Closing his eyes, he exhales gently and releases a tendril of magic. Golden sparks dance around his fingertips. He counts to ten, then opens his eyes.
“Maybe I’m just too tired,” he says. “I can try again in the morning.”
The secretary is furiously scribbling. The cardinals and high priests are shifting, mouths twitching like they want to say something. The paladins are very still, as is Neradt, who now sits with one hand on his teacup and the other resting casually over his chest. Over his pendant.
“That’s fine for now,” Neradt says pleasantly. “Brother Gilbert, if you please?”
Brother Gilbert takes the gold and lapis sphere from Karis, boxes it up, and retreats with another foolish bow. As soon as the sphere leaves Karis’s hands, all the priests relax. An alarming realization breaks through Karis’s exhaustion: they’re afraid of him casting magic.
Something is about to go terribly wrong.
His veins burn with the instinct to explode all the lamps. To run. But he doesn’t have enough magic. He’s more helpless here, in the heart of the Bright Cathedral, than he ever was in Ronan’s hands. Dread rises like bile in his throat as the kindly smile fades from Neradt’s wrinkled face.
“Do you have everything recorded?” Neradt asks.
“Yes, Exalted One,” the secretary answers, continuing to record as Neradt rises.
“Brothers and sisters of the Exalted Circle, and the Radiant Order, each faithful to the Church of Vara,” he says, making eye contact with everyone present except Karis. “I call on you to witness.”
“We witness,” says one of the cardinals. The paladins say nothing, but their hands fall to their sword hilts.
“What the fuck is going on?” Karis snaps.
Eyeing the room, he notices two paladins between him and the door. The other moves closer to Neradt. Karis only has a long knife at his hip, and the shreds of magic he can wield on his own—but he thinks casting without a focus will go very badly for him right now.
Neradt doesn’t look at him as he proclaims to his subordinate priests. “Before us stands paladin squire Karis Cooper. Upon questioning, having suspiciously refused a truth spell, he sheltered through his testimony a wanted criminal.” The archpriest sighs. “According to the doctrine of the Church of Vara and the laws of Charain, I command that Karis Cooper be confined pending further investigation.” He sighs again, finally meeting Karis’s eyes. “In light of my long fondness for you, Karis, I would prefer not to unduly mar your reputation by having you led out in chains. Will you comply?”
Every word loops around him like tightening rope. “You mean you don’t want to mar your own reputation,” Karis says, his heart pounding faster. “But sure. I’ll comply.” For now.
They take his knife, but they don’t check his pockets. Karis’s fear and anger drain with every step he takes away from Neradt’s office. All his inner turbulence smoothes away into cold, desperate observation. He catalogues the expressions of the paladins escorting him. They don’t trust him—but they don’t fear him either. They think he’s helpless without a focus. Everyone always thinks he’s helpless.
Maybe he is.
“Where are we going?” he asks.
“Downstairs,” the woman in front says. She has a stern face and bright red hair cropped to her chin.
They descend the northern staircase to the central hall of the Bright Cathedral. There still aren’t many people in the chamber of sunbeams, but Karis recognizes the few he sees—Captain Tanner and Sir Freya are standing quietly near the front doors. Nearer the staircase, Stazie clusters with a group of fellow blue-clad squires between the pews. She meets Karis’s eyes, and her smile brightens.
“Karis!” she calls out, waving. Then her smile freezes, seeing him surrounded by unfamiliar paladins. She leaves the other squires behind her and strides towards them. “Wait, what’s going on?”
“Stay back,” the red-haired woman barks. Her hand falls to her hilt, and Stazie’s eyes go wide.
Boots approach loudly. “Commander Brech,” Captain Tanner says. “Where are you taking my squire?”
As soon as the woman—Brech—threatens Stazie, something inside Karis snaps. The Church of Vara and the Radiant Order are more broken than he ever knew. Maybe even more broken than Ronan knew. If he follows these paladins wherever they’re taking him, he’s not sure he’ll return.
He doesn’t have any hope of escaping right now. But there’s a chance, a slim chance, he can send a message. If Stazie is willing to listen. If Ronan ever comes crawling back.
Karis lunges towards the wall and yanks the nearest tapestry with all his strength. The clattering curtain rod echoes loudly against the wall. Brech and her subordinates turn towards him, but he’s already jumping over a pew and sprinting towards the cluster of squires. His boots skid on the marble floor, and his lungs seize with the sudden exertion.
“Grab him!” someone shouts behind him.
He collides halfway into Stazie and shoves his gold and lapis earring into her palm. Closes her fingers around it and urges quietly, “If you see Ronan Vizia, give this to him.”
“Karis, what’s happening?” She grabs his arm.
“Please,” he whispers, before breaking from her grasp and tearing away.
