“There has to be more,” hissed out Beat.

They had been interrogating Paladin Buttonweed’s corpse for hours. All Veximarl could get out of him was basic information. Where he had trained. Who his mentor was. Nothing that was relevant. Nothing that pertained to why he had attacked them, or why he wished to capture both Alton and Sybil.

Veximarl slumped to the ground. “This is my fault… The shock of losing Alex as well as the intensity of the fight has drained me.” He shook his head with frustration. “Forgive me, Mister Alder, but this is my limit.”

Beat’s eyes flashed dark for a moment. That voice inside of him was demanding retribution by desecrating the Buttonweed’s body but Beat buried those intentions away. “I will guard you until you are well enough to preserve the body.”

That was the lie they had agreed to. Buttonweed was no villain. He was merely a sacrifice that died protecting them... But that didn’t satisfy Veximarl. The rage inside him burned just as brightly as Iath’s flames. If left to his own devices, he would do nothing but holler at the heavens about Buttonweed’s betrayal.

“You must go ahead and report what we have learned.” Veximarl put a hand to the side of his head. “I will rest and use their wagon to bring his body back to the barracks.”

Beat nodded. He placed a hand against Veximarl’s shoulder. “Travel with ease,” he whispered.”

Veximarl remained slumped until he was certain that Beat had left. No more ears to listen in or spies waiting in the shadows... Good. His actual work could now begin. With a snap of his fingers, Buttonweed’s corpse sat up. Iath may dwell deep within Beat and loan him his power, but Veximarl was Tria’s son. Death was his playground. He would not be denied his winnings.

“Mister Alder has left. You will now tell me everything.”

… And he did. Buttonweed’s corpse gurgled word after word, patiently answering each and every one of Veximarl’s orders until the necromancer had his fill. With a few small gestures of Veximarl’s hand, the corpse proceeded to stand up.

“Once you are inside the wagon, your mission is done. I vow to never again rot you with my demands,” said Veximarl. He then followed Buttonweed to the wagon. Once inside, he secured the body so it wouldn’t roll around and proceeded to use his magic to preserve it. Only then could he take a break and process what he learned.

And that was that Buttonweed’s mission was supposed to be over by the end of winter. He had been promised a high ranking position that would end his days as a teacher. Something that Dorian Buttonweed has always wanted. Recognition. They would all finally understand that his potential was being wasted at Grand Temple and come to regret the years he wasted there.

All he needed to do was capture one stupid woman and bring her to Grand Temple. There was a contact at Braytons who would assist him. They would capture Sybil, and Alton would obediently follow afterward. He didn’t understand why either of them were to be secretly transported, but he didn’t bother to care. Not as long as he got his reward.

Yet Sybil had to have a glasstrotter, which drew the attention of her kidnappers. Buttonweed saw this as an easy opportunity. He would be the one to contact the slavers first and buy Sybil right out from under their noses. What he didn’t know was that Dalkirk and Sybil’s friends were far more devious. That would be the first time that Sybil slipped through his fingers.

When the mission from Carapace was over, Sybi’s reckless attitude had grounded her from going on missions. Their antics during the would-be attack had all of Grimstone grounded. Once again, this was an opportunity. He and his ally had plenty of time to prepare. This time, they would have a plan that worked.

He made contact with the slavers, slaughtered the majority of them, and left Claire Lilium in charge. She had once been a promising mage, and one of the youngest ever candidates to the Moonseed unit, but her bets during the Southern War had been misplaced. Her honor destroyed and her hand forced. Either admit to being a traitor or live a life as a slave.

For her, it was a game of patience. Then the day came where Buttonweed found her. He promised that all of the crimes she had committed during the war would be buried. She had been a slave, who had had “no control” over her actions. All she needed to do help him and he would return her to her former glory.

But that’s as far as Buttonweed’s strategies would go. The plot to capture Sybil at Rockender’s estate had failed and she had fled to the barracks rather than where they hoped to guide her. Claire’s slavers had scattered. Maurice had rebelled and fled. If he did not capture Sybil soon, then it would not be long until he would be exposed.

Veximarl already knew the rest. One last rush to get their prize had ended with Buttonweed’s death. He died without ever knowing his real employer’s name. Perhaps his contact at Braytons would have more information. An ally that would become dangerous when cornered. Veximarl was fully aware of how dangerous they could be.

He took a nap, released the wagon’s horses to the wild, and used his summons to drag him back to the barracks. Veximarl worried about how the others would react. They had a target now, or at least a lead. What he needed to do now was calm the rage and frustration inside of him long enough for him to come up with a plan.

But his ability to remain calm ended the moment he reached the barracks. A group of squires were constructing a funeral pyre in the outer training field. This practice was only reserved for knights who held long tenures at Braytons. Their ashes would be mixed within the foundations of the barracks, so that their guidance would always linger here.

Deep in his heart, Veximarl prayed that it was a stranger. Someone who had died in the war and whose body had been brought back here… But he knew differently. Grimhawk was dead. Whether it was Sybil’s doing or the old knight’s heart, he didn’t know. The only knowledge he possessed was that their fool’s gambit had cost them the life of their mentor.

Veximarl guided the wagon into the barracks and headed towards the church, where he intended to store Buttonweed in the morgue. He had to yank back on Ale’s reins to prevent himself from running over Anais, who was struggling with a governess cart.

“Mister Tuton!” Anais waved at him. “You’re back!”

Veximarl smiled wryly. “Calling me ‘Vex’ is fine, Anais.”

She poked her finger to her temple. “Sometimes it’s nice to be formal. At least, that’s what Mister Wolf thinks.” Anais nodded to her wolf, who nodded back.

“It certainly is nice once in a while… Where are you heading off to?” He didn’t like the idea of her going anywhere by herself, though he doubted her wolf would let her get into trouble.

“Into Tilrey. I’m picking up the flowers for Sir Grimhawk’s funeral,” she replied. Though it was expected, the news still hit Veximarl’s hard. Anais’ eyes lit up with realization. “Oh, I, uhm… I-I thought you knew, a-and… Right, they said you were still out, and you must have only just returned...”

Veximarl smiled weakly at her. “It’s alright Anais… It’s quite alright.” His hands gripped tightly onto the reins. “Sir Grimhawk’s favorite flowers were gardenias.”

It took a moment for Anais to regain her composure. “I’ll be sure to ask for them.” Though she wished Gwyn were here to grow some. “They recalled most of the squads so they could attend the funeral. Moontear should arrive this afternoon and Macestar returned this morning. I saw Tish enter the church not too long ago, if you wanted to ask her about the details.”

“I’ll go say hello. Thank you,” he replied with a fake smile.

Both of them adjusted their paths and passed one another. Veximarl parked outside the church and hoped down. He would get someone to help him move Buttonweed later. His spells would preserve the paladin for several days if needed.

Braytons had been torn down and rebuilt many times over the centuries. Squire accidents or aging buildings. The only structure that had remained mostly untouched but often repaired was the church. It was made of white granite with tall archways. All of the wood within had been stained various shades of blue. The floor was black stone, polished and varnished so that it reflected like a mirror, with blue rugs that ran between the pews and down the aisle.

There was a noticeable indent in the stone behind the altar, where thousands of acolytes had given their sermons. Their feet wore a path away beneath them as they paced or shuffled their feet about. Tish was standing there now, with her hands upon the altar. She could feel the weight of every sermon ever spoken within these walls.

She glanced up at Veximarl and her face became dragged down with guilt. Tish shook her head. Her fingers ran along the marble of the altar. Cold and smooth, but in no way soothing.

“I believe we are on the same page now,” said Veximarl. He continued to take slow, deliberate steps up the aisle. His hand was on his hip, where his spear laid.

Tish hesitated, then she froze. Fear kept her from replying right away.

“Henrietta Pennyrile,” whispered Veximarl. But his voice carried clearly within the cavernous church.

Tears began to drip down Tish’s cheeks. The skin around her eyes stung from the salt. She crumpled to the ground and covered her face with her sleeves, shaking her head over and over again.

Veximarl moved around the altar so that he could see her, but he kept his distance. He didn’t know if Tish was crying out of guilt or fear, or a combination of the two. His talk with Buttonweed had made him question everything he had ever known about this woman.

Grand Temple is a host to many factions. One of the oldest is The Daughters of Iath, which was created shortly after the founding of the city. They were comprised of daughters from paladin families, but only those who were not gifted with other magic. Their focus was to follow through on the teachings of the gods and improve the world around them.

Henrietta Pennyrile was the current head of the Daughters. She was the one who had offered Tish a deal. She would later go on to offer Buttonweed another deal, but he and Tish would have to act together to bring Sybil to Grand Temple.

“She said that I could break the contract that my father had signed,” whispered Tish through her tears. She took a moment to dab her eyes with the corner of her robe. “I’ve done such horrible things, Vexi… I never meant for Zaniyah to get hurt or for Sir Grimhawk to die.”

Veximarl did what he could to harden his heart. “Yet you purposely arranged for Zaniyah to be at the abbey, and for me to be sent to Sybil if ever she sent word of an emergency. You were the fallback plan in the event that Sybil had slipped through the slaver’s fingers. The mysterious forger of letters, the one who controlled the information coming to and from the abbey, it was all you.

Even when Zaniyah nearly died, you refused to call for help... And you have spent months drugging me so that I would obey your whims. Despite the injuries and death, I doubt that you would hesitate to sell off Sybil or Alton if you were given the opportunity again.” He knelt on the ground and glared at her. “Do not pretend that your crimes carry less weight than Buttonweed’s.”

“They offered to give me my life back in exchange for some simple information,” replied Tish. “I was only supposed to tell them about Sybil’s abilities and what missions she was assigned to, but they kept adding more and more demands. They told me to use my magic to control you so that we could manipulate her schedule, and then Buttonweed arrived and said that they had changed their mind… That he would be the one taking Sybil, a-and…” The tears began to fall again. “N-no one was supposed to die, Vex.

Sybil had failed the entrance exams. I told them as much, but they told me to stay here and wait for her return. Madam Pennyrile said that Duchess Elbellziara had already started her plans to become Sybil’s sponsor, even before the exams started. As if she expected that Sybil would be allowed entrance to the barracks.

“Does Madam Pennyrile serve Duchess Elbellziara?” Veximarl shuffled forward. He placed his hand on Tish’s shoulder. “There is no reason to lie to me now, Tish. You must release the truth.”

Tish bit onto her lower lip for a moment. “... No. I don’t believe so.” She raised her head and looked into Veximarl’s eyes. “The King rules the country from Fogbloom, and the Duchess rules the region from Grand Temple, but just as the King’s court rules Fogbloom, Duchess Elbellziara has no power within her city. That right belongs to the Order of Alcea.”

Veximarl shifted from kneeling to sitting cross-legged. Of all the news he had received today, this was the most surprising. “... What is the Order of Alcea?”

“It’s an order that was formed after King Cadogan died. I’m not quite sure how they operate, because they are quite selective of their members, but they run the entire church from the shadows. All I know is that they seek to discover the purest definition of our religion.

And I, like the fool I was, thought that’s why Miss Pennyrile offered me a position with the Daughters. I worked so hard to gain access to old tomes and to look up the old ways… But I know now that I was just a pawn, like Buttonweed. Our lives only have value as long as we have a purpose to fulfill. They don’t care if I die now.”

Veximarl tightened his grip on her shoulder. “Regardless of-”

His guard had dropped for the briefest of moments and Tish’s hand, which had been wiping her eyes dry, snapped to his cheek. It first felt cold and slightly damp, then an overwhelming sense of euphoria hit Veximarl’s head. The experience was heightened from the weeks they had spent apart and that headache which had plagued him for weeks was finally gone.

“We’ll protect each other,” said Tish. “I’ll always protect you and I have been guarding your secrets. I have never given them information about you, because I know that what we have is real.”

And he knew she was being truthful. The only reason why Veximarl had won his duel was because Buttonweed was caught off guard. Aside from a handful of people at the barracks, no one knew of his true nature as a necromancer.

But that posed another problem. Buttonweed’s surprise was equal to Duxton’s innocence. Shaw did not seem surprised by what he had seen, or by Beat’s offer to help interrogate a corpse. Duxton always held the same information as Shaw. If the prince truly wished to capture Sybil, then she would already be gone. Despite Veximarl’s reluctance to admit it, Duxton was their greatest ally in protecting her.

“Paladin Buttonweed saved us from a bandit attack while he was on his way to the Golden Coast,” reassured Veximarl. “Sir Grimhawk sacrificed his life to save us. Both of them will be remembered as heroes. If you become exposed, you can simply state that the bandits turned against Paladin Buttonweed after the first plan failed.”

Relief washed over Tish’s features... Yet her hand remained on his cheek, subtly channeling magic into his conscience. “No one must know that I was involved. I don’t believe they’ll let me live if I am expelled from the barracks.”

“I have already told Mister Alder that I was not able to retrieve proper information from the cadavers. You are safe, Tish.” He leaned into her hand as she rewarded him with another rush of euphoria. “... We must take precautions. There is always the chance that either of us will be discovered.”

“We will,” she replied.

Despite all of Veximarl’s flaws, Tish also had nothing. Following Pennyrile’s instructions would lead to a death sentence. The same could be said for disobeying them. Both she and Veximarl were parts of the same coin. Society had placed a noose around their necks.

Veximarl’s silence was the only shield that could save Tish... And he was going to provide it.