Veximarl had been told to go back into the wagon while Protea talked to the bridge guards. The doctor had clearance to bring his cart directly to the palace, but the guards wanted to search it, but they obviously couldn’t, because of the damn harpy in the back. It didn’t matter to Veximarl what the hold up was. His nerves were completely rattled.

“Neryx will fix,” whispered Harlea.

Again, it didn’t matter if Neryx handled the situation. Veximarl was completely regretting his choice to come here and nothing Neryx could say or do would fix that. “... Yes, good,” he stammered.

The back door of the cart opened, and Amalfrieda’s face popped in. “I don’t have clearance to enter and Doctor Protea can’t leave his wagon behind. You’re gonna have to cross the bridge yourself.” She then pointed at Harlea. “Hey, pigeon. You’re flying back under the cover of night.”

Harlea let out a quiet squawk. She then squinted as Amalfrieda closed the door. “... Bitch.”

Crossing a massive bridge in broad daylight with plenty of witnesses to see the strange gangly man enter the palace. That was probably a good thing. “It would seem that I am not to be smuggled in. That eases some of my worries.” Veximarl fumbled his fingers together.

Harlea hung her head off to the side. “Visit Harlea?”

“Certainly. I dread to think of you being trapped up in the rafters of the palace with only Neryx as company.” Veximarl flashed her a hesitant smile as he grabbed his bag and headed out the exit. Not that there was anything of his in the bag, but it was at least the changes of clothes that Protea had gotten him.

Protea gave him a light shove towards the bridge. “Remember to tell them that I did a satisfactory job.” The cleric flared out his fingers. “Five stars.”

Veximarl held no desire to give him any sort of good review. “Yes, of course.”

He kept his head low and made his way across the bridge as quickly as possible. Veximarl nearly fell to the ground as the horns at the entrance blared and the front doors opened. A pair exited and waited for Veximarl to cross. One was a taller man wearing church robes while the other was a teenager in a plain, dark suit.

Veximarl hadn’t even made it halfway across the bridge. He began to awkwardly jog the rest of the way. What were the greetings they used in Fogbloom? Till had drilled etiquette so roughly into his head that it must have left a hole behind. All of that trained courteously had fallen out of his mind and had clearly been forgotten.

The older of the two bowed respectfully. “Greetings, Lord Fogbloom. I am Father Laurent Aconite. I serve as one of the heads of the church and as King Howell’s religious advisor. This is Viokern Aconite, Duchess Elbellziara’s youngest son. He has been a pupil of mine for the past two years.”

Viokern was clearly flustered. “A p-pleasure.” He quickly bobbled his head.

Veximarl was equally flustered. He hadn’t expected Violet men to use the Crimson bowing tradition. This was a strange sign of respect. “For me as well,” he said with a bow. “It is a pleasure.”

“There are servants waiting inside,” added Laurent. The doors opened behind the pair, revealing a cluster of maids. “One of them will take your bag.”

“Yes, thank you.” Veximarl unshouldered his bag and a maid quickly ducked in to take it. “I have been traveling for a while. May I be allowed a wash before we conduct any official business?”

“Of course.” Laurent gestured for Veximarl to follow him. “King Howell prefers a late lunch. You may have an hour to yourself. The servants will be located close to your room. Feel free to ask for anything you require.”

Viokern was suddenly hopeful. “Will I be allowed to attend?”

“Apologies, Viokern, but you cannot afford to miss your marriage interview today.” Laurent gave him a stern look. “We will appreciate it if you leave a good impression this time.”

Dismay washed over Viokern’s face. “Yes, of course.” He dipped his head. “I will do my best.”

Laurent bowed to Veximarl again. “If you will excuse us, Lord Fogbloom, I must see to it that Master Viokern is prepared before he sets off.”

“Yes, of c-course,” stammered Veximarl. “Thank you for greeting me today.”

Laurent smiled softly. “The pleasure is mine.”

Veximarl was whisked away by a tidal wave of maids, who dragged him to a suite. A bath was drawn for him, and several mannequins had been put up. They had church robes in different styles. After he had bathed, they asked for him to pick out a set of robes and asked how he would like to be shaved.

Though when it came to his hair, Veximarl insisted that it was fine as it was. He looked at the robes and chose one that was black and slate gray in color. The design was inspired by the Crimson Region, meaning that it had hidden strings that kept it tied on rather than relying on the use of buttons. Unsurprisingly to him, they fit perfectly. Tish had always been fusing over his clothes in the past, she would’ve been intimately aware of what size he wore.

Laurent came to fetch him afterward. They headed to the family meeting room together. He paused when he reached the double doors. “Only family members of the king are allowed within.” His hand rested on the doorknob.

“Should we meet with King Howell in a different location?” Veximarl asked.

“You are the last of the Fogblooms. True nobility. It is for the best to repair the old bonds our blood once shared. We will consider you to be and treat you like family.”

The Aconites and Alcea families were the ones who had chosen to shatter those bonds. Veximarl was well aware that Thomas Aconite was the one who murdered Alessia Fogbloom. That loyalty to the coup was paid back eight years later, when he, the youngest son of the Duke of Violet, was crowned King of Lustro.

Veximarl had words. He was brought to the palace against his will. The only reason he agreed to come was that he had ill words for the current regime. Father Laurent’s sweet words should be damned. After he had settled his affairs here, Veximarl was going to leave this place and return to the swamplands.

Laurent opened the door and gestured for Veximarl to step inside. Veximarl only managed one step before his body froze up completely. His eyes locked onto the king, who was sitting at the head of the table.

Howell stared at him for a moment before breaking out into a smile. “Sharp senses on this one. Excellent instinct.”

“Indeed,” replied Laurent as he gently ushered Veximarl into the room by pressing his hand against the necromancer’s back. “Go ahead and have a seat.”

Veximarl hastened to take a seat at the massive table. Twenty could easily sit here. Though no one else was present, he couldn’t help but to feel like he stood out as he took a seat in the chair that Viokern had occupied just a few hours before. He felt even more out of place when Laurent stood guard at the door.

“Do you like it?” Howell gestured to the portrait behind him with his thumb. “Thomas killed himself the year after they painted that. Jumped out a window and hit a big rock before slipping into the ocean. Took three days for his body to wash ashore and we were able to sweep the whole mess under the rug by claiming he had been experiencing worsening dizzy spells on the days leading up to his suicide.”

Veximarl looked at the portrait and then to the king. “... I see.”

Howell stood up and used his fingers to make a rectangle on the wall, making it look like he was framing an invisible portrait. “We started a new portrait of me and the grandboys today. Hoping to have it done and up in time for new years celebrations.” He turned around and flourished a hand in the air. “I look absolutely horrid in it, but that’s all a part of the plan. That’s the lesson we took from Thomas. Illness is an easy excuse for death.”

“Yes, of course.” Veximarl bit onto his lower lip. He didn’t mean to agree so easily, but it slipped out his mouth as a reflex.

“Have you eaten?” Howell waved at Laurent. “Has he eaten?”

“Not yet, sire.” Laurent folded his arms behind his back. “Will this meeting take long enough to order a meal?”

Howell’s dry lips spread into a wide grin. “We will get him some tea. That’ll tide him over until he can have a proper meal later. Will you need a cup too, Laurent?”

“No, sire,” replied Laurent with a shake of his head.

“Good. Fewer dishes to clean.” Howell turned his attention back to Veximarl. “Apologies for the unnecessary roughness. Doctor Protea is one of our lower members. He handles simple tasks well, but we have trouble getting him to deal with affairs delicately.” He put a hand to his chest and did a subtle bow. “I would like to personally welcome you to the Order of Alcea.

You’ve been doing what you can to look into us without much success. At least, that’s what our sources tell us.” He smiled again. “We may as well tell you a bit about ourselves, since you’ll someday be one of our leading members. Our order was founded after the death of Father Omiro Alcea. All we’ve done is seek to bring the dreams he started into our reality.”

Veximarl straightened up in his chair. “Apologies, sir, but Father Omiro is responsible for the deaths of many who share the same blood as I. I do not believe that I have a place in whatever dream he could have conjured.”

“We wish to create a better Lustro. It’s what any good man or woman of this country should desire,” replied Howell. “We once thought it simple, but true enlightenment and salvation take decades to foster. We’ve learned that this is a process that may take several generations to accomplish.” He gestured to Veximarl. “You’re simply one of the pieces that will inherit Father Omiro’s will.”

Veximarl stood up. “I understand that you may believe yourself to have good intentions, but your organization has done nothing but cause myself and my allies misery. It even caused the death of one of my dear mentors. I cannot condone the actions of this organization and I ask that I not be involved in whatever nefarious plan you’ve concocted within that void of a mind you have.”

Howell took his time to sit back down in his chair. “The church.”

“What of it?” Veximarl put his hand to his hip. His fingers tensed. He had allowed the maids to take his spear away from him, meaning he had no way to properly defend himself. “Do you plan on having me arrested under the charge of necromancy?”

“Quite the opposite,” replied Howell with a shake of his head. “I intend to have you train under Laurent Aconite and inherit his position as the king’s religious advisor. Necromancy would be legalized and you would be hailed as the man who helped unify the broken segments of the church.”

So that’s how they were going to place Veximarl on a leash. He shouldn’t allow himself to be easily swayed by such sweet promises. “That deal is far too convenient for me.”

“The Fogbloom family is in dire need of a personal victory. Your goals simply align with ours. Lustro cannot progress if we do not extend courtesy to our necromancers.” Howell gestured to Laurent with a gnarled finger. “And Laurent will be pleased to have a worthy apprentice.”

Veximarl remained tense. “Prince Duxton won’t readily agree to this plan.”

“He will be discarded as the crown prince by the end of the year,” replied Howell. “Have you met Viokern? He’s El’s youngest boy. There are some ropes we have to jump before he’s declared heir, but that isn’t your concern. The king picks his hands, the ones who help rule over this country, and Viokern will choose you.”

“... And what of Eatha?” Veximarl needed to test them. There was no trusting these people, even if they openly traded information with him.

Howell eased back into his chair. “Protea sent word that Iath was stirring problems. A meeting between siblings is simply impossible at this time. She’s been reduced to blood iron, for her own safety, of course. We are at war with demons, Veximarl. Eatha will be kept in torpor until our battle is won.”

Veximarl had reasons to be in Fogbloom, but he was far better suited serving Lustro on the frontlines of the war instead of as a man of the church. In fact, he preferred battling tainted beasts over dealing with politics. There was a layer of spoiled fat lying just underneath the surface of the palace. The king was nothing more than a sack of mental illness and corruption.

Laurent opened the door and let in a maid. No one spoke as she crossed the room and set a single hot cup of tea down on the table. The heavy scent of mint wafted through the air. It nearly smelled identical to the blend that Tish made herself. Too much mint, not enough star anise.

A pang rang out in Veximarl’s chest. “... Henrietta Pennyrile. I wish to ask about her.” These people may have profited off of Tish’s death, but that woman was the reason why Tish had been placed at Braytons. Much of his woes could be traced to her.

“If you want her taken care of, we can arrange for it.” Howell’s eyes followed the maid as she left the room. “She has taken actions that have not been beneficial to the Order. Most of it can be overlooked due to her loyalty, but if you ask for it, I assure you that she can and will be punished.”

Veximarl eased himself back down in the chair. He stared into the cup of pale tea. A small leaf had made it past the filter and was now floating along the surface. At that moment, he couldn’t help but find himself feeling puzzled. All of this… It was trouble. Should he bother getting himself involved?

Fleeing to either the Sky Region or the Coral Kingdom would be in his best interests, but he didn’t know quite what to expect for himself if he got there. He had thought about it for many years, and meeting King Howell had finally made him realize that he held no loyalty to Lustro. Going to Braytons had always been Grulick’s wish. Was it right to go against his adoptive mother’s wishes and abandon this country?

Tish had worked both for and against him. She did care for him, but she also desperately clung to him as a way to protect himself. At the end of it all, Veximarl could claim that she had done nothing but harm him. He didn’t owe anything to her. As for his squad… Most of them were better off without him. That just left Sybil, who… What exactly was Veximarl supposed to do for Sybil? Being her friend was a struggle. He didn’t even know where she was.

He reached his hand into his pocket and tightened it around an embroidered ascot. The only item that he could carry with him at all times. A memento of a woman who he should have fought harder for. If Veximarl owed Gwyn anything, it was a safe life. Away from any of this. Which meant that he truly held no responsibilities or loyalties to anyone. Veximarl was free to make whatever decision he thought was best.

“I need time,” he finally replied.

Howell leaned forward slightly and folded his hands on the table. “There will be a banquet at the palace on the eve of Eatha’s Feastday. You will have until then to make your decision.”

Veximarl raised a hand. “I have conditions.”

“As anyone should,” replied Howell. “Go on.”

“I require full access to every library within the palace. That includes any personal journals that lay in storage,” said Veximarl. “I will also require access to a wide enough space to allow my summons their exercise time.”

Howell tilted his head ever so slightly to the left. “The palace holds a collection of journals dating back centuries. Their authors have been anyone from past royalty to seamstresses. I will give you access to them and any other room that has been deemed storage for old records, but you are not to ask any living soul for their documents or invade their personal spaces for them.”

That was reasonable enough for Veximarl. “And the personal space?”

“There is a garden hidden on the upper levels of the palace. It isn’t much, you may use the space for whatever you wish.” He then got a glint in his eye. “There was a large room once used by the old Fogbloom family for meditation. I believe it’s being used as a storage room as of late, but I will have it cleared out for your personal use.”

Veximarl squinted for a moment as he studied the king’s face. He then stood up again. “I promise to take the proper time to consider your proposal. If you will excuse me, I would like the opportunity to spend the afternoon resting. I’ve had a long trip.”

“Of course, Lord Fogbloom,” said Howell with a hint of a frown. He then stood up and gave a brief nod of his head. “My physician will act as a point of contact between us. He’ll introduce himself to you shortly.”

“Thank you.”

Veximarl excused himself. He didn’t know exactly where he should head to, but he didn’t wish to be in the presence of the king. Laurent followed behind him a short way. “I request to be allowed to carry my spear with me at all times.”

“A weapon will not be necessary within the palace walls. Only the guards carry them.” Laurent held up a hand. “A left at this next junction, Lord Fogbloom.”

What a strange remark. “An Aconite is capable of conjuring up any weapon that their imagination can muster. I’ve seen Prince Duxton do it many times during our studies at Braytons.” Veximarl paused and looked down at the man, who, like most men, was shorter than him. “Yet you have hidden both a dagger and a short sword within your robes.”

Laurent gestured to a door down the hall. “The library used to tutor royal children is behind that door. Despite it being for children, you will find many useful documents there. Doctor Lavender will contact you when he becomes available.”

The mention of the weapons was completely ignored. Were they a precaution against Veximarl, or was Laurent that paranoid of a man? Who was Veximarl kidding, that was an Aconite. All of them were like that. Especially when it came to those weapons, which were similar to the dagger Protea had. Nearly pure blood iron.

Rather than saying thank you, Veximarl nodded his head and went through the door. He had expected a dusty space, but the library was kept clean. At a glance, it appeared well organized. There was even storage for school supplies, meaning that Vexiamarl could start his own study book.

He went through the shelves and selected a few texts. Mostly history and biographical. Veximarl needed to approach this with a historical mind, which was something he wasn’t entirely used to. What he did know was that there was too much information. Too many facts and numbers. Veximarl had to be certain that he was looking for the truth instead of facts and numbers that supported the truth he wished to portray.

Year 700, King Cadogan and his closest family members are murdered within the palace. Their blood iron was harvested and the attack is Father Omiro Alcea has the church take over the throne. The attack is blamed on an assailant named Bellia.

During the church’s rule, “Bellia” assassinated more nobles. Many of them were political opponents of Father Omiro, or individuals who had been directly involved in the palace attack. It was likely that Omiro was using the name as a cover for removing witnesses. Aeneas later adopted it as his own name to use during his operations.

Year 708, Aeneas assassinates his father and steals the Heart of Eishur. The dukes of Lustro convene and elect Thomas Aconite as the next king. Traces of the Alcea family, which had suffered several deaths in the years leading up to this event, all but vanish. From what King Howell said, Veximarl could assume that the Order of Alcea was founded shortly after this.

Year 719, King Thomas suffers from a dizzy spell and falls from one of the palace windows. Howell Aconite, then nineteen, holds his coronation. Year 748, Prince Cornelius is assassinated by Clay Region operatives, starting the Southern War. Year 761, Prince Wulfert is assassinated by the siren Emogene. Both had their bodies destroyed in a storm conjured by the siren, and there was only enough of them left behind to identify their remains.

Why would she choose such drastic action? Veximarl doubted that it was used as an excuse to run from the palace. There were witnesses who had been greatly injured by the storm, and their accounts stated that Wulfric was already dead and that Emogene killed herself with her own magic.

There wasn’t a need to harvest Wulfert’s blood iron. It wasn’t as though there weren’t a dozen or more Aconites wandering about. Sirens were attacking the palace at the time, so it wasn’t like Emogene’s blood iron was all that important either. She could have chosen to kill herself in a less painful way, but she chose to obliterate her body. It was the bodies that were the problem.

The Order of Alcea had been using necromancers since the very start. They were able to process the Fogbloom blood iron successfully because of their experience. If that was the case, they could’ve easily resurrected Father Omiro… But they chose not to.

From what Veximarl could find, it appeared that Thomas Aconite had become a vocal opponent of Omiro’s political choices. Being a public figure was the same as painting a target on one’s back. What if those who started the Order decided that it was easier to have a puppet instead of a king? They chose to keep Omiro dead and made Thomas king so that they could operate more freely from the shadows.

A necromancer, or a group of necromancers, were in charge of the Order. They wished to remain hidden until their goals could be accomplished. Until then, they couldn’t enforce controversial laws such as legalizing their magic. So, what was the goal? What was the end game? Why seek to legalize necromancy now?

There wasn’t a way for Veximarl to wrap his head around this. Alton was better at scheming than he was. Well, sort of. His schemes weren’t all that successful, but Alton did have the occasional epiphany when it came to other’s plots and plans. It would’ve been useful to have him here now.

Veximarl closed a book and let out a sigh. Think. He had read the journal that Lydia Larkin had kept during the war. Sybil had left it behind for safekeeping. He was glad that he did read it, because it gave him some insight to what was happening with the Order. Lydia had been convinced that the Southern War was a cover. The fools began an entire war simply so they could kill Iath by exterminating his vessels.

However, they had no hand in the current war. Erskine was responsible for creating the would-bes, and he certainly was not a member of the Order. But this was about necromancers, wasn’t it? Veximarl shook his head. Professor Rosethorn was a necromancer, and he had been sent to the frontline to help research a way to defeat the would-bes.

Rosethorn must have found a way to fight back that used necromancy. That or they wished to bolster the army’s forces with the swampland necromancers. That alone would be a perfectly reasonable reason to legalize necromancy. They should have used that instead of Veximarl as a way of legitimizing their magic.

The door creaked open and Veximarl straightened up in his seat. A maid had come to fetch him. She was carrying a small lantern to help her see. Was it so late already? Veximarl hadn’t even noticed that the sun had set, nor had he noticed his hunger until he had been interrupted.

“... Evening,” said Veximarl with a nod.

The maid gawked at the pile of books that Veximarl had accumulated. It was like he was trying to build himself a fort. “Apologies, my lord.” She briefly dipped her head. “I’ve been sent to notify you that the palace curfew begins soon. You have permission to wander to wander about as you please, but we servants will be unavailable during those hours.”

“Ah. I see.” Veximarl stood and picked up a book. “If you could notify me where my room is, I’ll head there as soon as I’m done cleaning up. Please arrange a simple meal to be delivered to my room.”

“I’ll escort you to your room now, my lord, then order your meal. Allow me to handle the cleanup.” She attempted to smile helpfully, but she was clearly nervous to be around him.

Veximarl didn’t doubt that the rumor of him being a necromancer had gotten around. “I’ll handle the organization of these books. It would be my responsibility if something were misplaced.” His stomach faintly growled. “I don’t know how long I will take. Will you ask for my meal to be something that won’t taste ill if it were to get cold?”

“Yes, of course, my lord. I will do so,” replied the maid with another bow. “Your room is on the floor above this one. It has been labeled with your family’s flower so that you may easily locate it.” She then proceeded to give directions to the stairs and the room.

Veximarl thanked her and began organizing his books. He muttered to himself as he placed them on the shelves. There were ideas swimming around in his head, and sorting them was like filing water. It all kept swishing it about. After he was done, he headed up a nearby staircase and down a hall. A gray banner had been hung on his door, with his name elegantly embroidered on it. Dried fogbloom blossoms had been stitched to it as well.

He opened the door and noticed that the bag he had brought with him was sitting next to the door. They hadn’t bothered to unpack anything. A rack of outfits had been wheeled in, waiting to be sorted as well. The servants had been likely waiting for orders before sorting anything, and he had done nothing but ignore them. Veximarl didn’t particularly care to sort anything himself right now, he was more interested in seeing what food had been brought for him.

The room was sizable, with its own bathroom and closet. It was about the same size as his squad room at the barracks. Unsurprisingly, it completely matched his aesthetic. There was even a small bookshelf with medical and medicinal journals placed on it. It wouldn’t surprise him to learn that the food they brought him was Crimson cuisine. They certainly had gone out of their way to make him uncomfortable with their courteous accommodations.

Veximarl crossed the room and ignored the man who had been silently sitting at the table. He was more interested in the cloche. The man continued to examine Veximarl’s spear while Veximarl took a look at what food at been prepared.

Underneath the cloche was a bottle of sweet rice liquor and a plate of drinking snacks. Pickled strips of vegetables wrapped in seaweed, chestnut rice, roasted sweet potato, and bean paste confection that had been molded into the shape of a fogbloom blossom. He was right. Crimson cuisine. Specifically snacks eaten while viewing the moon.

“Have you eaten yet, Dr. Lavender?” Asked Veximarl as he sat down.

“There isn’t a need for you to share your meal, if that’s what you’re asking, Lord Fogbloom.” Lavender grinned as he set the spear halves upon the table. “An interesting weapon.” He was a pale man who was in his mid-twenties, younger than what Veximarl had expected. His demeanor was easy-going, and his clothes were immaculate in their tailoring.

“Thank you,” replied Veximarl. He picked up the bottle of liquor and examined it. They had used a bottle that was made to keep the liquor warm.

“Is sake not to your liking?” Lavender asked with curiosity. “It isn’t often served here, so they weren’t certain as to how it should be prepared. That particular brand was imported from the Sky Region. I hope that it will suit your tastes.”

Veximarl set the bottle down. “It will suffice.”

Lavender watched him pour the milky liquor into a cup. “I never thought I’d live to see what sort of bloodline magic a descendant of Tria would have.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. “Using blood iron to manifest golems. It’s eerily fitting.”

It was a trick that Veximarl had stolen from a necromancer in the swamplands. The one who had attacked them with that flaming lizard. That was originally her bloodline magic. Veximarl had simply adapted it to suit his own needs.

“Tria’s love for golems and blacksmithing runs deep within her blood,” replied Veximarl.

“Then you hold a talent for those crafts?”

Veximarl took a sip of sake. It was mild and pleasant. If Lavender weren’t here, he would be enjoying the experience. “My personal interests lay in herbology and medicine. I’ve only had a friend help me learn some basics of blacksmithing, but he is an elementalist.”

“Now that is a wonder.” Lavender laughed to himself. “I had been hoping to add Paladin Buttonweed’s blood iron to my collection, but it was strangely absent from his body. I was curious to learn if you had worked it into something or had simply kept it to yourself.”

“I had to remove it to keep myself safe. Blood iron deteriorates quite quickly. To a standard medical examiner, it would have appeared that the incantations put in place to preserve Buttonweed’s transport had failed. The magic I used to kill him would be attributed to standard decomposition.”

“And if it had been anyone other than Doctor Blu working at the barracks, I would have believed it myself.” Lavender put on a smug grin. “A woman of her talents is incapable of such a novice mistake.”

Veximarl’s expression became serious. “Cadavers without blood iron are unaffected by higher-level necromancy spells. You would’ve been unable to retrieve any useful information from him.”

“I understand that you’re attempting to use his death as a way to talk about someone else’s, but it’s best that you don’t press the issue further.” Lavender shrugged. “Mistakes were made. Doctor Protea’s actions were regrettable. What matters is that we have found each other. I would like to know what it is that you desire. Laurent isn’t here to bother us. It’s only you and me. You can speak openly.”

Veximarl looked towards the window. It faced eastward, meaning that it gave Veximarl a partial view of the city. They gave him moon-viewing food but not a moon to view with it. He let out a sigh. So be it. Let’s go with the flow for now.

“I need lessons. This position requires me to be educated and that includes working with blood iron. I will also need Father Omiro’s research notes. From my understanding, he turned heavily towards scientific inquiries before his death. His main focus of research was blood iron.”

“That is correct,” replied Lavender. “I am more than happy to provide copies of his documents and provide you with any insight that I have.”

Veximarl took a deep breath. Alright. He should see how far he can take his questions. “And how long will it be before you plan to harvest Viokern’s body?”

“... Clever.” Lavender grinned widely. “She did say you were clever. This is why we chose not to hide anything from you.”

“Please do not mention her in front of me,” quickly replied Veximarl. “Remember that you were the one who requested that I do not press the issue further.”

Lavender leaned back in his chair. “We allow our flowers to reach fruition before we do anything drastic. Perhaps ten years at the most?” He shrugged. “We had originally settled on Duxton and a five-year timeline, but he has regrettable quirks and irritating allies.” He sighed. “Alas, these matters take time. It’s for the best that you are here now. You are the final phase in realizing Omiro’s dreams, and everything will transition much more smoothly once that is done.”

“Clarify.”

“Peace within Lustro is an ever-evolving process. The gods have clearly failed us.” Lavender pointed to the wall behind Veximarl. The symbols of the gods had been hung up as four simple banners. “We must learn to control the gods and have them serve us. Humanity will not grow as long as we sit on their thumbs and wait for them to save us.”

This was all to establish peace? These were the people who murdered Tish and who knows how many others? It didn’t matter what the end product was, this wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. Yet… Their focus on their end goal was so strong that it was making them blind. Veximarl could take advantage of this. Even if their sins became his, he still had a way to take advantage of this.

“I’ll join the Order under the condition that both my mother and father are acknowledged as part of my heritage. I refuse to hide behind the Fogbloom name.” Veximarl straightened up in his seat. “I require time to perform my studies, as well as a day’s notice for any scheduled events. As long as those requests are met, then I will work with you.”

“Certainly, Lord Fogbloom.” Lavender smiled. “I can abide by those requests.”

“Ah, one last thing.” Veximarl traced a circle against the table. “I believe I am in my right to request that I be allowed to talk to Harlea every once in a while. She’s young and I worry about the environment she is being raised in.”

Lavender struggled not to laugh. “An interesting request, but I will allow you access to the doll room. Under the condition that you do not alter anything you find there, is that understood?”

Veximarl nodded. “Understood.”

“Then it is safe for me to assume that you are swearing your loyalty to the Order?”

Veximarl nodded again. “Yes. As long as you keep your word, it will be my pleasure to serve the order.”

Neryx. Veximarl understood why Harlea struggled to define them before. This was the necromancer who was holding onto the power of the crown. Whether or not to oppose him was something that Veximarl hadn’t decided yet. What he did know was that this was an opportunity that he couldn’t refuse. May as well take advantage of it while he still could.