Only hours after the emperor and the ambassador left, a second, smaller and much less ostentatious convoy set off in another direction. A group of two dozen or so students, accompanied by about thrice as many troops left towards the Northern Wall. The journey would take them about three to four hours on foot, and they would arrive shortly before dusk.

  He watched them leave from the balcony, his gaze lingering on the students. A part of him felt relieved when he couldn’t find Instructor Soraya among them. His fingers tapped against the flat top of the marble guard. In three days his father and the ambassador would return. The next day, she would set off for An’Larion.

  Soft, meek footsteps sounded behind him. He turned around and smiled upon seeing Willow.

  “Principal Aoidh said I would find you here.” She approached the marble guard at the edge of the balcony and placed her palms on its smooth surface. “The Emperor left, and some of the enforcers. Is that alright?”

  “Father and the Lords Castor are hardly the first line of defence in Derwen Hold.” He scowled. “Though I do wish Father had remained.” Already the natural spiritual power around Derwen Hold was becoming stronger. It wasn’t stifled and suppressed anymore, and soon it would begin to flourish. Already he had started to feel his eye ache more often. Perhaps this was something he needed to talk with the Crimson Witch. Maybe, he thought as a spark of hope lit a fire in his heart, he could borrow more time. More than just a single year.

  “I know, this is a powerful fortress.” Willow let out a sigh. “I think I’m just worrying over nothing again.”

  Midhir raised an eyebrow. “What did instructor Soraya say about the students you saw?” He hadn’t gotten the chance to ask earlier.

  “They were gone by the time we came back to show her.” Willow shook her head with a scowl. “She said they were probably third year students – remember how they were all sent to Olisar at some point? She said we probably just didn’t recognise them because we didn’t get to see them often.”

  Midhir tilted his head. “Right…” he muttered. “But you’re not convinced.”

  Willow nodded. “I’m not. I might be overthinking, but it’s really bothering me. Just today I saw two girls lingering by the armoury entrance, trying to chat with the guards. They were told off but just stayed there for a bit.” She clicked her tongue with contempt. “I mean, the armoury was one of the places Captain Marr said we are not allowed to enter under any circumstances.”

  Midhir’s lips formed a thin line. “No, you’re not. It’s worrying that they even tried.” He stepped away from the edge. “I’ll talk with Instructor Soraya and Captain Marr. Willow, I don’t think you’re just overthinking. Let me know if you notice anything else, please.”

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  Willow’s eyes widened. “Really?” She asked. Her expression brightened. “Yeah, I will. I’ll also tell Alistair and Arwen to be on the lookout.”

  “Them, but no one else.” Midhir warned her.

  The halls echoed to his footsteps as he marched towards the gaol. He spotted a few students lingering around a statue not far from the hallway entrance leading to the dungeons. They seemed to be inspecting it – one was reading the plaque at its feet, while the others were pointing at the weapon in its hands. A bright-faced, glasses wearing young woman was rigorously noting something down, her gaze not once leaving the statue.

  A young man was sitting by one of the windows overlooking the courtyard between the two halves of the mountain. His back was against the window, his legs pulled to his chest as he read a book. He didn’t seem to notice Midhir pass by.

  The young prince shook his head. Now he was overthinking. While he didn’t doubt Willow, he couldn’t start questioning why every single student was where they were. It just wasn’t feasible, and doubting everyone always was just going to make him miss the obvious. No, there was no need for that.

  He paused once he reached the dungeon. The well lit chamber at the entrance was silent despite the half a dozen people standing in front of the cultist leader’s cell. All wearing robes and cloaks, embossed with the imperial sigil, these were the best crystal manipulators in the imperial army – capable of casting resonances even when the spiritual power in the vicinity was so stifled and suppressed.

  Two amongst the six weren’t wearing those garments. Instructor Soraya was wearing a white blouse, and dark brown leggings. Her leather boots had tracked some mud in, probably from the training ground. Her blade was hanging in its scabbard from her hip as she waited at the side with her arms folded, and her sharp gaze fixed on the prisoner.

  The other one was Instructor Caarda. She held a staff that looked too big against her small frame, her pale hands clenched around it, her knuckles white. The staff was wooden, embossed with golden inscriptions. Carved out of the heart of a tree of the Old Growth, it radiated with power in the hands of a master. The red crystal the size of a child’s head glowed brightly. The air crackled with power, causing the hairs on his arms to rise.

  Her eyes were closed as she formed the resonance, but they shot open as soon as she finished. She tilted the staff ever so slightly toward the prisoner quietly sitting behind the thick metal bars.

  The cultist leader hadn’t moved since Midhir came down here. He sat cross legged on the straw bed, his back straight, and his expression hidden beneath the helmet. His hands were joined on his lap, his fingers twitching occasionally.

  According to his father, he hadn’t spoken even once. According to Captain Marr, no matter what they tried, they weren’t able to remove that helmet. They all believed it was an ancient artifact, its purpose and history long lost to the ravages of time.

  He couldn’t see Instructor Caarda’s resonance, but he could feel it. He could feel it move towards the prisoner. The other man grunted slightly as runes and tiny script lit up on the helmet. The feathery plume atop it rustled with a breeze he could not feel.

  “Heed my command!” Instructor Caarda’s strained voice echoed. Beads of sweat rolled down her chin. Her small frame shook, her legs looked like they could give in at any moment. The staff in her hands glowed ever so brightly.

  A loud crack sounded, followed by the sound of something falling to the ground.