against his side. Searing pain made his skin feel like it was on fire as his flesh sizzled. He doubled over in agony, trying to stifle a scream. Taking quick breaths, he groaned through his gritted teeth. Before the old man wrapped a bandage over the red area, Veron noticed the marking "24521."

I'm officially a slave, he thought. Veron felt numb. The mark merely confirmed what he'd been expecting.

Finished with their work, the men ushered him back into the same carriage he came in on.

"Where are we going? What are you doing with me?" Veron asked as the doors closed behind them.

The carriage rumbled through the streets, but the trip was much shorter, taking only ten minutes or so. When Veron exited again, he stood in front of an enormous building on an elaborate stone circular drive with a fountain in the middle. The building was three stories high and made of polished stone to where the exterior almost looked like flowing water rather than roughly hewn blocks. The steps leading up to the front door were split on the right and left by another smaller fountain in the middle. The purple and orange

light from the setting sun gave the building a glowing look as if it were on fire.

A petite old lady in a black dress with white lace promptly walked out to meet them from the side of the house, her lively steps making up for her short stride. Her look was fierce with her chin held up proudly and her back straight.

After a cursory inspection of Veron, she handed a bag to the carriage driver and received an envelope in return.

"This way! This way!" she said to Veron, waving her hand for him to follow.

Veron glanced at the man with the sword, who kept his hand on the hilt as he stared Veron down. What if I ran as fast as I could? I bet I could get away. His stomach turned at the thought as he looked at the man's sword. Something tells me it wouldn't end well.

Reluctantly, he turned from the two men who delivered him and followed the lady around the side of the house through a smaller entrance at the basement level.

Upon entering the house, Veron discovered an enormous kitchen that looked large enough to feed an army. Several people ran back and forth, washing and cleaning while others moved things in and out of a nearby storage room. The lady motioned for him to follow her through the kitchen to a quieter place on the opposite side, where they stopped.

"My name is Tessa, and I am the house steward here. You will do what I say—always. Do you understand?" she said, glaring at Veron.

Although Tessa looked old and barely came up to the height of his shoulders, he sensed she was not one to mess with. Veron nodded.

"If you work hard and do what you're told, in time, you may find yourself with more freedom and living a life of comfort. If you give us trouble, you'll find trouble. Which path you travel on will be up to you."

Footsteps sounded on a spiral staircase behind Tessa just before a tall lady with sharp features emerged at the bottom. The dark gray dress she wore hugged her thin body, and a tightly woven bun of brown hair rested on the back of her head. The deep frown lines at the edges of her mouth indicated her scowl was likely a permanent expression.

"Lady Luciana!" Tessa said, bowing.
"This is the new one?" the woman asked.
"Yes, my lady."
The tall woman turned to address Veron. "My name is Luciana Marlow.

You may call me nothing because you won't speak to me. You're fortunate enough to be in the service of one of the high lords of the kingdom of Feldor, so remember that things could be much worse. We have no interest in where you came from or why you're here. Your previous life is dead."

Veron swallowed hard and stared back at Luciana, refusing to avert his eyes from hers. "I haven't done anything wrong. I shouldn't be here," he said.

Luciana tilted her head as if amused and walked up to him. She was so close that Veron could feel the warmth of her breath and smell the scent of lilacs and peppermint. Suddenly, his face exploded with pain as she struck his cheek with a short whip he hadn't seen. Veron held his face as he shrank against the wall.

Luciana extended her hand to Tessa, who gave her the envelope. "Veron Stormbridge," she said in a slow, deliberate voice as she opened the

envelope and reviewed the paper. "You're here to be a servant in our household."

"I was forced here against my will. Doesn't that make me a slave?" Veron asked with his teeth clenched.

Luciana lifted her hand with the whip and raised her eyebrows, causing Veron to shrink back again. "We don't employ slaves, but we do own the rights to your labor—purchased from the Department of Justice. According to them, you've lost your rights, so don't complain to me about it."

Veron peered at Luciana intently. "How will I be treated? Will I be paid? Am I free to come and go as I please?"

The edge of her mouth curled in a crooked grin. "How we treat you will depend on how you behave. You'll be paid in food, shelter, and clothing for your work, and you won't be restrained. You're free to come and go as you please."

Really? Veron thought. As soon as I have the chance, I'm out of here. I can find my way back to Karad, meet up with Morgan, and figure something out. This may not be so bad . . . but how can it be that easy? Something doesn't add up.

"Of course if you do abandon your post, or cause trouble while you're here"—she got back in his face and spoke softly in a low voice—"or displease me in any way . . . as the owner of your labor rights, I can invoke your collateral."

Veron's legs felt weak, and he paled at the mention of the word, remembering what Morgan told him years ago.

Luciana looked back at the paper she held. "I believe . . . Morgan Fenster, Chloe Washburn, and Danyel Barton will be very disappointed if

you decide to cause trouble. It'd be a shame if something bad were to happen to them."

Veron held his breath from the shock of hearing their names. No, she wouldn't dare do anything to them! A sigh escaped his lips as he realized the trap that held him. For a moment, he wished to be back on the floor of the prison. Somehow, being curled up and alone had felt safer. He started to hang his head but caught himself. No. I'm not going to let all of this defeat me. I've faced worse obstacles than this woman before. His legs grew in strength as he thought through all he had done.

He used to be starving, living on the streets, and wearing rags, and yet he built one of the greatest markets in Karad from the ground up in under two years. He became a shadow knight and made Edmund Bale shake in his boots and run. He could build another market. He could figure out the origine again. He wasn't sure how he would get out of his situation without endangering Morgan and the others, but he would figure it out. I know things will turn around soon, and for now, I can be the best at whatever awaits me here.

Veron held his head up and stared back at Luciana. She was no longer a frightening master bent on subduing him. To him, she was a scared woman, trying to compensate for her shortcomings. A smirk crossed his face as he stood tall.

"What are you smiling about?" Luciana adjusted her stance and glanced at Tessa.

Veron shook his head, maintaining his wry grin. "You won't get any trouble from me. I'm going to be the best servant you've ever had."

51

A Fresh Start

Once she had told Russell and Nevi of her decision to leave, Chelci had to say goodbye to her friends. Finley was sad she was going, but the feeling didn't last long since he soon found out he got her spot on the village guard. Aleks was the toughest to leave. His friendship and encouragement over the years helped keep her going. As a parting gift, he gave her a new sword. It was sized and shaped like her practice one but made of real steel and had a sharp blade.

After a few days, when her side healed well enough, Russell saddled up two horses to ride with her to Felting.

"Thank you again, Nevi," Chelci said as she hugged the older woman tightly in front of their house. Both of them cried, not wanting to let go. Charlie whimpered by her side until Chelci released Nevi and bent down to pet him.

"Don't forget about us," Nevi said as Chelci joined Russell. "I won't," Chelci said. "I promise."

Chelci and Russell spent one night in the woods, and in the afternoon of the second day, they arrived at the road just north of the city. Russell wanted to steer clear of any trouble with high lords for not having returned her years before, so Chelci dismounted at the gate to the city where they parted ways. Her greatest treasure was the rare hug he gave her when she left. His body was warm, and his face was kind. They both cried as she walked away, looking back over her shoulder.

Chelci walked the streets of Felting for the first time in six years. The last time she passed through them, she had been a scared, young, and impetuous girl. Now, she felt confident and unafraid of anything life had in store for her.

The city seems to have changed so little. Buildings look smaller than I remember, but it all feels familiar. A few people gave her funny looks as she walked. She looked down and smirked at the light-green dress she wore with a sword affixed to her waist. What, have they never seen a girl with a sword before? she thought.

She proceeded up the circular stone drive of the Marlow family house, marveling at the fountains out front and the size of the home she hadn't seen in years. Soon after she knocked on the heavy wooden door, it creaked open to reveal Jensen, the choreman.

"Hello, Jensen. It's good to see you again," she said, walking past him without pause.

"Excuse me! Can I help you?" he called after her.

Chelci ignored him as she continued down the hall, laughing to herself.

He doesn't recognize me.

"Wait, you can't go in there!" the servant shouted.

Chelci burst through the double doors to the drawing-room without knocking. As expected, Darcius sat in his favorite chair, and Luciana lounged on her chaise. Other than looking six years older, they're exactly as I remembered them.

"Yes, can I help you?" her father asked, sitting up straight after the intrusion.

Her mother looked at her with a quizzical expression. Chelci took great pleasure in seeing the moment of realization. Her mother's eyes widened, and she put her hand to her chest. "Chelci?" she whispered.

"Yes, it's me, and I'm back," Chelci replied.

Her father gasped. "You're alive!" He quickly rose to his feet. "Are you okay? We thought you were taken!"

"I wasn't taken. I ran away."

The surprise in her mother's face changed quickly into a look of rage as she stood and stormed toward her. "You ungrateful little wretch! You—"

"No!" Chelci said, staring her mother down, and freezing her in her tracks. "You do not get to speak to me that way."

Her mother's mouth remained open, but no more words came out.

"I'm sorry if I caused you grief by leaving. I realize it was selfish of me, and I apologize for that. I know it was your job to help me grow and teach me the best way you knew how, but I am not a servant you can order around. I'm not a dog you can kick when you're angry, and you won't treat me like a piece of garbage. I'm choosing to come home and be part of this family because I want to be here—if you'll allow me back.

"I am your daughter by birth. As long as I live here, I'll respect your role as my mother, but only as far as you live up to what that role should be. I'm now a young woman and don't need your permission to have thoughts

or feelings. You will not forbid my hopes, and you will respect my desires." Strength flowed through Chelci's veins as she stood tall and breathed steadily. "Is that all right?"

Her mother stared, suspended, appearing unable to voice a response. Her face looked bewildered with her eyebrows askew and her mouth gaping.

"Is that all right?" Chelci repeated.
"Yes," her mother replied in a shaky voice.
"Good. I'll be in my room getting settled."
Chelci closed the doors behind her with the lasting impression of her

mother's incredulous look frozen in her mind. She breathed a sigh of relief as she walked toward the stairs.

It was late, but Veron couldn't sleep. The bed in his narrow room was comfortable enough, but his mind raced from everything that had happened. Tired of lying down and staring at the ceiling, he got up and opened his door.

She said I was free to come and go as long as I don't make trouble, he thought.

Tessa hadn't even shown him around the house before she had closed him in his room for the night, so he was keen to explore. Veron walked softly toward the stairs as he left the cramped third floor and traveled down two floors to get to the ground level of the house.

Exiting the stairwell revealed a large, open dining room. Light from the moon shone through the windows, illuminating the long table with many chairs.

As he entered the room, he froze when footsteps sounded back up the stairwell behind him. I don't think I'm doing anything wrong, but I don't want to get caught wandering through the house alone on my first night!

Veron flattened himself against the wall where it was dark. As soon as he stopped moving, a dark shape came out of the stairwell and proceeded out the opposite end of the dining room. He only saw the person wearing a dark cloak for a moment in the dim light, but he couldn't miss the glint of a sword as its edge caught the moonlight.

Is it a thief? A murderer? I don't want to get in trouble, but if I could stop someone who shouldn't be here, it may increase my chances of gaining favor with the Marlows. He slunk off the wall and followed the dark intruder into the next room, where a door opened at the back of the house.

Outside the door, Veron discovered a garden. Stone paths meandered between plants and flowers, and the silhouette of several large trees dotted the landscape. At the far end, the mysterious shadow moved furtively along the path, so he followed.

Just past the garden, another building stood separate from the main house. It was smaller, square-shaped, and made of wood, unlike the stone construction of the residence.

The person entered the smaller building ahead. I can't just go in after them. There would be nowhere to hide. But . . . A small window caught his eye on the roof of the building, and a tree grew directly next to it with its limbs hanging over.

Veron climbed the tree and stepped onto the roof of the building. He gently crept up the tiles to the window, but to his disappointment, he could hardly see anything. Directly beyond the window sat a loft, taking most of the view.

What are they doing in there? Are there valuables to steal?

Leaning against the window, Veron caught his breath when the pane moved. Testing it gingerly with his hand, he found the window pivoted smoothly, leaving a space large enough to climb through.

Cautiously, Veron stepped through the window into the loft, thankful the wood didn't creak as he moved his weight across it. Reaching the end of the small area, Veron rested his hands on the railing and peered down below. What he saw was the last thing he expected.

A girl, probably just younger than him, twirled and moved in the warm, gentle light from a lantern hanging on a stand. She held a sword, which danced and sang through the air as she spun. Her straight brown hair was pulled back behind her head. The cloak she wore a moment ago hung on the wall, leaving her with a white shirt and brown pants.

Pants? What girl wears pants? Who is she? She's not stealing anything or killing anyone.

As he leaned over the railing farther, the wood of the loft creaked, stopping his heart. The girl froze and looked up with panic in her eyes, matching what he felt, himself. They both stared at each other silently for a long moment. Veron's fear subsided when her face softened, and she motioned for him to come down.

The ladder at the side of the loft took only a moment to descend, and he soon stood in front of the mysterious girl. Getting to see her entirely took his breath away and gave him goosebumps on his arms. Her eyes were kind, and the skin on her face was soft and smooth. A few strands of her long brown hair had escaped the tie that held it back and dangled playfully across her face. Seeing her casual smile relaxed the tension in his shoulders. Even though she dressed like what Veron thought a man should wear and

held her sword naturally like a warrior, she looked undeniably feminine. To Veron, she was beautiful in every way.

"Are you a servant here?" she asked in a gentle voice.

"Yes," he said with a catch in his voice before clearing it. "I'm new. I just arrived this evening."

"I arrived this evening too. Well . . . returned, at least. I've been gone a while. I'm Chelci Marlow, daughter of Darcius and Luciana."

Veron's chest tightened. Perfect. The daughter of that vile woman. But . . . she seems nothing like her. "Veron Stormbridge."

"I'm glad to meet you, Veron." She pointed with her sword up to the loft. "What were you doing? Following me in the middle of the night?" Chelci asked.

"I'm sorry. I couldn't sleep and was walking around. I saw you sneaking and thought you might be . . . I don't know . . . stealing or something," Veron said.

Chelci laughed. "That's honorable of you to defend the property of your new household."

"So, what are you doing here in the middle of the night? Can you not do this during the day?" he asked.

Chelci stared at him for a long while before responding. "My mother disapproves. I'm working on easing her in, but I'm not ready to push too hard. For now, it's simpler if she doesn't know."

Veron ran his hand through his hair absently, not caring that it stuck up. "Don't worry, your secret is safe with me," he said with a twinkle in his eye.

Chelci tilted her head as she focused intently and pursed her lips. "Have we met? You look somehow familiar, but I have no idea where it would be

from."
Veron shrugged. "No . . . sorry. I'm pretty sure I would have

remembered," he said as he smiled awkwardly.
Realizing he was staring, he averted his eyes to glance around the room.

It was a large open space. A few swords were mounted on the wall, ready to be used. It's an excellent room for training. Not as wide as the one Artimus had but plenty big. "It's tough to sword fight on your own, isn't it?" Veron said.

"Yes, It's definitely better with two people. You don't know how to sword fight by chance, do you?"

Veron's breath stopped as he looked back at Chelci. She's serious. "Yes, actually, I do." His heart pounded with excitement.

"Grab one," she said, nodding to the wall. "Let's see what you've got."

Veron grinned as he took a sword off the wall. The grip felt right in his hand. The familiar feeling filled him with hope. Things are already starting to turn around. Maybe being here won't be so bad after all.

The wind whipped against the walls of the tent. Bale pulled his cloak tighter around him, not for the warmth it provided, but for the feeling of safety it gave. A pile of wax surrounded a candle on the table, burned down nearly to the base. He stared at the candle, his eyes unfocused, his mind lost in the depths of the flame.

The flap to his tent opened as Desmond entered, stepping gingerly. "Your Majesty, have you decided anything yet?" he asked.

Bale continued to watch the flickering candle without responding.

"Your men, they . . . they're starting to grow restless. Some wonder what your plan is." Desmond stood patiently but got no response except the whistle of the wind outside. "What happened, Your Majesty? It's been a week. You arrived back here without any of your men and haven't spoken a word. What's going on?"

Bale turned away from the candle to look at his advisor. "He was there," he said in a gravelly voice.

Desmond jumped at hearing him speak. "Who was there?"

"The shadow knight." Desmond's eyes widened. "He was there," Bale repeated as his eyes drifted to the wall of the tent. "He killed all of the men . . . like a flash of lightning. He would've killed me had I not . . ." Bale paused to swallow, ". . . had I not fought my way out. It was terrifying."

"I thought they were all dead."
"I did too. Apparently, he's the last one."
"So, what do we do now?" Desmond asked. "Do we attack again? Do

we retreat home?"
Bale shot a scathing look of rebuke at his advisor. "We will not retreat,"

he said with confidence. "But before we can attack again, we need to find this . . . Veron Stormbridge. And we must kill him."