For two days Martin was in the reading room of the basement of the Cathedral. He didn’t go to meetings, and he let the High Elders believe he was sleeping with Inessa, even though he hadn’t touched her since he found out. He barely went home, and if he did it was at late hours to sleep, but he left well before anyone was awake. The feeling of anticipation permeated the city, turning into claustrophobia. He tried not to think about the war. He was working on getting the mark off Indenuel’s chest, which would certainly help the war efforts as well as his own. He had a stack of papers with him in the reading room, flying through anything that talked about marked individuals before the time of the Great Flood.

Martin arranged his papers, then frowned, placing them down before grabbing The Ancient Ways again. Strengthen his mind. That’s what the sentence said.

He flipped through his pages of notes, seeing the pattern.

…strengthen your soul…

…courage in your heart…

…purity of mind…

Martin circled his notes.

Mental. It’s all mental, Martin thought as he leapt to his feet. He continued to look through his notes, shuffling the pages as he headed up the stairs.

“Martin?” Martin looked up to see Navir coming out of his study, looking at him with concern. “Have you finally come up for air?”

Martin lowered his notes. “I’ve got it. I figured it out.”

Navir stopped, studying his face closely. “Figured what out?”

“How I can get my powers back.”

Navir’s face seemed unreadable. “Oh. Right. Tell me, what have you learned.”

“I don’t think it’s a physical fight at all with Indenuel. Erco talked about it being more from the mind. I’ve studied other prophets who all say the devil plays a mental game, and much of his tactics are through manipulation and lies. As the devil isn’t allowed to touch the physical world without possessing a body, it would be far more believable that the battle Erco talked about was a mental one. In fact, despite the wrestle we had, I felt my powers leave when… when it turned more mental for me.” Martin smiled. “I’ve hurt Indenuel badly. Done some things I need to apologize for. I honestly think seeking his forgiveness is the mental battle we are supposed to have. And, if my research is correct, if I can win this mental battle, the reverse effect will happen on him, and his mark will be cleansed.”

Navir continued to stare at Martin, thinking things through. “It’s, um… an interesting theory.”

“One we can thankfully try out right now. I could do a lot of good to this city with my power fully restored, and Indenuel needs the mark gone,” Martin said.

“No doubt, my friend. Let’s… let’s go see him,” Navir said.

Martin nodded. “Thank you.”

They climbed into a carriage, Navir asking the driver to take them to the King’s dungeon. Martin settled in, trying now to figure out how he could best have this conversation with Indenuel. He had spent two days trying to figure out how to remove the mark, because he was honestly terrified to face Indenuel again. He hoped enough time had passed that his anger wouldn’t be as sharp. And the mark not nearly as dark. Navir seemed lost in his own thoughts. “Do we have any news on the war?” Martin asked.

Navir shook his head. “We have nothing. We are relying on archaic means of scouts and horseback riders for our news, and none of them have come to the city since the fire. We are completely blind.”

Martin nodded, deeply troubled. “Hence the arming of my grandsons.”

“And the grandfathers. And the male servants,” Navir said.

“The Oraminians?” Martin asked.

“No, not the Oraminians. We can’t trust them with a sword,” Navir said.

“We’re going to have to trust them eventually,” Martin said.

“I trust them to stab us in the back,” Navir said, folding his arms.

Martin watched Navir, who was looking out the window. He wondered how they had gotten to this point. Wondered how the world seemed to be falling apart, the anger and the hurt between nations had gotten so bad that they would rather kill then communicate.

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“And Indenuel? How is his mark?” Martin asked.

“The boy is holding on to a lot. It’s difficult,” Navir said, not looking at him.

“Well, we can certainly try again.”

The carriage stopped in front of the palace, and Navir led Martin to a side door of the dungeon.

"High Elder Navir and High Elder Martin here to see Indenuel the Warrior,” Navir said.

The guard bowed, then paused. “I am sorry, sirs. Indenuel is sleeping.”

“Sleeping?” Martin asked. He glanced at the sky. “It’s midday.”

“It’s very hard to tell the time of day where he is, sir,” the guard said. “And High Elder Dalius just came back from trying to heal his wound. That is always taxing for him.”

“I see,” Martin said, rubbing his chin. “Can you alert me the moment he wakes up? I’d like to talk to him as soon as possible.”

“Of course, sir,” the guard said.

“Oh, just Martin is fine,” he said, giving a smile before heading toward the carriage. He took a few steps before he realized Navir wasn’t following. “Navir?”

“Coming,” Navir said before turning around and following Martin. “I guess we just have to wait, now.”

“I hate waiting,” Martin said. They climbed into the carriage and were silent the entire time back to the Cathedral. Maybe it was better he wasn’t talking with Indenuel right now. Maybe he needed to use this time to prepare what he was going to say to him. He realized he had done a lot of horrible things as High Elder. He doubted a simple apology would make everything better. He would have to be sincere. They would have to have a mental battle, as the philosophers suggested. And it would somehow have to end up with Indenuel agreeing to sleep with Inessa and keep it secret from the other High Elders. This was going to be a mental battle, indeed.

“Are you coming?” Navir asked.

Martin hadn’t realized they were already at the Cathedral. He looked at the beautiful work of art, the symbol of hope it had been for so many people. That it had once been for him. “No. I’ll wait in my own personal study for them to call me. I’ve neglected my family long enough.”

Navir nodded before turning and climbing the steps of the Cathedral. Martin was lost in thought the whole way home. He was struggling with whether to prepare, or just go with what was needed in the moment with Indenuel. There were some things he knew he could never prepare for. But he was relieved. He had a theory, and he was willing to work on it.

The carriage stopped, and Martin climbed out. He heard some noise in the back garden as he walked toward the front door. Derio opened it, bowing.

“Any letters for me, Derio?” Martin asked.

“None, Martin.”

“I am expecting one from the dungeons. Whether a carrier brings it, or it somehow comes through the trees, I am to be told the moment it arrives. Sleep or not. Meditation or not. Meeting or not. Understand?”

“I understand, Martin,” Derio said.

“Good. Thank you, Derio. And what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at the training grounds?” Martin asked.

“We have our own little captain to get our training from,” Derio said, pointing toward the gardens.

Martin paused, then walked toward the back doors. Diego, barely fifteen-year-old Diego, was sword fighting one of the servants, giving all the men surrounding them tips. Diego disarmed the man. Martin watched as Diego fought servant, cousin, brother, all disarming quite quickly, all while shouting tips where to aim, how to keep balance, running through different stances that would be most helpful. Martin watched by the door, feeling like he was seeing a young Nathaniel all over again. Maybe a touch more arrogant than Nathaniel had been. Nathaniel always had Carlos to humble him.

“Oh, hello, Grandfather,” Gustav said.

“Gustav, how are you?” Martin asked.

“The training grounds got too difficult to hear. Diego is the top of his class, so he’s been sanctioned to teach us all so that it frees more space in the training grounds,” Gustav said.

“Why weren’t you chosen?” Martin asked.

“Because Diego is better,” Gustav said. They watched as Diego unarmed another servant. There was no bitterness in Gustav’s voice. He was simply stating a fact. “I hope my father doesn’t curse me in the next life. I’ve honestly been trying.”

“You have, Gustav. Carlos loves you. He always has.” Martin pointed at the boy’s sword. “May I borrow that?” Gustav looked down at his sword before unsheathing it and handing it to Martin. He patted his grandson on the back before walking through the circle of servants. Diego noticed him coming.

“Grandapi, what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at the Cathedral?” Diego asked.

“They are suggesting all men learn these basic defense skills, right?” Martin asked as he unclasped his High Elder robes and handed them over to Derio. “I may be High Elder, but I am also bound by law to protect this beautiful city. She has served me my entire life, and I would like to protect her.”

Diego stared at Martin for a moment, then shrugged. “Have you had any sword practice?”

Martin went into basic stance, then gave a shrug. “Here or there. In my youth. I’m rusty, no doubt.”

Diego nodded, then looked far too hesitant to attack him. Martin went with a soft blow, trying to ease the boy out of his nerves. Diego blocked it and went for a jab which Martin blocked easily. Martin then did a number of jabs and parries before completely disarming Diego. Diego watched his sword clatter to the ground before he looked at Martin in a completely different light.

“Holy shit!” The lad, despite disarming over a dozen men himself, suddenly went pale and his eyes grew wide. “Don’t tell my mother I said that.”

Martin snorted. “Fair enough. Now, stop being so afraid to attack your grandfather. It’s not like we’re doing combat fighting. I need to get the memory back in these old muscles of mine.”

Diego smiled, a new light coming to his eyes as he used his foot to toss his sword in the air before catching the hilt. A stupid, dangerous move Nathaniel and Carlos would always do that caused more than one cut hand. Diego moved to basic stance. “Does Api know you’re this good at the sword?”

“I was going to be a soldier until I decided to take the religious scholar route. Your Api wanted to be a politician until he decided to be a soldier. We’ve had long talks about it when he was struggling to decide what to do,” Martin said before going for a lunge.

Diego blocked it easily, then went in with multiple jabs and thrusts. Martin blocked them all. Barely. Diego looked seriously impressed. “I guess Uncle Carlos and Api had to get their skills from someone,” Diego said.

Martin smiled. “I guess they did.”