“Agent Frostblade.” Kalden dipped his head in a shallow bow.

“No need for that.” Emberlyn’s father strode past Kalden as smoothly as if he’d been invited. Like most State Martials, the man wore a dark suit jacket and a crisp white dress shirt beneath. He was Espirian like his daughter, but while Emberlyn had long golden hair, his was a darker shade of brown, cut short and receding around the temples.

“Ah.” Frostblade paused a second later when he saw Akari by the sink. “I didn’t realize you had company.”

Akari shuffled back, looking more afraid now than she’d looked all day in the Contested Area. He didn’t blame her, either.

Kalden fumbled for an explanation, but what could he say? An informant would have her own hotel room. Even if she visited her employer, she wouldn’t do it in her pajamas.

Frostblade turned back to Kalden, not sparing Akari a second glance. “We need to talk,” he said. “In private.”

“Of course,” Kalden stammered. “When—”

“The rooftop bar will do.” Despite the late hour, his tone seemed to suggest sooner rather than later.

“Perfect,” Kalden said. “Can I have five minutes to get ready?”

Frostblade gave a curt nod. “I’ll head up now and wait for you.”

Kalden shut the door behind him, leaning on the wooden frame to catch his breath.

“Shit,” Akari muttered. “Was that who I think it was?”

“Yeah,” Kalden said with a shaky nod.

“What’s he want with you?”

Kalden made a zipping motion across his mouth, then shot a wary glance at the walls on either side. The Martials knew where he was staying, and the best time to listen would be now, when they had a relative sense of safety.

Deep breaths, Kalden told himself. He didn’t know if Frostblade’s visit was personal or professional. His demeanor suggested the latter, but that was normal. This man talked to his own daughter as if she were an agent under his command.

His thoughts raced as he moved to get ready. Guessing Frostblade’s exact motive would be unproductive. Just like in a game of crowns, he’d have to consider every possible move from his opponent and plan accordingly.

He didn’t have time for a full shower, but he washed his hands and face in the sink, removing any obvious signs of dirt or raptor blood. After that, he changed into his other set of clothes, brushed his teeth, and combed his hair.

If this were any other time, Akari would have joked about all the effort he put into his appearance. But she stood there in total silence, not even cracking a smile. They’d both worried about a Martial interrogation since before they set out for White Vale. Now, it was finally happening. And no matter what he did, the power dynamic favored Frostblade in more ways than one.

The elevator reached the rooftop a few minutes later. A glass dome covered the entire restaurant, and the floor vents blasted out warm air. Snowflakes clung to the glass like white dust, while others blew in swirls against the night sky.

He’d assumed ‘rooftop bar’ was just a description. But no, the black and white sign actually said ‘The Rooftop Bar’ in thin capital letters. Not the most inspired name, but he’d seen worse.

A long granite counter dominated the far wall, and circular tables filled the space between them. He made his way past the other patrons until he found Frostblade sitting in the back corner with a sound suppressor on his table.

No sooner had Kalden sat down than a thin Shokenese man approached them with a pair of menus.

Frostblade held up his hand before their server could speak. “Hightown Park. Neat.”

Clearly, this man had experience dealing with impatient Golds because he took the interruption in stride as he turned to Kalden. “And for you, sir?”

Hightown Park was a single malt corzi—probably older than Kalden was. Having recently turned sixteen, Kalden still hadn’t mastered the art of ordering impressive drinks. Instead, he went with his father’s favorite.

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“Ace of Fire, please. With a water.”

The server gave a brisk nod and stepped outside the sound suppressor.

Frostblade gave him a knowing smile. “You seem nervous.”

“Do I?” Kalden did his best to mirror the older man’s expression, clasping his shaking hands on the table.

“Is this about that Bronze in your hotel room?”

Kalden blinked. Akari hadn’t been wearing her badge. Unless he’d looked at her mana directly?

“She left her badge on top of her backpack,” Frostblade explained. “You’ll have to forgive my intrusion. I honestly didn’t know.”

“Ah,” was all Kalden could say. He’d prepared several explanations, ranging from the full truth to variations of it. Unfortunately, the Martial had decades more experience with this sort of talk. He’d kept his first few moves vague, leaving awkward silences for Kalden to fill. Kalden saw the tactic for what it was, but as with most skilled opponents, seeing their tactics wasn’t enough to stop them.

“She works for me,” he finally said. “But my mother doesn’t know about her. That’s why we shared a room.”

“Don’t worry.” Frostblade’s laugh was almost amiable. “You’re not engaged to my daughter yet, despite what she may think.”

Kalden released a breath, though the storm hadn’t fully passed.

“In the meantime,” he continued, “what’s the point of being Gold if we can’t have our way from time to time? Just don’t get her pregnant, and there’s no harm done.”

While relationships between ranks had always been discouraged, pregnancies were considered far worse. Now that Kalden knew more about mana arts, he saw the issue in a new light. In most cases, the child would be born a Silver. But there was a small chance of getting a Bronze with high mana levels.

Someone like Akari.

Such a person could learn mana arts with the right training. And when that happened, people would question the entire system.

The conversation paused as their server appeared with three glasses, placing each on the granite tabletop.

Once they were alone again, Frostblade brought his own glass to his lips. “Like I said, I didn’t come to White Vale to judge you.”

“You’re hunting the Fugitive,” Kalden said as he took a sip from his glass. It didn’t taste as good as he’d imagined—the smoke overshadowed the hints of salt and spice.

“What do you know about her?” the older man asked.

Kalden coughed on his drink and immediately brought his napkin to his mouth. “Her?”

“The Fugitive is a young woman.”

Kalden had to clear his throat several more times, then he took a long drink from his water glass. “The media seems to disagree.”

He nodded. “Can you guess why we’ve let them spread misinformation?”

“You’re luring her into a false sense of security,” Kalden guessed. And it was working. As far as Relia was concerned, no one in White Vale had seen her. She might not have shown her face in the Hunters’ Guild otherwise.

Frostblade raised his glass to him. “The Contested Area is too large for us to cover, and squads of smaller agents don’t stand a chance in a straight fight. We need her to come to us.”

“And why are you sharing this plan with me?” Kalden asked.

“Because you’ve seen her.”

Ice ran through Kalden’s veins, but he forced his face into a calm expression before he furrowed his brow. “You don’t think the girl in my room . . .”

“Of course not.” Frostblade waved a dismissive hand. “But we spotted the Fugitive in the dining hall today around lunchtime.”

Damnit. So that was how Frostblade knew he was here. He’d checked the Guild’s security cameras.

The older man sipped his corzi, but he kept his eyes trained forward. Kalden mirrored his opponent’s motion as he considered his next move. Most likely, Frostblade would ask if he’d interacted with her at lunchtime.

Kalden could deny it, but then his opponent would retort with evidence, catching him in any number of lies. He and Akari had arrived in the dining hall within minutes of Relia, and they’d ordered lunch immediately after she’d left.

What’s more, another Martial had been sitting across the dining hall, and he’d likely seen the whole thing. Denying the talk would be Kalden’s worst possible move.

What would an innocent person say?

“I was there around noon,” Kalden offered. “Someone approached my table and sat down—an Espirian girl, late teens or early twenties.” He avoided mentioning her red hair for now. Most security cameras didn’t film in color. There was a chance—however small—that they didn’t know that detail.

Frostblade raised an eyebrow. “What did she want?”

“She tried to sell us zylusk cores.”

“And you didn’t think to report that?”

“I thought about it,” Kalden said. “But I figured it was some local trying to scam tourists. I never thought . . .” He blinked several times, trying to look as overwhelmed as he felt.

“. . . that you’d just met the most dangerous person on Arkala,” the Martial finished for him.

Kalden dug his elbows into the table, clinging to it like a raft in a storm. “If my mother finds out about this, that’ll be the last time I travel on my own.”

Frostblade practically rolled his eyes at that last comment, which was the intended effect. He took another drink and continued. “The Guild has received similar reports of a girl trying to sell them zylusk cores. But those reports happened outside the walls. She’s getting more desperate, and that’s exactly how we want her. Lost and desperate, but with a false sense of safety.”

That described Relia surprisingly well. For all her power and skill as a mana artist, he couldn’t imagine a happy ending for her.

Frostblade drained the rest of his glass. “You’re heading home tomorrow I presume?”

“That’s right,” Kalden said.

He pulled a card from his jacket and slid it across the table. “Here’s my number if you see anything else.” And with that, he left a silvernote by his glass and stood to leave. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”