The entire ride there, Indenuel tried not to practice what he would say when they found out. He didn’t want to get caught. Every time he started to feel guilty about what he’d done, he’d remember Matteo’s back. He’d remember all the insults Andres and Lola had given him. Remembered the mob they formed to get back at Lucia. Indenuel truly felt like they deserved to die. They spent long enough in this country spewing their abuse. He just hated he was about to get caught for murdering them.

They pulled up to a grand home that must have been Cristoval’s and Darius’, and Indenuel stayed quiet as they walked up the stairs. The head servant opened the door and bowed. King Ramiro, Martin, Fadrique, and Navir were all talking in the entryway, the concern on their faces.

“Ah, there you are,” Martin said.

“Where’s High Elder Dalius?” Indenuel asked.

“The sickness is worse,” Navir said. “He can’t even get out of bed. There is something sinister going on here.”

A lining of sweat returned on his forehead.

“We should try with Cristoval,” Martin said.

“We can’t even be certain he recognizes us anymore,” Fadrique said.

“If Dalius cannot help, then we have to try with Cristoval,” Martin said.

“Might as well try,” Navir said. “Let’s not forget that Indenuel can help out too.”

Martin’s face fell as he studied Indenuel. “Are you strong enough for something like this, my boy? You look like you might fall over where you stand.”

Indenuel looked at his shoes as he stuffed his gloved hands in his pockets. He tried to force his mind through the mud. If he was truly in a position where someone else in the city had murdered Andres and Lola and the children were in trouble, he would do anything to protect them. “They must be found.”

Martin gave a grim nod as a servant pushed Cristoval’s wheelchair into the entryway.

“Would you like to do this in his study?” the servant asked after bowing.

“Thank you, yes,” Martin said.

The servant bowed again and Indenuel followed everyone into the vast study. He kept his hands deep in his pockets, his mouth dry. The servant bowed again as he left. Cristoval, as always, was in his wheelchair mumbling. Indenuel took the opportunity to wipe his forehead.

Martin smiled as he knelt next to Cristoval. “Good morning, my friend. So happy you could be here.”

Cristoval kept mumbling; his eyes twitched. Indenuel stared at the old man, memorizing every expression on his face.

Tolomon glanced around the study before settling himself near the door.

“We need your help, old friend,” Martin said, patting Cristoval’s hand. “We’ve brought Indenuel.” Cristoval stopped mumbling, and the hairs on Indenuel’s arms stood straight up. “We’re looking for the murderers of Andres and Lola.” Martin ushered Indenuel forward. He moved, feeling like he was going to be sick. He knelt and Cristoval started mumbling again.

“Time. Too much time. Need to have less. A wretched curse. Too hard. Too hard for me.” Cristoval closed his eyes. “Sleep. Sleep for ages. Sleep and pretend you’re dead. That’s what I’d do.”

Indenuel looked at Martin, aware tears were in his eyes. He wanted to run. There was no way he could keep pretending he didn’t have any involvement in this.

“Indenuel is here to help you harness your power. Try and ask the good spirits if they caught a glimpse of what happened last night. We need anything, no matter how distant they were, no matter how vague. There was a murder, and it’s imperative we find out who did it,” Martin said.

Cristoval stopped mumbling. He looked straight at Indenuel, and everything inside him froze, too terrified to breathe. The old man didn’t blink, his grey green eyes getting sharper with recognition. It took everything inside Indenuel not to get up and back away.

“It’s you!” Cristoval said.

Indenuel forced himself to breathe. This wasn’t an accusation. Cristoval was simply old. “Yes, sir. It’s me. Indenuel.”

There were tears in Cristoval’s eyes again. “It’s you. I knew I’d live long enough to see you.”

Indenuel wasn’t sure if Cristoval knew they already had this conversation. He didn’t dare speak any more than they had to.

“You brought them with you, didn’t you,” Cristoval said.

“What?”

Cristoval reached over, touching Indenuel’s face. Instantly the room changed, swarming with demons. Indenuel gasped, gripping the arm of the wheelchair, trying hard not to scream as he stared right back at Cristoval. The demons shrieked, laughed, and taunted, but he refused to look at them. If he didn’t make eye contact, they wouldn’t know he was here. The world lifted – no, he lifted. Cristoval had taken Indenuel’s soul and they hovered above their bodies. He closed his soul eyes, not wanting to get any closer to the demons around them.

“They don’t talk much. Just scream. You get used to them after a while,” Cristoval said as calmly as ever. There were tears streaming down Indenuel’s face. He could still cry in this state. “They hate that God chose someone else to be the Savior of the world. That they never got the chance to live the lives you and I have. So, they seek out revenge.”

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Indenuel closed his eyes. “We’re looking for the m-murders of A-Andres and L-Lola.” No one else in the room could see them, as their bodies were almost frozen.

The demons, who swarmed around the walls, instead turned their focus to Cristoval and Indenuel. His soul trembled, and Cristoval placed his hand over his gloved one, squeezing it with surprising strength. "They follow you, boy,” the old man said, looking around at the demons. “They will continue to follow you until you let go of the hate.”

“Stop, please,” Indenuel whispered back.

“I could never let it go either, so they follow me too. A thing we have in common, it seems. The only peace I get is in the Cathedral.” Indenuel let out another shaky breath, looking at the grey-green eyes again. He swore they never blinked, even as a spirit, even as he spoke as plainly as ever before. “You get used to them, after a while.”

Indenuel was practically bent in half, trying to ignore the demons all around him. “Nothing follows me. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I must ask for a favor. When the time comes, kill me quicker than you killed your village folk.”

A demon flew from behind Cristoval and appearing out of his face, shrieking as it headed straight for Indenuel.

He screamed as he broke away from Cristoval’s grasp, finding himself back in his body. The room reverted back, the demons gone. He huddled in a ball at the base of Cristoval’s chair, trembling and shaking.

“Indenuel?” Tolomon asked, alarmed.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t dare. He simply existed, trying to remember how to breathe.

“Did you see anything?” Navir asked.

Indenuel felt multiple hands, but he only rolled himself tighter into a ball as a sob shook his entire frame.

“My dear boy,” Martin said, trying to uncurl Indenuel. “It’s alright. You’re here. Let me help.”

“Get away from me!” Indenuel screamed, covering his temples to keep Martin from touching him. From probing him. From sensing all the corruption inside him. He had gone this long without getting caught, he would go a little longer.

Terror shook him as he curled up as small as possible, tucking his head in his knees.

“Demons,” Cristoval said from his chair.

“What?” Martin asked.

“Demons, demons, demons, demons, everywhere demons,” Cristoval said before falling back into mumbling.

Navir rubbed the top of his head. “If there were that many demons, no good spirit would have gotten close enough to see what was going on.”

Indenuel continued to sob, saying nothing, his skin covered in a cold sweat.

“What has happened to Indenuel?” He was in a state of shock, but even he sensed the smallest amount of concern in Fadrique’s voice.

“The boy needs some rest. This has been a terrible shock,” Martin said.

Indenuel shivered, the sobs still too strong for him to do much else besides remain curled in a ball. One day he would kill Cristoval, and one day Martin would kill him. What could any of it possibly mean?

Tolomon picked Indenuel up, and he remained tightly in a ball.

“Let him drink some of that calming tea when you return,” Martin said.

Tolomon nodded as he walked out of the study quickly. Indenuel crossed his arms over his chest, afraid the sweat would make people see into his shirt. He knew he should confess, but he couldn’t. They would ask him if he regretted it, and he would have to be honest. He didn’t regret it at all. Despite the terror he felt, despite the demons and the Hell that most likely awaited him, Andres and Lola deserved to die the way they did, taking an ounce of the pain he suffered his entire life just so they knew what it was like. He would never feel sorry for killing them, and therefore confession could never truly work. Even if this is how every Day of the Devil would be like from now on, he would never reveal he murdered them.

***

Martin paced up and down the length of the study. Navir was trying to ask more questions of Cristoval, but he had resumed his inane murmuring.

“We must conclude Kiam has now created marked individuals to fight the Warrior,” Fadrique said. “What other explanation is there?”

Martin’s mind was going fast, and he hardly had time to think. “The Kiam are people of honor.”

“They’ve used corruptive means before. They attacked Indenuel last time with grey death,” Fadrique said. “They have taken this final step to evil.”

“Damn,” King Ramiro said quietly.

Navir shook his head as he stood up, walking away from Cristoval. “The weather last night. Fadrique? You said it was created?”

“Yes,” Fadrique said. “I didn’t sense any ill use of it, so I didn’t think there was a connection.”

“And the way they were murdered,” Martin said. “Corruptive pain.”

“Good spirits aren’t often near murder scenes, but there is the possibility of a corrupted person being shrouded by demons to protect their faces. This is two corruptive powers. Possibly three.”

“I would know if the weather was for ill use. I did not sense evil,” Fadrique said. “That would be two individuals who shared a same corruptive power.”

“Individuals who had snuck into the city,” King Ramiro said.

“How do we know they snuck in? What if they’re still here?” Navir asked.

“The children’s safety is our top concern,” Martin said.

“The children’s?” Fadrique asked. “Not Indenuel’s?”

“Yes, the children’s,” Martin said. “I don’t think they’ve gone sightseeing around the city, so with any luck, the marked individuals don’t know of their existence. We must smuggle them out of the city for their safety.”

“What do we tell my men?” King Ramiro asked. “If a marked individual is among the Kiamese numbers, that might hurt the morale of the militia.”

“We let Indenuel worry about the marked individuals,” Navir said. “He may be a novice with the sword, but his skills with the four gifts are unmatched.”

“Once he wakes, we must begin training him again,” Fadrique said.

“And the children,” Martin said. “How do we get the children to safety?”

“Why are you so worried about the children?” Fadrique asked.

“Martin always takes extra precaution around children,” Navir said.

“This is different. Indenuel has an incredibly close bond with them. Should they come to harm, I am terrified of what he might do in revenge. He’s already in a weakened state of mind as it is,” Martin said.

Fadrique gave a nod. “Alright. The city is clearly no longer safe for them. Do they return to Mountain Pass?”

“Mountain Pass is no longer safe, either,” Martin said. “The marked individuals know where Indenuel grew up.”

“Oh, think about it, Martin,” Navir said. “If the corrupted individual has the Warrior as his target, would they really bother going all the way to Mountain Pass to hunt down children?”

Martin moved his head from side to side. “Maybe. Rather, would Indenuel be able to focus if the children went back to Mountain Pass with only one guard to keep watch? At this point in the war, one guard is all we can spare.”

King Ramiro stroked his beard. “If I recall, you mentioned Indenuel knows how to read. Despite growing up from a farming village, his mother had taught him. And the children, yes?”

“Correct, they all know how to read,” Navir said.

King Ramiro nodded. “There are schools they can attend in our sister cities. They will be far enough from Santollia City that the marked individuals wouldn’t bother trying to get them, especially if we get them out in secret.”

“Many of those schools have guards of their own. Far safer than having the children return to Mountain Pass,” Navir said.

“Agreed. What’s more, they would receive a formal education to help them receive a status in life,” King Ramiro said.

“We shall discuss this with Indenuel once he awakens, but I believe that is our best option,” Martin said.

King Ramiro smiled. “Then, should the Warrior agree to it, we shall pay for the children’s education through our own treasury.”

Martin bowed. “Your kindness and generosity are unmatched, your Highness.”