The parchment sitting in the middle of the table looked remarkably ordinary.
It was small, stained with dirt and dried blood, and creased where someone had folded it into a narrow square. One corner had been torn, while another bore the dark smudge of a hurried thumbprint.
There was nothing extraordinary about it.
No glowing runes. No magical symbols. No ominous seal bearing the crest of some forgotten enemy.
Just a piece of paper.
And somehow, it frightened Soma Locke more than the bandits who had nearly killed him.
"Someone inside the manor?" he repeated.
His father stood across the table, both hands braced against the polished mahogany. The familiar warmth in Preston's emerald eyes had given way to a cold, measured expression Soma rarely saw outside official meetings.
"We believe so."
"Believe?" Soma asked. "Or know?"
The Minister of Affairs shifted in his chair, apparently displeased by the interruption.
"Young master, the distinction is hardly—"
"It's an important distinction," Soma replied.
The minister stopped.
Soma turned back toward his father.
"If we know someone betrayed us, that means you have evidence. If we merely believe it, that means we're working from a theory. I'd rather understand which one we're dealing with."
Across the room, Jaspar's expression changed slightly.
Preston regarded his son for several moments.
Then he nodded.
"You're right. We have evidence of information being passed to the attackers. We do not yet know who passed it."
Soma exhaled slowly.
That was something.
Not reassurance.
But something solid enough to begin understanding.
"May I see the message?"
Jaspar picked up the parchment and carried it around the table.
"Don't handle it directly," he instructed. "We haven't finished examining it."
Soma leaned forward.
The handwriting was neat, though portions had been obscured by blood.
He read what remained.
The convoy's departure time.
The planned route toward Haven Port.
A reference to the number of guards accompanying the expedition.
And an instruction to act quickly before the escort arrangements changed.
Soma felt a chill crawl down his spine.
"They knew about the carriages."
"Yes," Jaspar answered.
"And the guards?"
"Apparently."
Soma looked up.
"Did the attackers know which carriage I was riding in?"
Jaspar's jaw tightened.
"That's one of the questions we're still trying to answer."
Soma remembered the leader shouting for his men to attack the middle carriage.
At the time, he'd assumed the bandits had simply recognized where the knights were concentrating their defense.
Now that assumption seemed considerably less certain.
"How did the message reach them?"
"We believe a courier carried it beyond the city," Jaspar said. "The leader had it on his person when I caught him."
"Did he tell you who sent it?"
"No."
Soma studied the parchment again.
At the bottom, beneath a line of hurried instructions, were two letters.
S. L.
His stomach tightened.
Those initials felt familiar.
Far too familiar.
The king leaned forward.
"There's another detail you need to understand, Soma."
The room quieted.
"Whoever sent that message deliberately avoided the ordinary communication network."
Soma looked toward him.
"The Nexus?"
"The Imperial Bulletin messaging service," the king clarified. "IB operates through the registered Nexus infrastructure."
Soma nodded slowly.
He knew the system.
Household officials used it constantly for authenticated correspondence, and his father regularly received messages through the thin glass interfaces maintained by Nexora.
Most communication traveled through the network almost instantly.
A handwritten letter seemed absurdly inefficient by comparison.
"Why use paper?" Soma asked.
"Because registered messages leave records," Preston explained. "Delivery information, timestamps, and authenticated mana signatures. A physical letter doesn't create the same trail."
"But a courier does."
"Precisely."
Soma glanced toward the stained parchment.
"So someone traded an electronic trail for a physical one."
Jaspar nodded.
"And probably believed the bandits would destroy the message after reading it."
"Instead, their leader kept it."
"Greedy bastard probably thought it would be useful if his employer refused to pay."
The captain's voice carried a sharp edge.
Soma looked toward him.
"Did you recognize his employer?"
"No."
"Did the bandit recognize House Locke?"
Jaspar hesitated.
"Yes."
The answer came too quickly for Soma's comfort.
Before he could question it further, his father spoke.
"Soma, we need to discuss the people who knew about the expedition."
He gestured toward the minister.
The man opened a folder.
"Six individuals had confirmed knowledge of the departure arrangements before the convoy left the estate: the Supreme Archduke, Lady Aria, Master Simon, Captain Jaspar, Master Kara, and Samantha Louise."
Soma stared.
"That's not a very long list."
"No," the minister agreed. "It isn't."
"And all six knew the exact route?"
"Not necessarily," Jaspar interjected. "I finalized portions of the escort arrangement shortly before departure."
Soma turned toward him.
"Then the person who sent the letter might have known only some of the details."
"Correct."
"Which means someone else could have overheard the rest."
Preston folded his arms.
"That's possible. We're investigating the servants, guards, and messengers who might have learned something indirectly."
Soma felt a flicker of relief.
At least they weren't treating the list as unquestionable proof.
Then the king spoke again.
"Unfortunately, two names have attracted particular concern."
The relief vanished.
Soma already knew what was coming.
He wished he didn't.
"Samantha Louise," the king said, "and your brother Simon."
For a moment, Soma thought he'd misheard.
He looked at the king.
Then at his father.
Then toward Samantha.
She sat perfectly still beside him.
The color had drained from her face, leaving her dark eyes startlingly wide.
"That's ridiculous," Soma said.
Nobody answered.
He turned toward his father.
"Father, that's ridiculous."
Preston's expression tightened.
"Soma—"
"Samantha nearly died protecting me."
"We know."
"She killed a man who was trying to enter the carriage."
"Yes."
"Then she was shot, and she still put herself between me and another attacker!"
His voice rose.
"If she wanted me taken, why the hell would she do any of that?"
"Soma," Preston warned.
"Don't tell me to calm down until somebody answers the question!"
Silence fell across the room.
The nearest general looked scandalized.
Under ordinary circumstances, Soma might have enjoyed that.
Tonight, he barely noticed.
Jaspar stepped forward.
"Because people can make decisions that don't fit the original plan."
Soma turned sharply.
The captain's expression was grim.
"I'm not accusing her, boy. But I've seen operations fall apart when the people carrying them out discover they don't have the stomach for what they've agreed to do."
"So you think she suddenly changed her mind?"
"I'm telling you why her actions don't settle the question by themselves."
Soma wanted to argue.
Unfortunately, he understood the distinction.
Someone could participate in a terrible plan and later regret it.
Someone could betray an employer without intending for anyone to be hurt.
Someone could even interfere with their own accomplices when matters went too far.
None of those possibilities meant Samantha was guilty.
But they meant Soma couldn't dismiss the investigation merely because he loved her.
He hated that.
He hated it more than he could explain.
Samantha finally spoke.
"Your Majesty."
Her voice trembled, but she sat upright.
"I have served House Locke faithfully for nearly ten years. I would never knowingly place Soma or his family in danger."
The king regarded her.
"I understand your position."
"I have nothing to hide."
"Then we ask that you cooperate fully."
She lowered her head.
"Of course."
Soma looked at her hands.
They were clasped so tightly that her knuckles had turned white.
He'd seen those same hands wipe tears from Serena's cheeks, bring pastries to the training yard, and hold a dagger against men who wanted him dead.
He knew how quickly Samantha could move.
How fiercely she could fight.
But she'd never looked so small.
"What about Simon?" Soma asked.
The question tasted bitter.
His second-oldest brother could be infuriatingly reserved, but Soma had spent years learning from him.
Simon had taught him how government worked, challenged his assumptions, and occasionally slipped him documents he probably wasn't supposed to read.
He wasn't always affectionate.
He wasn't particularly patient.
But he was family.
"What evidence do you have against him?"
The Minister of Affairs hesitated.
Then slid another document across the table.
"Handwriting samples."
Soma looked down.
Several copied lines appeared beside the message recovered from the bandit leader.
The resemblance was unmistakable.
The same narrow lettering.
The same unusual shape of the capital letters.
Even the spacing was remarkably similar.
"Our scribes believe the message closely matches Master Simon's handwriting," the minister explained.
Soma studied both pages.
"How closely?"
"Enough to warrant serious suspicion."
"That's not a measurement."
One of the generals made an irritated noise.
Jaspar almost smiled.
The minister cleared his throat.
"The comparison is preliminary. A full examination is underway."
Soma nodded.
"Can handwriting be forged?"
"Of course," Preston answered.
"Then somebody could have copied his."
"Yes."
"Or taken a sample from his correspondence."
"Yes."
Soma looked toward the king.
"Then why are we treating him as a suspect instead of the most obvious person somebody might want us to blame?"
The king's expression darkened.
"Because your brother has disappeared."
The words struck harder than Soma expected.
He blinked.
"What?"
"Simon left his quarters earlier this evening," Preston explained. "No one has been able to locate him."
"Maybe he went into the city."
"Without notifying his household guard."
"Perhaps he wanted privacy."
"He also left several personal effects behind that he normally carries."
Soma stared at his father.
"Has anyone spoken to him?"
"We haven't been able to reach him through IB."
"Could his Nexus be damaged?"
"It's possible."
"Could somebody have taken him?"
Preston hesitated.
"That possibility is being investigated."
Soma looked at the handwriting samples again.
Simon.
He could picture his brother standing beside a map, patiently explaining a trade dispute while Sean complained that everyone involved deserved to be thrown into a river.
He could hear his dry remarks.
Remember the expensive maps he'd given him only yesterday.
None of that proved his innocence.
But none of this proved his guilt.
And Soma was beginning to understand how dangerous the gap between those two things could become.
"Your Majesty," Soma said carefully, "may I ask something?"
"Of course."
"Why would the attackers need Simon's handwriting?"
The king raised an eyebrow.
"Explain."
"If the message was meant to be destroyed, the sender wouldn't need to disguise their writing unless they feared the courier might be captured."
"Reasonable."
"But if somebody wanted to implicate Simon, using his handwriting would be useful only if the message was discovered."
The minister leaned forward.
"Are you suggesting the message was intentionally planted?"
"I'm suggesting it's a possibility."
Soma turned toward Jaspar.
"Did the bandit leader try to destroy it?"
"No."
"Did he attempt to use it to bargain with you?"
The captain's expression shifted.
"Not directly."
"Then why keep it?"
Jaspar considered the question.
"Leverage. Proof of employment. Something valuable enough to protect."
"Or because someone instructed him to."
"Also possible."
Soma nodded.
For a moment, the room remained quiet.
Then Preston spoke.
"You've made a useful observation, son. But remember what I taught you about investigations."
Soma looked up.
"That a convincing explanation isn't the same as evidence."
"Exactly."
His father gestured toward the parchment.
"We can't assume Simon is innocent merely because the handwriting might have been forged. But neither can we condemn him because the resemblance is strong."
Soma swallowed.
"I know."
"And we cannot assume Samantha is guilty merely because her initials resemble those on the message."
Soma looked sharply toward him.
Preston continued.
"That's why the investigation remains open."
For the first time since entering the room, Soma felt the slightest easing of the pressure in his chest.
His father was frightened.
The king was worried.
Everyone around the table understood that something terrible had happened.
But they weren't fools.
They were trying to follow evidence through a situation where making the wrong accusation could destroy an innocent person's life.
Soma appreciated that.
Even if he hated what came next.
"Until we determine who sent the message," the king said, "Samantha will be temporarily relieved of her duties as Soma's personal attendant."
Soma rose so quickly that his chair scraped across the floor.
"No."
His father closed his eyes.
"Soma."
"No."
The king remained calm.
"This is a precaution."
"Then it's a stupid precaution."
Several officers stiffened.
Jaspar muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a suppressed laugh.
Preston's mustache twitched.
"Soma Locke."
The warning in his father's voice was unmistakable.
Soma took a breath.
Then another.
His wounded side throbbed.
"I'm sorry, Your Majesty," he said, though he sounded only marginally apologetic. "But Samantha is injured. She's spent nearly ten years caring for me, and now you're telling her she might be a traitor."
"We're telling her the evidence requires investigation," the king replied.
"Then investigate her. Ask questions. Examine her messages. Search her quarters if you have to. But why take her away from me?"
The king's expression softened.
"Because we don't yet know who is responsible."
Soma opened his mouth.
Then closed it.
He understood.
If Samantha was involved, separating them protected him.
If Samantha was innocent, separating her from the investigation's center could protect her from suspicion and further danger.
Neither possibility made the decision easier.
"Melissa will serve as your temporary attendant," Preston said.
Soma turned toward him.
"Melissa?"
"She knows the household routines and has worked alongside Samantha for years."
Soma looked down at his hands.
Another familiar name.
Another person he'd known almost his entire life.
He wanted to ask why Melissa was considered safe when Samantha wasn't.
But he knew the answer would be the same.
They had evidence concerning Samantha.
Not Melissa.
At least, not yet.
Soma looked toward his maid.
"Sam?"
Samantha stood slowly.
Her injured leg trembled beneath her weight, but she managed a small smile.
"It's all right, Soma."
"It isn't."
"No," she admitted. "It isn't."
She reached out and gently straightened his collar.
A familiar gesture.
One she'd performed thousands of times.
"Your father is trying to protect you."
"I know."
"And you need to let him."
Soma swallowed.
"I don't like this."
"Neither do I."
For a moment, she rested her forehead against his.
Then she stepped back.
"I'll be here when they finish investigating."
Soma nodded.
"You'd better be."
She smiled faintly.
"Bossy little brat."
He managed a weak laugh.
"Learned from the best."
Two Vanguard guards approached.
Their movements were respectful, but Soma couldn't stop himself from watching their hands.
Samantha noticed.
"Don't start a fight with the guards, Soma."
"I wasn't going to."
"You were considering it."
"Briefly."
She laughed softly.
Then her expression became serious.
"Look after yourself."
Soma looked at her.
The words felt wrong.
For ten years, Samantha had been the one saying them.
The one reminding him to eat.
To sleep.
To stop climbing furniture.
To avoid annoying Igor until the veteran decided to make him run extra laps.
Now, suddenly, he was the one left standing helplessly while she was escorted away.
"I will," he said.
Samantha gave him one final smile.
Then the guards led her toward the doors.
Soma watched until they closed.
For a long moment, nobody spoke.
Finally, Jaspar cleared his throat.
"The girl will be treated properly."
Soma looked toward him.
"She'd better be."
The captain nodded.
"Agreed."
There was no mockery in his voice.
And somehow, that made Soma feel worse.
The king rose from his chair.
"We have more to discuss, but not with the entire council present."
He looked toward the ministers and generals.
"Continue the investigation. I want every person with access to the departure arrangements questioned, all relevant communications reviewed, and the missing young lord located."
The Minister of Affairs bowed.
"Immediately, Your Majesty."
"Captain Jaspar."
"Your Majesty?"
"Remain available. We may need further details concerning the ambush."
"Understood."
The king turned toward Kara.
"Thank you for your assistance today, Master Kara."
She inclined her head.
"Just doing my job."
A pause followed.
Then she added, "Though I'd appreciate it if the next lesson didn't involve half the bloody forest trying to murder us."
Despite the atmosphere, the king smiled faintly.
"I believe we can all agree on that."
One by one, the officials departed.
Jaspar paused beside Soma.
For several seconds, the veteran studied him.
Then he rested a hand against the boy's shoulder.
"Listen, Soma."
Soma looked up.
"Don't let anger make decisions for you."
His jaw tightened.
"I'm not angry."
Jaspar raised an eyebrow.
"That's the biggest load of bullshit I've heard all day."
Soma stared.
Then, despite himself, let out a short laugh.
The captain's expression softened slightly.
"Good. Keep that part of yourself."
"What part?"
"The part that can still laugh when everything's gone to hell."
Soma looked away.
"I don't feel particularly funny right now."
"Nobody's asking you to."
Jaspar squeezed his shoulder once.
"Just don't mistake becoming stronger for becoming someone who feels nothing."
Then he left.
Soma remained standing beside the table, unsure what to make of the unexpected advice.
When the doors closed, only four people remained.
The king.
Preston.
Soma.
And a man Soma hadn't heard speak once during the entire investigation.
He sat near the far end of the table, wearing immaculate white-and-gold vestments. His dark hair was neatly combed, and an intricate silver emblem rested against his chest.
He couldn't have been much older than thirty.
Yet everyone in the room seemed to treat him with extraordinary deference.
The man rose.
"Soma Locke."
His voice was calm, almost gentle.
Soma turned.
"Yes?"
The stranger approached slowly.
"My name is Rodriguez."
He paused.
"Cardinal Rodriguez."
Soma blinked.
A Cardinal.
One of the highest-ranking officials within the Holy Cathedral.
He immediately straightened.
"Your Eminence."
Rodriguez smiled.
"Please. There's no need to be nervous."
Soma considered that statement.
He had been attacked by bandits, stabbed in the side, witnessed Samantha kill a man, killed someone himself, discovered that his blood was gold, and watched his most trusted attendant escorted from the room under suspicion of treason.
Now a Cardinal was smiling at him.
With all due respect, Your Eminence, nervous is becoming my default setting.
"Thank you," Soma replied politely.
The Cardinal looked toward Preston.
"May we proceed?"
His father's expression grew somber.
"Yes."
Soma glanced between them.
"Proceed with what?"
The king returned to his chair.
"There is another matter concerning today's events."
Soma felt his stomach tighten.
"Another one?"
Preston reached into his coat.
"Unfortunately."
He withdrew a small silver dagger and placed it on the table.
Soma stared at it.
Then slowly looked up.
"Father, if this is another birthday present, your timing is appalling."
Under different circumstances, the king might have laughed.
Instead, his expression remained serious.
"Soma," Preston said quietly, "we need to confirm something the captain reported."
Soma looked toward the dagger.
His wounded side began throbbing again.
He knew exactly what they wanted to discuss.
"The blood."
Cardinal Rodriguez stepped closer.
His calm expression had changed.
Beneath the controlled composure was something Soma couldn't quite identify.
Wonder.
Fear.
Perhaps both.
"Your father tells me something extraordinary happened during the ambush," the Cardinal said.
Soma glanced toward Preston.
The Archduke gave him a slow nod.
"Show him, son."
Soma hesitated.
He looked at the small silver blade.
Then toward the closed doors.
Somewhere beyond them, Samantha was being escorted to her quarters.
Simon was missing.
Someone had tried to abduct him.
And the blood flowing through his veins had suddenly become dangerous enough to require a private audience with one of the most powerful religious officials in Hallowcrown.
For ten years, he'd believed his greatest challenge would be understanding the world around him.
Now, for the first time, he wondered how much of that world had been waiting for someone like him to appear.
Slowly, Soma reached for the dagger.