Southern Region, Dratol…

  Deep within the main headquarters of the Scavengers in Dratol, three bishops sat around a circular oak table. Firewood crackled in the hearth, but the flames failed to soften the chill hanging over the room.

  “What’s the current situation?” Bishop Mikan asked, eyes shifting to the young Deacon stationed by the door.

  “Your Excellency… as of the latest report, seventeen of the twenty groups have been annihilated. Two of the remaining three suffered heavy casualties. We’ve received no response from Archbishop Ledley’s group.”

  Silence.

  Then—

  “Damn it!” Bishop Emmet slammed his fist against the table, amber eyes blazing. “Eighteen archbishops—gone. How do you expect us to explain this?”

  “Calm yourself,” Bishop Andos replied lazily, slouched in his chair. He stroked the ends of his long mustache, the bright-green metal eyepatch over his right eye catching the firelight while a monocle gleamed over the other. “Anger won’t resurrect the dead.”

  “And what will?” Emmet shot back. “Your sarcasm?”

  Andos exhaled through his nose. “No. But shouting at furniture will not alter our predicament either.”

  “Enough.”

  Mikan’s palm struck the table—not as loud as Emmet’s, but firm enough to silence both men.

  “This is neither the time nor the place.” His gaze hardened. “From the coordination of the attacks, we must assume a leak. Another mole.”

  The word settled heavily between them.

  “We have paid dearly,” Mikan continued. “But we will not allow those scum the final word.”

  He turned to the Deacon.

  “Send an immediate recall mandate. All Priests within the state are to return.”

  The boy bowed and hurried out.

  Mikan sank back into his chair, staring into the flames as though searching for answers within the embers.

  “Depending on His Holiness’ declaration… we may be heading toward open war with Mxyraths.”

  “Good,” Emmet muttered. “We should have eradicated those vermin decades ago.”

  Mikan’s eyes flicked toward him. “You speak as though it were simple. Have you not heard the rumors? Do you truly believe one can provoke the Temple of Wrath without consequence?”

  “Second-rate temple,” Emmet scoffed. “With Lord Jolran’s blessing and ten thousand believers behind us, they’ll crumble.”

  A soft chuckle escaped Andos.

  Emmet’s head snapped toward him. “What’s so amusing?”

  “You mistake numbers for power,” Andos replied calmly. “If Mxyraths could be erased by sheer force, they would have vanished long ago. I am grateful His Holiness is not foolish enough to sacrifice thousands of potential vessels in a misguided purge.”

  Emmet rose halfway from his seat, rage tightening his jaw.

  A portal tore open in the center of the chamber. A masked man clad in a pitch-black cassock stepped through.

  All three bishops stood immediately and bowed.

  “Divine Emissary,” Mikan began, “for what reason have you—”

  “Follow me,” the emissary interrupted. “I was not the one who summoned you.”

  He stepped backward into the portal.

  The bishops exchanged a single glance—then followed.

  Gido, Targarth…

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  The bar pulsed with laughter and music. The scent of fresh ale mingled with sweet wine as patrons cheered at the dancers swaying beneath dim neon lights. Heat, perfume, and sweat blurred into a single intoxicating haze.

  At a corner table far removed from celebration, two men sat in silence.

  “No matter how I think about it,” Archbishop Ledley murmured, swirling the wine in his glass, “it doesn’t add up.”

  Ulric—Adam—met his gaze. “What do you mean, Your Grace?”

  “Spare me the ignorance.” Ledley’s eyes remained fixed on the stage, though his voice dropped. “You and I survived. That alone is improbable. The others?” He exhaled sharply. “Seventeen bishops dead. Multiple safehouses attacked simultaneously. That is not coincidence.”

  Adam leaned forward slightly. “You believe there’s a mole among us?”

  “I don’t believe,” Ledley said flatly. “I know.”

  He took a slow sip before continuing.

  “We were not the only target that night. Every location was compromised. Someone leaked our movements.”

  Adam’s fingers tightened around his cup. “Should we return to headquarters?”

  “Return?” Ledley gave a humorless smile. “The borders are sealed tighter than a vault. And I received word yesterday.”

  Adam stilled.

  “His Holiness has ordered all surviving parties to proceed with the mission.”

  The noise of the tavern seemed to dim.

  Adam’s breath caught.

  Ledley waved a languid hand, brushing aside Adam’s concern. “We’ll regroup with another unit in Sandholt. A registered guild we’ve partnered with for the past decade. The search shouldn’t be difficult.” He rested an elbow on the back of his wooden chair and tilted slightly. “We’ll be compensated regardless of whether we retrieve the flower.”

  He took a measured sip of wine. “There’s another matter.”

  Adam straightened. “What’s on your mind, Your Grace?”

  Ledley’s gaze settled on him. “Tell me the truth. How did you escape?”

  Adam exhaled through his nose. “I thought we’d already discussed this. Forgive my impudence, but it seems you didn’t believe me.”

  “Can you blame me?” Ledley’s tone remained mild. “My deputy died in that chaos. You were the only survivor. Unscathed.” He leaned forward slightly. “If you were in my position, wouldn’t you have doubts?”

  Around them, laughter and cheering rose and fell—a careless contrast to the weight between their table.

  Adam lowered his eyes for a moment, then met the Archbishop’s stare. “I understand your suspicion. But I have no affiliation with whoever attacked us. I was outside the safehouse when it began. The elixirs I carried handled the rest. That’s all.”

  “I know you’re not the mole.” Ledley lifted a hand, silencing him. “That’s not what troubles me.”

  Adam’s brow furrowed. “Then what does?”

  “I do not believe in miracles.” Ledley’s voice hardened. “Luck favors the capable. You survived because you had the means to.” His gaze sharpened. “Which raises a question.”

  He paused deliberately.

  “How did a mere Priest survive when Bishops and Archbishops did not?”

  Silence stretched.

  “The only logical answer,” Ledley continued quietly, “is that you are not a Priest at all. Isn’t that right… Ulric?”

  Adam stilled. Then, after a beat, he nodded. “You’re correct. My rank exceeds that of a Priest.”

  A flicker of satisfaction crossed Ledley’s face. “I appreciate your honesty.” He sighed. “You likely offended someone powerful. That would explain the stalled promotion.”

  Adam inclined his head.

  “Your situation isn’t unique,” Ledley continued. “What’s unusual is that you’re still alive.” His fingers tapped the table. “Which tells me the person you offended lacks the influence to dispose of you quietly.”

  He drained the last of his wine and set the glass aside. “So. Will you hear my offer?”

  “I’m listening.”

  “First—what do you know of the Pope and the Cardinals?”

  “Very little.”

  “Excellent.” Ledley smiled faintly. “The Pope will soon vacate his position to serve at Lord Jolran’s temple. One of the Cardinals will succeed him. Unlike past eras, several are competing for the seat.”

  He leaned forward.

  “Among them is Cardinal Rama—the man I serve.”

  Adam didn’t interrupt.

  “You understand what that implies.”

  “Yes.” Adam folded his hands loosely on the table. “I’m willing to pledge allegiance. But what value would I bring?”

  “Cardinal Rama rewards talent.” Ledley’s eyes lingered on him. “And I believe you possess it, Ulric.”

  Adam gave a slow nod.

  Ledley reached into his pocket and produced a small purple candy. Without warning, he flicked it across the table.

  It stopped near Adam’s hand.

  “Eat it.”

  Adam looked from the candy to the Archbishop’s unreadable expression. “May I ask—”

  “No.” Ledley’s voice sharpened. “And consider carefully before refusing.”

  The tavern noise felt distant now. Adam picked up the candy. It was smooth. Fragrant. Harmless-looking.

  He swallowed it whole.

  Only then did Ledley’s posture relax. “A wise choice. From this moment, you belong to Cardinal Rama’s family. No one in the guild will touch you.”

  Adam swallowed. The candy left no taste.

  “What did I just consume?”

  “Insurance.” Ledley’s reply was indifferent. “Should you ever betray us.”

  He signaled for another drink. “Now that you’re one of us—what is your true rank?”

  Adam held his gaze. “Equivalent to yours.”

  For a heartbeat, Ledley froze.

  Then laughter burst from him, loud and unrestrained. “An Archbishop masquerading as a Priest?” He wiped at his eye. “Remarkable. Truly remarkable. Cardinal Rama will be pleased.”

  He clapped twice.

  The tavern fell silent. In eerie unison, the patrons rose and disappeared through a hidden door behind the counter, leaving the room empty but for the two of them.

  “Ulric,” Ledley said, the excitement in his tone not reaching his eyes, “now that we are alone, there are matters you must understand about our family.”

  Adam inclined his head.

  “And dispense with ‘Your Grace.’ We stand as equals.”

  “…Understood.”

  A voice slithered through Adam’s mind.

  Just because Vicar suggested it, you bind yourself to this farce? The demonic voice whispered. You are a Lord. We should be tearing through dungeons—devouring everything in our path.

  Instead, you kneel.

  Laughter echoed in the darkness of his thoughts.

  No wonder you fail to save anyone.

  Adam did not react. His eyes never left Ledley.