Instead of taking me on a guided tour of the Citadel, Kerra pulled out the suppression manacles, clamped them back onto my wrists, then put a musty, burlap sack over my head. The spikes bit down like hungry piranha teeth, draining the Arcana and supernatural Stamina from my body once more.

“Really?” I asked, my voice muffled. “I thought we were past this?” I asked, wincing as the spikes chomped into my skin.

“My personal feelings are irrelevant in the matter,” she said. “The Citadel’s rules and laws exist for the safety of our order and the Exarch most of all. Although your assistance on the journey is appreciated, I will not break protocol. What’s to say that this wasn’t all a ruse, specifically intend to lure us into a false sense of security, thereby allowing you to get into the presence of the Custodians, unshackled?”

“Is that really what you think is going on?” I asked, voice dry and flat as the Serengeti.

“No,” she admitted, “but the risk is too great. For what it’s worth, I do believe the veracity of your claims, and I will give an honest report of what happened to the Custodians, but I cannot and will not betray the mission that has been entrusted to me. Now stop delaying the inevitable and walk, we are expected shortly.”

After climbing twenty flights of stairs and trudging up half again as many sloping hallways—bumping face first into more than a few walls along the way—we reached our destination. I knew because I could hear the gentle scuff of boots on tile and the whispered murmurs of other people.

“They’re ready for you, Justiciar,” said a voice I didn’t recognize, deep and gruff.

“Thank you, Morgan,” Kerra replied formally, prodding me into motion once more as a door ever so softly squeaked open in front of me. The groan and scrape of chairs followed in short order.

“Honored Custodians of the Citadel,” Kerra intoned as she pulled on my arm gently, motioning for me to stop. “I bring before you Boyd Knight, the false Vigil we have been receiving widespread reports about. Before you proceed with your judgment, honored Custodians, there are extenuating circumstances that warrant your immediate attention. Most notably, the accused claims that he is not a false Vigil at all, but rather is an Inkarnate, hand chosen by Rageul, and called from a different world.”

She paused and took a deep breath as though bracing herself for a punch to the solar plexus. “As unlikely as that may seem,” she continued, “I believe he is being forthright in his claims. Vigil Telent interrogated the man extensively and found no guile to his words. Furthermore, the accused has demonstrated a host of notable powers and abilities, which, to the best of my knowledge, would be impossible for even an accomplished Warlock to replicate.”

“You forgot about the part where I saved you from that giant fucking bear,” I said, my voice muffled by the hood.

“I didn’t forget,” she growled quietly in my ear, “I was getting to it.” She cleared her throat. “As the alleged Inkarnate mentioned, he also assisted the retrieval team after we were waylaid by a Fell Bear just south of the Rifthorn pass, which had an…” she faltered. “An uncommon ability I haven’t seen before—”

“Did it conjured a series of smaller bears, then?” a wizened old voice asked, a note of mischief in his words.

“Yes,” she replied, surprised.

“Aye,” the voice replied with a chuckle. “I’ve seen it before—must’ve been an Elder. They get craftier as they get on in years, much like we Vigils. More unpredictable, too. Some eventually develop a rare ability called Lesser Replicant, which allows them instantaneously spawn several junior Fell Bears. It’s a truly nasty surprise if you’re not prepared for it. In truth, you’re lucky to be alive.”

“Yes,” she replied matter of factly, “in part thanks to the accused. I am still convinced we would’ve defeated the creature on our own, but we may have suffered casualties without his assistance. It should also be noted that he had an opportunity to escape after the battle but chose instead to come with us once more and face his judgment. He has shown himself to be honorable, if annoying.”

“Aw, you say the nicest things, Kerra,” I said through the hood. “I think you’re pretty awesome too.”

“If there is no indication that he is being dishonest,” another voice said, this one female and hard as an iron battle-ax, “then why is he being detained and treated in such a fashion? We all know how thoroughly unpleasant the suppression manacles are, yet you have forced a potential Inkarnate to wear them, even after he proved himself in combat and defended our brothers and sisters from harm? If what he says is true, then he should be treated as an honored guest, yet we have shown him the hospitality of a wanton criminal.”

“That is protocol, Custodian Thrane,” Kerra replied evenly, shrugging off the scorn in her voice. “It was not my job to determine whether he is or is not what he claims to be. The Citadel dispatched me with the task of finding Boyd Knight, a man claiming to be a Vigil, and bringing him in so that he could be judged by the collective wisdom of the Custodians. That is what I did. Nothing more, nothing less. Given his potential power and the possibility that he is a Warlock, shackling him for the safety of the Custodians was the only reasonable course of action.”

“Enough of this,” a third voice boomed. “Let us not bicker amongst ourselves, Custodian Thrane. What is done is done and cannot be undone and, in the meanwhile, we’re talking about the man as though he is not standing before us, bound and hooded. Justiciar Kerra has given us her testimony, now let us see the truth for ourselves.”

A second later, Kerra pulled the hood off my head.

I squinted and blinked against the harsh glare of torchlight, letting my eyes adjust after being in utter darkness for so long. I was in a circular chamber with a golden dome high above me. The floors were marble and inlaid with a gold and silver relief that depicted the fivefold sigil of Raguel. Stained glass windows, showcasing each of Raguel’s faces, were set into the walls interspersed by golden scones that burned with unnatural flames. Blue. Green. Red. Gold. Silver.

There was an enormous, crescent-shaped table directly in front of me with five stern-faced individuals seated directly behind it. There was a collective round of surprised gasps when they saw my blood red eyes.

“Incredible,” the man at the center of the table said, standing slowly. The guy had a full head of silver hair and fine crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes. He was older. If I had to guess, I’d say he was in his late forties or early fifties, though it was impossible to tell for sure. He planted his hands on the table and leaned forward, brow furrowed as he studied the symbol on my forehead.

I studied the symbol on his right back.

It was an exact mirror of my own. The golden sigil of Justice.

“It’s not a fake,” he declared after a beat, “I’m sure of it. Kerra, release him from the manacles in you please.”

“But Exarch,” she said, “are you sure that is—”

He held a hand and silenced her with a look. “Although I am getting up there in years, Justiciar, I am not as frail as I might appear.”

Frail? The dude was fucking jacked. He looked like he could bench press a pickup truck, then go for a ten-mile fun run with a full rucksack. Plus, he was decked out in glossy red scale mail that looked like it had come from an actual dragon. Frail was not the word I would’ve used, older or not.

“Besides, even if he has ill-intentions toward our venerated Custodians, I feel reasonably certain we could stop him. Yarran,” he said, gesturing toward a lanky Vigil at the end of the table with the sigil of Truth on his forehead. “Question the young man, if you will.”

Kerra grimaced but did as she was told, using the signet ring around her neck to free me from the shackles. They dropped to the floor with a thunk and palpable relief rushed through me. Sweet Lord Almighty, but that felt good. The bloody gouges in my skin, courtesy of the sharpened iron spikes, immediately started to heal over while my Stamina and Arana pool rose.

Yarran skirted around the far edge of the table and approached me with his hands folded behind his back. I felt like a prized poodle getting looked over by one of those fancy dog show judges.

“Remarkable,” he said after a moment. “If this is Warlock magick, it’s of a type I’ve never seen before. He has access to the Ascendant System yet…” he paused, lips pressed into a tight line. “Yet it is different from anything I’ve seen before. He is both like us and utterly unique from us. Unless I am mistaken, he has recently ascended to the Adept Class, which is a remarkable achievement considering the circumstances.”

He prodded my forehead with a spidery finger, then circled around me, poking at my ribs, chest, and shoulders. “Yes,” he continued thoughtfully. “There is no doubt in my mind that he has been touched directly by Raguel. I can see his life thread, plain as the nose on my face. Clearly, he is a grown man, but based purely on his life thread he is but an infant to our world. It is as if he was recently born anew.” He shook his head. “Truly, I’ve never seen the like.”

He stepped directly in front of me and locked eyes with me.

“It is considered bad form to use any form of mental compulsion against our fellow Vigils,” he said apologetically, his voice warm and fatherly, “but we must discern the truth of this matter. Best if you don’t resist. Besides, it is in your own best interest that you speak the truth, do you understand?”

It was the same line Telent had used on me back in the Twisted Pig, but the power radiating off this guy—permeating every word—was a hundred times more powerful. I’d been able to resist Telent’s suggestions, but this hit me like a bomb blast. Like the weight of a mountain pressing down against my chest. My knees trembled and my vision swam. In a flash of sudden insight, I knew he was right. Telling him the truth was in my own best interest and I wanted to help this man in any way I could.

“Yes,” I said, my mouth numb.

“Very good. Now, is it true that you are from another world?” he asked. “That you are an Inkarnate as you claim to be?”

“Yes,” I grunted again. There was some part of me that didn’t want to speak on general principle, but the request just sounded so goddamned reasonable. Besides, I didn’t have anything to hide. This is for your own good, Boyd, a quiet voice whispered over and over again in the back of my head like a song playing on repeat.

“Tell us everything,” he commanded.

Before I could even think about resisting, the words poured from my lips.

I told them about Earth, about growing up in the backwoods of Kentucky, and my time in the Marine Corps. I told them about Fallujah, about Cal, about the IED that took his life and the grenade that ripped apart my guts. I told them about the shadow demon that had come to ferry my soul through the cosmos and my half-remembered face-to-face with the Raguel. Yarran asked me questions as my story unfolded. He grilled me about Cal and Renholm—wanted to know if I was a pawn for the Fae Courts—then moved on to a series of questions about Arturo and Ironmoor.

I answered every single question without hesitation.

I would’ve told him anything. Hell, I would’ve confessed to breaking my Gran’s fine China back when I was eight—a secret I’d never told another living soul. Even from a galaxy away, I was pretty sure my Gran would’ve found a way to whoop my ass if she knew I broke those plates.

“I sense no guile,” Yarran declared as I finally fell silent.

I was hunched over, hands on my knees, sweat pouring down my face. My stomach was knotted into a fist, and I felt like a dishrag that had just been wrung dry.

“He is telling the truth. This man is indeed an Inkarnate, snatched from the claws of death and called from across the stars by Raguel.”

There was a moment of stunned silence as the Custodians of the Citadel all shifted uncomfortably in their high-back seats. Everyone looked mortified. Everyone except for Kerra. She looked exactly as composed and unruffled as she had when we marched in here.

“I suspect we owe you a great apology,” the man in the center said, breaking the stillness, “so let me formally offer you one. I am Exarch Gerhard, and on behalf of all the Custodians of the Citadel, we are truly sorry for the discourtesy you have suffered under our care. I’m sure adjusting to our world has been no easy task and instead of being welcomed to our order with the honor and respect you deserve, we have debased you terribly. Both by questioning you in the manner we have, and in the way Justiciar Kerra has treated you.”

I stole a sidelong look at Kerra.

This was my chance to be a dick and rub her face in the fact that she’d been wrong. But… I didn’t want to. She’d just been doing her job and, as far as I was concerned, she’d done it well. She’d executed her mission objective, hadn’t let her personal feelings get in the way, and she’d done it all to protect others. Sure, I might’ve done things differently had I been in her shoes, but I could understand why she’d made the choices she had.

If that wasn’t enough, it was clear the people of this city loved her, and I suspected she’d come by the adoration the honest way—by helping people when they needed it.

“Naw, no hard feelings,” I said, shrugging one shoulder. “From the sounds of it, you guys don’t get a lot of Inkarnates turning up on your doorstep. You were just trying to do the smart thing and for what it’s worth, Justiciar Kerra did a bang-up job of getting me here. I mean, I did almost get eaten by a demon murder bear, but that could’ve happened to anyone.”

“Thank you for your graciousness,” the Exarch replied with a nod. “It is a high mark on your character and speaks well of your temperament. Now, I am sure you are tired. Though you may be from a different world, you are one of us in spirit and are welcome here. You will be given quarters appropriate to your station within the Citadel and will have access to any of the services and shops on the premises. Obviously, you will not be forced to undergo the Ascension of the Vigilant since you have been personally marked by Raguel, and by all accounts, you have done an admirable job since arriving here.

“Slaying a Hexblight is no small feat, even for a Fist of Vigils. To do so with only the aid of an Arbitrator is quite astounding.” He paused, tapping thoughtfully at his chin. “Still, I suspect there is much you need to learn about this world and about the inner workings of our esteemed order.” He turned his gaze on Kerra. “I want him paired with a senior trainer—someone to help guide him as he adjusts. Run him through the basics. Weapons, our unarmed martial disciplines, Fist tactics and composition. Let’s also make sure he gets a few formal contracts under his belt as well. Kerra, as Justiciar of Training, I will defer to your recommendation, but I think Niels might be a good fit.”

I felt a spirit dickishness well up inside me as a plan formed in my mind.

“Actually,” I said with a completely straight face, “if you’re going to pair me with a trainer, I’d like to be partnered with her.” I hooked a thumb toward Kerra.

I fought against the overwhelming desire to openly laugh at the indignant, disbelieving look that flashed across her face. True, I didn’t want her to get in trouble for doing her job, but she had handcuffed me with magical vampiric shackles, forced me to ride through a blizzard, and stuffed my head into a burlap sack. She had a little payback coming her way and I knew babysitting me would chap her ass, which was the exact level of dick I wanted to be.

“But, that’s… I have duties,” she stammered. “Responsibilities…”

“Look,” I said, raising my hands in concession, “I’m sure this other guy, Niels, is awesome, but I want the best of the best. I mean, Kerra oversees your entire training program so who could be better than her? You even trusted her to hunt me down, which says a lot about the kind of faith you have in her. Also”—I leaned in and dropped my voice—“I think she might have a crush on me.”

“What? No… That’s… I most certainly do not,” she said bristling like an angry porcupine.

“Methinks the lady doth protest too much,” I replied, shooting her a wink.

“Exarch, noble Custodians, you can’t seriously be entertaining this,” Kerra said, her face like an angry thunderhead. “I’ve already spent too much time away from the initiates. I am far too busy—”

“I think it’s a wonderful idea,” the Exarch said firmly, his tone ringing with a sense of finality. “It’s not every day we receive an Inkarnate and after the disservice we’ve done him, this seems like a small consolation, all things considered. Having him work directly beneath you—”

“—Phrasing,” I muttered.

“Is an excellent idea,” he continued, though I thought I saw a slight smile at my remark. “There is no one better suited to instruct him, Justiciar, and perhaps he has something to teach us in turn. There is surely a reason Raguel, in his infinite wisdom, has decided that our paths should cross. Vigil Niels is more than capable of overseeing your administrative duties until this special assignment is concluded. Be welcome to the Citadel of Custodians, Boyd Knight. You both are dismissed.”