“I beg your pardon, High Elders, your Majesties,” Pablo said as he opened the door and gave a bow. “It seems like Dalius has gotten sick. His personal healers are doing everything they can, but he and Cristoval will not attend this meeting.”

Indenuel felt the large trunk of things he needed to worry about release two small slivers. He hadn’t thought of it before, but this was a stroke of luck.

No, it isn’t.

He blinked a few times, trying to think. Dalius was the only one who came closest to suspecting him of murder. Even if he was wrong in that instance, it wouldn’t take him too long to put the pieces together. He would figure out. And someone got him sick.

“Can I offer my services?” Martin asked, taking a few steps forward toward Pablo.

“Oh, no sir. They have ruled out physical sicknesses. This might be a sickness caused by more demonic means. Dalius should be healed in another day or so,” Pablo said.

Martin raised his eyebrows. “That is concerning indeed.”

Pablo nodded before bowing again and leaving the room.

“Do you think they’re connected?” Navir asked.

Indenuel’s knees quivered, and he was glad to be sitting down.

“I don’t think so. The Day of the Devil is a week and a half away. I’m certain it is something with that,” Fadrique said.

The color fled from Indenuel’s face. Of everything he heard today, this was the most terrifying. He completely forgot about the Day of the Devil. He had a week and a half to meditate the mark off his chest. He might have to spend all Sabbath in meditation.

“My dear, we’ll be talking about some grizzly details,” King Ramiro said to Queen Lisabeth.

She nodded before touching his hand. “I shall go check on the orphan children.” She curtseyed to the men before walking out of the room.

They began the meeting with a prayer before King Ramiro pulled out a paper.

“My deepest condolences, Indenuel,” he said quietly. For such a big, jolly man, he didn’t expect such quiet warmth to come from him. Indenuel nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Everyone else added their condolences, and he blinked back tears. He didn’t want to cry again. His gloves were in a sorry state, and he didn’t want to rase them above the desk for the others to see.

“There has been no sight of any Kiamese solders in the city. Not even Kiamese people, but we’re going to keep searching,” King Ramiro said.

Indenuel nodded, staring at no one. He understood the implication. They would start in the Oramin refugee camps. He wasn’t sure how harsh they would be on the Oraminians. The prejudices were high, though.

“Sir,” Indenuel said, trying to choose his words carefully. “Please, as much as I want to find the murderers, treat the Oraminians well.”

King Ramiro didn’t smile. “I understand your desire for diplomacy, but this is the second attack in as many weeks. Your safety and the safety of the children are on the forefront of our minds.”

Indenuel winced. “The children? They’d be in danger too?”

“The Kiamese soldiers attacked your townsfolk because they were associated with you, therefore we must assume everyone who knows you is in danger,” Navir said.

Indenuel tried to keep the nerves from his face. “Of course. Do what you must to keep them safe.”

“Did either Andres or Lola have the ability to talk to the dead?” Navir asked.

Indenuel shook his head. “No. But…”

“But you can. Did they come see you? Did they tell you who murdered them?” Martin asked, standing straighter.

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Indenuel looked down at his gloves. “They came. But…” he cleared his throat. “But they were… I saw them get dragged to… before they could say anything.”

“Ah, my dear boy,” Martin said, full of compassion.

Indenuel shook his head, staring at his gloves. It was better to not say anything. Say little, and accept condolences. They’d never find out he used his corruptive powers to push Andres deeper into Hell.

Martin stood next to King Ramiro when he looked down at the paper and frowned. “Excuse me, your majesty, can I see that?”

King Ramiro nodded, handing him the paper. Indenuel moved his left finger into his right glove, easing the cloth off some of the deeper cuts.

“What is it, Martin?” Fadrique asked.

“The sketch of…” Martin trailed off, then glanced at Indenuel. In that moment, he felt cornered, and he felt another spike of panic.

Think. Think before you talk. Don’t assume.

“What?” Indenuel asked.

“I don’t want to give you any more of a shock than this whole thing must be for you, my boy,” Martin said.

He saw through the light the paper the sketch of the murder scene.

“I’m not a child. There’s no need to protect me,” Indenuel said quietly. “I want to find the Kiamese soldiers who murdered them.”

Martin nodded, the compassion still there before he looked back down at the sketch. “Is this exactly how the two were found?”

“Yes,” King Ramiro said. “And a description, there, of everything found around them. Do you see something we didn’t?”

“Look. Look at this.” He pointed to something on the drawing. “Were their bodies checked for corruption?”

King Ramiro nodded. “One of the first things we checked. Their souls were long gone, and their bodies had turned cold.”

“They had been dead too long, then. Their souls were already gone to-” he stopped himself short, again looking at Indenuel who purposefully did not look at him.

“What exactly are you trying to say?” Navir asked.

Martin set the paper on Indenuel’s desk as the others gathered around. “See this here? The storm was vicious last night, but there’s still traces of blood coming from the ears, the mouth, the nose, and the eyes of both. This is the tell-tale sign of being murdered with the corruptive pain.”

Indenuel winced as he forced the rest of himself to stay still.

“The weather last night was odd,” Fadrique said. “Almost sinister. Not unnatural for Santollia, mind you, but I could sense it was created.”

“What are you saying?” King Ramiro asked.

Martin tapped the knife wound in the picture of Andres. “A knife to the gut as well as corruption to the brain. We’re looking at someone full of hate.” Everyone was looking at the paper, so no one noticed Indenuel wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead.

King Ramiro frowned. “So not a group from Kiam?”

“I don’t know. Yes, Kiam hates us, but maybe not at this level. This feels more personal, something specifically directed at Andres and Lola,” Martin said.

Indenuel’s heart rate tripled, but he stayed quiet and forced himself to breathe normally. He moved closer, making sure his gloved hands were protected under the desk. He tried to stay quiet, to not bring attention to himself, willing Martin to stop talking.

“Would it be enough hatred to know Andres and Lola are associates of the Warrior?” King Ramiro asked.

“Possibly.” There was something in Martin’s tone that said he didn’t believe it. “Maybe we’re looking for a Kiamese individual with a personal grudge against these two people. I’m starting to think there’s another deeper motivation besides them being associated with the Warrior.”

“A Kiamese person who knows two specific people from Mountain Pass?” Fadrique asked, sounding incredulous. “That’s impossible. Most of Santollia didn’t know about Mountain Pass.”

“All I know is the corruptive powers of pain are personal. Whoever did this wanted Lola and Andres dead for some reason. I wish Dalius was here,” Martin said with a frown.

“How would that help? They are in Hell. They cannot tell us who murdered him,” Navir said.

“No, but maybe there were good spirits in the area who saw. Dalius might be that powerful to commune with them to see what they know,” Fadrique said.

“With a murder this grisly?” King Ramiro asked. “The good spirits wouldn’t be within a mile radius of the individuals.”

“But some of them might have been forced aside but still might have seen something. Even if there was a chance, we must take it,” Fadrique said.

Indenuel’s mouth went dry as he folded his arms, digging his gloved hands deeper into his sides to keep them from trembling.

“Are we looking for a group of Kiamese soldiers or not?” King Ramiro asked.

“Whoever we’re looking for, it was someone or a group who had a powerful hate toward Lola and Andres. Almost sick in the head, if you asked me. I don’t know anyone who would have stabbed Andres and also filled him full of corruptive pain. It feels like whoever it was must have been toying with him. That kind of hate is corrosive to the soul. Whoever did it cannot hide that level of corruption. Of that I am positive.”

Indenuel swallowed, then was afraid it was way too loud, so he glanced at everyone who was still looking at the paper and not at him before he looked away again.

“Matteo!” Everyone turned toward the door. Indenuel practically leapt out of his chair at the sound of Queen Lisabeth’s sharp voice right outside the study. She opened the door, her hand on Matteo’s shoulder. “Forgive me, the boy seemed to have slipped away from the other two. I don’t know how long he’s been listening in.”

Tolomon’s mouth dropped open in shock. “Damn, Matteo, you’re good.”

Matteo didn’t hear Tolomon’s compliment. He just stood there, his eyes as wide as two breakfast platters, his mouth hanging open. His stare cut through the entire group, as though no one else was there. No one but Indenuel as tears raced down his cheeks. Indenuel’s heart dropped as he stood up out of his chair, unfolding his arms. Matteo, quiet, observant, ever watchful Matteo, put the puzzle together.