Considering the informant’s life was forfeit, his offer seemed a bit underwhelming. For a moment, I debated letting him marinate in my Authority a while longer but ultimately decided against it. There was no point in having a fear-consumed puppet—the fear should be more of a motivator, not an all-encompassing characteristic.

Still kneeling beside the cowering man, I withdrew the orange slaver prism from my ring storage and showed it to him. “The thing is, Sir Informant, I don’t trust you. In fact, I’m not sure I trust anyone. So here are your options: you can willingly accept this slave branding and perhaps earn my trust—and maybe your freedom—or I will cage your soul to my will for eternity.” I flipped the small dagger I’d stolen weeks ago between my fingers. “Your choice.”

The man didn’t hesitate. He pulled up the sleeve of his left arm, baring his forearm to me. “I will accept it. And I will earn your trust. You won’t regret letting me live.”

I glanced back at La’Resha, who nodded, confirming the man’s honesty. I’d nearly forgotten I had a telepathic Paragon with me. If not for Nasq reminding me, I might still be scouring the streets for suspicious individuals in a much bloodier fashion. Had it not been for Sir Dramas’ warning and Ethan volunteering to fly out with a few other paragons, I might have begun a very gory purge of anyone related to the Goldenhearts’ spies.

“Don’t bite your tongue,” I told him. “Despite what people say about me being a saintess, I cannot heal injuries like that—only damage to your soul.” A lie, but only sort of. He jerked his head in acknowledgment and bit down on the dagger hilt I offered him.

I pressed the butt of the prism to his forearm, and the man released a muffled scream as the artifact burned a triangular mark on his skin. When the branding was complete, I returned the prism to my storage ring and stood, stretching my legs. “Tell your contact in House Goldenhearts that you weren’t able to escape the city, but managed to avoid detection. Then meet me at the Silverwater Estate for your next orders. Oh, and hand over what you’re using to communicate.”

The informant showed no visible surprise, though I could tell he didn’t yet know who I was, confirmed by his next words. “Do you work for Lady Silverwater directly?” he asked, reaching into his robe and withdrawing a scroll and quill. I took a quick peek at the scroll’s contents, noting the initial at the end: ‘V.’

I didn’t respond immediately, instead glancing over my shoulder at him. “Who is V?”

The man only shrugged. A glance at La’Resha confirmed he wasn’t lying, so I folded the scroll and tucked it away with the quill into my storage ring.

“You know where the estate is?” He nodded. “Good. I expect you there before nightfall. If you’re not there by then, I’ll assume you want me to activate the mark’s punishment.” He nodded again, and I left him in the alley without another word.

“What if he has a slave mark nullifying device?” La’Resha asked, still watching the alley.

“If he does, you’ll have to find him again. But I doubt it. Didn’t you say those elixirs are exceedingly rare?”

“I did.”

“Then stop worrying. We have more pressing matters now that the informant is dealt with,” I said, stepping aside to avoid a passerby. “The Field Marshals have done good work so far,” I added absently, observing the street market around us. If not for the ruins of half the buildings, I might not have believed this city had been at war only weeks prior.

La’Resha stopped moving suddenly, and I mirrored her. Her eyes closed, veins protruding from her neck and forehead. We stood in silence for five minutes before she exhaled deeply and opened her eyes.

“Ethan and Nida are about to engage the Goldenhearts' wyvern riders,” she said, tucking a strand of blond hair behind her ear.

“And Nasq?”

“He’s securing the girl.”

“Good.”

“Tell them to keep at least one knight alive and bring them back here. I want to know exactly what the Goldenhearts know.” I rubbed the bridge of my nose and sighed. “I don’t have time to deal with this pointless family dispute.” There was no telling how Cael would react to the capture—or death—of one of their Marquesses. And if I didn’t leave Sealrite for Alistar territory soon, who knew what they’d do. I turned to La’Resha. “Who would you trust to safeguard Sealrite against Cael in my absence?”

The paragon squinted, her mouth twisting in thought. We passed by an old vendor trying to sell some type of fruit I’d never seen. He kept shoving it in our direction, yelling about its amazing taste and how the fruit had been infused with heart energy. It would, apparently, help raise one’s level an entire level. A pretty blatant lie, but it did indicate people were comfortable enough to resume standard bazaar behavior.

“I would not say that I trust the individual I have in mind. In fact, I would say I do not trust him in the slightest,” she said at last, pausing in her path so she could turn and stare at me in earnest. “But I do believe if Your Grace could compel Marquess Sharma to protect Sealrite, despite the change in leadership, that would solve a large portion of your issues. He has enough power to fend off the Goldenhearts, at least until Your Grace returns, and he should have the authority to influence Cael to not strike at Sealrite. I cannot speak to how he would accomplish such deeds, but I believe he is the only one who could. Nida and Ethan might have tremendous physical power, and Nasq may have magic closing in on the Marquess, but they lack the fame and status to hold back Cael, or to truly cause the Goldenhearts to hesitate.”

“There... may be a way to do what you suggest,” I mused, twirling a strand of my hair. “But I don’t know how long it will last. The slaver prism has its weaknesses."

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

“His daughter, then?” La’Resha suggested. “She’s under house arrest, isn’t she?”

I tossed a silver coin to a young girl selling apples and grabbed a green one. “She lacks enough Core development,” I said, biting into the apple. “And she’ll never be loyal to me. Her honor wouldn’t allow me to intimidate her into obedience. It is very likely the sole reason she has not ended her own life yet is because should she do so, her father will have no hope of ever escaping me.” My words came out muffled, mouth still full of apple. I chewed thoughtfully for a moment. “But yes, I’ll consider the Marquess. With the right incentives…” My voice trailed off as I took another bite, a drop of juice sliding down my chin.

We walked in silence for an hour until we reached the newly reconstructed military base, which had previously been destroyed by some type of magic device—assuming the Marquess could be trusted, which I doubted.

As we approached the base camp, I tilted my head toward La’Resha. “Any updates?”

She shook her head. “Nothing yet.”

I clicked my tongue to mask the uneasy feeling growing within me. “To think it would take them over an hour to deal with some house knights…” If they returned, I’d put them through hellish training.

“I still sense their life pulses,” the paragon responded softly, but I ignored her. Of course, they were still alive.

The black towers of Duke Alistar’s military camp lay in ruins, collapsed into a messy hill of rubble. In its place, hundreds of large tents had been erected wherever space had been cleared. The builders were mainly focused on removing the rubble rather than rebuilding the structures—reconstruction would have to wait until a proper workforce could be spared.

We moved through the camp, weaving between workers and support staff attempting to maintain the fragile infrastructure. I passed one tent with a towering stack of paperwork that I just knew would end up on my desk in the coming weeks. I resisted the urge to groan.

When we finally reached our intended tent, two guards moved to block my path, but they seemed to recognize me at the last second and all but leaped out of the way. I threw open the flap and stalked inside, where a group of exhausted field marshals snapped their heads toward me.

A few greeted me with calls of “Saintess” and “My lady,” but I ignored them all. “Where are the captured informants?”

Aargorn, the head marshal, pointed solemnly toward a small hatch in the ground. I raised an eyebrow. “In the ground?”

He nodded. “Aye, Your Grace. Field Marshal Daenara is a gifted earth mage. She and some of the others spent days building the bunker, just in case.”

I turned toward the woman in question, finally putting a face to the name. Daenara stood with her chin held high, her short blonde hair framing a sharp jawline and narrow eyes that reflected her no-nonsense demeanor.

“Do we know their names?” I asked.

Daenara snapped her fingers, and a young boy darted into the tent, handed me a scroll, and sprinted out without so much as a glance upward. None of the field marshals seemed surprised by his sudden appearance, though I found it mildly amusing.

I unfurled the scroll, scanning the list of names and noting one that stood out in sprawling letters at the bottom:

Victor De’Lion.

“There we go,” I muttered under my breath.

“Has anyone spoken to him yet?” I asked, eyes still on the scroll.

Aargorn grunted. “He claims he’s never betrayed House Ballenci but admits someone did. He sent out the message for his informants to scatter because he knew we’d track them down.”

“Fool could’ve just come forward and cooperated,” one of the other field marshals spat, his massive size dwarfing Daenara beside him. His black hair was an unruly mess, shaped in the same cone-like fashion as the helm he usually wore.

Daenara snorted in disagreement. “You know damn well that wouldn’t have worked. We’d have killed them all on principle.”

“Enough,” I growled, my patience wearing thin. Why was the simplest part of my plan proving the most difficult? “Show me to him. If he’s telling the truth, he might be useful. If not, he’ll die like the foreign spy he is.”

Aargorn led the way to the small hatch in the ground without another word, the rest of the field marshals remaining quiet as well. Aargorn knelt, muttering a few words, and the earth around the hatch shifted to reveal a set of narrow stairs descending deep into the shadows of the underground. I followed him down, La’Resha close behind. None of the other field marshals accompanied us, though many had expressions that said they would have preferred to.

The air grew cooler as we descended, the rough walls of the bunker dimly lit by flickering spheres of white light, reminiscent of my time in the slave dungeons. The scent of damp earth filled the area, mixed with the strong iron scent of blood. At the bottom of the stairs was a small foyer that opened up to reveal six separate cells. Each contained a single individual, two women, and two men. The fifth, I'd already dealt with.

Aargorn pointed to the leftmost cell with a man in tattered clothing, his black hair a jumbled mess of matted blood and gore. The man, Victor, had a strong jaw and large, black eyes that remained glued to me since the moment I'd rounded the corner into view. His eyes flashed with recognition as light from the floating spheres flickered over me, though he remained otherwise neutral.

“So,” I began, my voice echoing slightly in the confined space. “I hear you are claiming that you had no hand in the betrayal of Lady Brianna Ballenci?"

Victor's eyes widened at my mention of her name, his entire demeanor changing suddenly from neutral to agitated. He jumped to his feet, hands clutching at the iron bars of his cell. The moment he touched the bars they illuminated with a series of bright characters and a bolt of blue lightning sparked straight into his arms. Victor hissed and jumped back, wringing his hands together as if it would ward off the pain. "I did not," he hissed. "But I will find out who did. Is Brian- Lady Ballenci alright?"

"We don't know yet," I said, grabbing the single chair in the foyer and turned it toward Victor before sitting on it. "Like I said, she's being hunted. We're attempting to save her, but at this point, her life is out of my hands." I tapped a finger against my knee as I crossed my legs, still staring at the black-haired informant. "You aren't just an informant, are you? In fact, looking around, none of you really strike me as an informant. More... more like spies, intentionally placed into specific positions for maximum information gathering." He didn't react, but that was confirmation enough for me. "Let me ask you something, Victor, assuming that is your actual name, do you wish for Brianna to die? Do you hate her so much that you would allow the people that betrayed her to live?" I asked, leaning forward. "I've already found one of them. You warned him to run. Did you warn them all?"

"It was a general warning," he said, sneering with disdain. "And you know nothing of my relationship with the Ballenci household." There was something more to it than that, I could tell by the way his face contorted with some deeper emotional pain.

"Ah, ah," I warned, wiggling a finger in his direction. "You best control your behavior. I could very easily simply kill you and push this entire incident on you. I cannot imagine Lady Ballenci would find that news particularly endearing." I scooted the chair a bit closer. "Now, tell me. Who betrayed Lady Ballenci? I doubt some informant, or even some spy, would be able to set a trap so well. A spy may have been able to relay my movements, but the individuals chasing Lady Ballenci right now were able to track them. Had, at the very least, a rather clear idea of the path she was taking, and it was not a straight path back here."

Victor hesitated for only a moment before his eyes narrowed and his lips peeled back into a snarl. "Demetri Ballenci is close friends with Raphael Silverwater."

I wanted to laugh. The fucking Silverwaters and Goldenhearts. Pests.