Sa glyph [https://i.imgur.com/plK5EWM.png]

Paet marched Sam to the washroom. Sam cursed and yelled and screamed for help.

The older boy shook him. ‘Stop that. I don’t want to get rough with you, but I will if I have to.’

Sam kicked him in the shins by way of reply, which earned him a cuff and twisted arm.

‘Quiet down, you dumb brat.’

Sam subsided. Paet was big and strong and had a firm grip. Irritating him wouldn’t improve his situation. Maybe if he played along, he’d have a chance to escape later.

When they arrived at the bucket and the smelly hole in the rock, Paet released him. ‘Wash.’

‘What?’ Sam stared at him sullenly. ‘Why?’

‘Ritual purity. Wash.’

‘If you’re going to kill me anyway, why should I do anything you say?’

‘You can wash yourself, or I can do it for you. Your choice.’

Sam bent over the water bucket and splashed his face and neck.

‘All over,’ Paet said. ‘Use the soap. And don’t miss any bits, I’m watching.’

Sam scowled at him. Still, it seemed best to play for time — perhaps Paet would let his guard down, and Sam could run for it. He was fast and he wasn’t scared of the dark. He could lose himself and hide until it was safe to make a run for the exit.

He shrugged off the green robe and lathered the soap. It was cheap stuff, hard and gritty. The smell reminded him of Nana scrubbing floors on her hands and knees.

Memory rushed over him, so strong it was as if Nana stood beside him. Nana, with her rough hands and sharp anger and sudden kindness — he might never see her again, or his father, or Lorie. They would never know what had happened to him. Would perhaps blame him for running away and leaving them, and never sending word.

He hadn’t even meant to run away. It wasn’t his fault.

Tears welled up, hot easy tears of self-pity and fear. He wiped his eyes with soapy hands, and the sting reminded him he was angry, not scared. He wasn’t a victim. He was going to get out of this.

‘I don’t want to die,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you just let me go, Paet? You can say I gave you the slip. I’ll run and you’ll never see me again.’

Paet shook his head. ’Sorry, kid. Do your ears.’

Sam rubbed soap behind his ears and in them. ‘But this is wrong. You must know it’s wrong. I mean, Ellise and the others, maybe they believe what the Master tells them, but you saw Mikael being carried out. How many others?’

‘There are things,’ Paet said coldly, ‘the Master doesn’t explain to everyone.’

‘But why go along with this? It’s horrible. Lying to kids and killing them. Who will be next? Ellise? And maybe one day, when he’s run out of younger ones, it’ll be you. Do you ever think of that?’

‘It isn’t like that.’

‘You’re useful to him, for now, but how many helpers does he need, exactly? Maybe one day, he’ll start to doubt you. He’ll think your loyalty is slipping, and then—’

‘Shut up.’ Paet loomed over him. ‘Armpits. And hurry up, you don’t have all day.’

Sudsy grime puddled round Sam’s feet. He didn’t think he’d ever been this clean; it surely wasn’t natural. ‘What do you inner circle guys get out of this anyhow?’ He eyed the older boy. He’d always thought Paet was a decent sort. ‘Is it girls?’

‘No.’ Paet glared. ‘That’s a filthy thing to think.’

Sam shrugged. ‘You’re a bunch of lying murderers. I wouldn’t put anything past you.’

‘Well, we don’t do that,’ Paet said. ‘It’s not allowed.’

‘Maybe you don’t.’ A muscle twitched in Paet’s jaw. ‘I mean, the other boys, I bet they get some. And the Master — or it might not be girls. Maybe it’s little boys he likes— ’

‘Shut. Up.’ Paet grabbed him by the arm. ‘You want to know what’s really going on? I’ll tell you.’

Sam cringed. Now he’d begun to think of all the horrible possibilities, he wasn’t sure he wanted them confirmed.

‘You’re not going to die. Mikael’s not dead. We don’t kill anyone. He was asleep when you saw him.’

‘Where did they take him?’

‘Away.’ Paet shrugged. ‘To a place where they’re taken care of. So you see, there’s really nothing to worry about.’

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

Sam doubted that very much. ‘But Ascension is a lie, isn’t it?’

‘The truth is, you’re going to be possessed by a demon.’ Paet said it as if this was an everyday occurrence and nothing to be alarmed about. ‘It will be easier on you if you don’t fight, but it doesn’t hurt, not much. When the Master’s done with you, we put you to sleep, and you’ll be taken somewhere to recover.’

Paet picked up the bucket and emptied it over Sam’s head. Cold water gushed into his nose and mouth; he spluttered, then coughed. Paet’s grip on his arm hurt, and despite the constant warmth of the cavern, he shivered.

‘You’ll do. We’d better not keep the Master waiting any longer.’

Si glyph [https://i.imgur.com/mHhTdaF.png]

The silence in Simon’s cell had grown too large to shut out with exercise or reading. He paced, and rubbed his finger stumps, and pursued his worries in restless circles.

As usual when he wanted time to fly, it slowed to a crawl instead. But finally, there came the hollow clunk of the door above, and the march of boots on the downward spiralling path.

Simon stood in the centre of the cell, tense on the balls of his feet. He tugged his shirt straight. The bodkin was pinned into his left trouser pocket. He couldn’t imagine it would be of any use, but it was there.

Two Wardens arrived at his door. He was surprised he rated that many; he doubted he could overpower one, nor did he want to try. The cell door clunked and clicked open, and he stepped out, onto the path. Freedom was a dizziness that left him swaying on the edge of the drop.

One of the Wardens took his arm and steered him upward. He walked obediently; he would have run if he could. And one by one, the seven iron doors opened and closed for him and his keepers, each time bringing a rush of fresher, cooler air.

Then the last door closed behind them, and he was out. His two guards marched him through lamp-lit corridors and vacant rooms. Their blank masked faces discouraged conversation. He wondered if these were men, or women, he’d met before. He didn’t know the names or faces of his prison guards, only Lorie’s friend, Talia.

They entered a large room, high-ceilinged, the walls plastered and painted the yellow of sunflowers. To his right, chairs had been set out for a small audience. Nana sat in the front row, beside Grace and his mother.

Riga slouched at the other end, separated from them by a few empty chairs. Seeing Simon, she leaned forward, smiling with all the warmth of a wolverine that has found a rabbit in a snare.

He ignored her. Someone was missing: Lorie. His heart skipped a beat. Where was Lorie — and, perhaps of more immediate importance — where was Vikki?

He stopped by Grace. ‘Is Vikki here?’

She shook her head. ‘I sent multiple messages. She may just be late.’

Sitting beside her, Nana had her arms crossed, and her mouth was compressed in a thin angry line.

‘Where’s Lorie?’ he asked.

‘Your daughter’s run off to look for your son.’ Nana scowled. ‘And before you start, it was her own idea, I told her not to, and she went anyway.’

‘What?’

One of his guards grasped his arm to hurry him along. Simon resisted for a moment, but the contest wasn’t one he could win. His escort pushed him forward to the empty chair meant for him. It faced a desk, behind which sat a bald-headed, elderly man in the grey uniform of a Warden.

From the numbness in Simon’s head, the thought surfaced that the old man must be Commander Quinn. His face looked to have been bleached and stretched and wrung out many times over the long years underground.

The old man glanced at him and gestured to the chair. ‘The prisoner may sit.’

Prisoner. That’s me, Simon thought. He sat, gazing straight ahead at Quinn, all too aware of Riga’s predatory stare. The guards stepped back, taking up positions behind him.

In the distance, the midday bell rang. Quinn cleared his throat and stood, leaning on the desk for support. ‘Is everyone present?’ He had a surprisingly deep and resonant voice.

‘One of our witnesses has not yet arrived,’ Grace said.

‘We can’t wait all day,’ Quinn said. ‘If they turn up, their testimony will be heard.’

‘But, sir—’

He cut her off. ‘I’m sorry, but the schedule must be kept. You’ve had plenty of time to make arrangements.’ He sank into his chair and peered at his paperwork. ‘Now, the case is straightforward. House Oryche accuse the prisoner, Simon vai Oryche, of murder and request him handed over to their authority. Simon vai Oryche asks for sanctuary, on the grounds that the charge is false. Does anyone present dispute this?’

Silence answered the question. Quinn turned over a page and went on: ‘Riga vai Phylaxes represents Oryche. What is the evidence as to guilt?’

Riga stood. ‘On the seventeenth day of Winterdark, Saint’s Day, the body of Jonas vai Oryche was discovered, mutilated and decapitated, in an alleyway near Vallis Street. The prisoner Simon was a known associate of his. Though Oryche by birth, he was expelled from the House and is at present a vagabond without fixed residence or occupation.’

Quinn raised an eyebrow. ‘Is there any evidence Simon was responsible for this regrettable killing?’

‘Jonas was an Oryche and my cousin. We have the right to pursue justice. No evidence is required.’

The eyebrow hitched a little higher. ‘If that’s all you have to contribute, you may be seated.’ Quinn gestured to Simon, who stood. ‘What do you have to say for yourself?’

‘I didn’t kill Jonas.’

‘Can you prove that?’

Simon took a breath. Vikki wasn’t here, and maybe she wasn’t coming. He’d counted on her to back up his story. Surely, she must have got the message from Grace? Of course, they hadn’t parted on the best of terms, and she’d been upset by Jonas’s horrible death, but surely she wouldn’t abandon him. He only needed her to tell the truth.

‘Well?’ Quinn prompted.

‘I and another person, a common citizen named Vikki, were looking for Jonas when we found him dead in the condition described. He was probably killed in the course of a robbery. Murders of this nature are not uncommon in the area.’

‘Indeed, that’s possible. This Vikki is the witness you were expecting to attend?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘In her absence, can anyone else verify your account?’

‘My mother-in-law can confirm we went out together to find Jonas.’

‘I daresay she would, but if that is the best you can do, I have little choice but to hand you over to House Oryche.’

‘Sir, if I may beg your indulgence.’ Simon glanced to his right. Still no Vikki, and no Lorie. Grace and Nana looked worried. Riga smirked. But Vikki might simply be running late; perhaps she’d appear soon. ‘Eranon, Lord Oryche, isn’t interested in justice here. He is pursuing a personal vendetta.’

The eyebrow rose again. Quinn’s watery grey eyes met Simon’s with a trace of sympathy and humour. ‘Interesting. Go on.’

Simon eased his bad knee. On the off-chance Vikki would turn up, he had to string this out a while. ‘Should you deny my request for sanctuary today, I expect to die before tomorrow. Since my life is quite literally in your hands, I hope your patience will permit me to tell a rather long story. Do you mind if I sit?’

Quinn nodded.

Simon sank into the chair, took a deep breath, and began at the beginning. ‘My name is Simon vai Oryche. My father Idan was Lord Oryche…’