The owner of the Emberwood Inn knew exactly what he was doing when he picked this spot to set up his settlement. The place sat just close enough to the main street of Daelin to be easy to find, as any traveler could spot its sign without any trouble, while being far enough off the road that the clatter of wagons, the clang of horseshoes, and the ever-present stench of sweat and manure could never reach the inn’s fancy guests.

  Now, Viktor and Lloyd stood before its heavy oak door, which groaned softly as the white-haired man pushed it open. A wave of warmth rushed out, slamming into Viktor like a hammer that shattered the cold grip of the air outside.

  It was like he had crossed into a different realm. The great hearth roared at the far end of the main hall, where flames curled and twisted behind a wrought-iron grate, bathing the room in light of gold and orange, a stark contrast with the gray world where he had been a moment before.

  Still, the inn felt half-asleep. After all, he had only ever been here during the day, when the hall was packed with people who talked, who laughed, who yelled, who sang. Now, there were but a few patrons who slumped over their tables, snoring faintly beside their spilled mugs. And, behind the counter, a young woman with a mop worked silently, her sleeves rolled to her elbows. Copper ringlets bounced as she lifted her head, and he found himself staring into a familiar face.

  “Quinn, what are you doing here at this hour?”

  “I could ask you the same, Nadja. I thought you were just a waitress.”

  “And I thought I told you we’re short-staffed.”

  Viktor chuckled. “What happened to your awesomely competent colleague?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer.

  Nadja’s face crumpled like she was going to cry right on the spot. It almost made him feel guilty. Almost.

  “She... she quit,” the woman said, voice cracking. “We all begged her to stay. The owner even offered a raise. But it was no use. She just... left. Said nothing. Just packed up and disappeared. Why...?”

  Why, indeed. He hoped the reason was not something silly like her having a bug inside her head.

  “It looks like you’ve got friends everywhere,” Lloyd said, grinning at him. “So, where do we continue our chat? Here, or in my room—”

  “Here.”

  “Fine by me. Then let me order something to drink first...”

  “No.”

  Lloyd frowned. “I need some wine to warm me up.”

  Viktor ignored him, turning to Nadja. “Do you have any hot soup or something?”

  “We’ve got some leftovers, but I’ll have to reheat them first.”

  As she disappeared into the kitchen, he made his way toward a table near the hearth. Lloyd followed, settling down beside him with a smile, as if he wasn’t the least bit upset about being denied alcohol.

  “She’s cute.”

  “Who?”

  “Come on, Quinn. How many women have we met this morning?”

  Nadja, huh? Well, objectively speaking, Lloyd was not wrong. But at the end of the day, she was a mere acquaintance, someone he had talked with a couple of times when he came here to gather information. He judged people like that based on their usefulness, not their appearance. Whether she was any more or less attractive, it made no difference to him.

  “I don’t give much thought to women,” he said with a shrug.

  “You will soon enough. You’re at that age. Before long, you’ll think of nothing but girls.”

  As if he had time to care about such distractions. He had bigger things to worry about. Growing his dungeon and reclaiming his power, that was all that mattered.

  “Can we stop talking about women and get back to your Matriarch?”

  “Who is also a woman,” Lloyd said with a grin.

  “A dead woman. Dead dead. For thousands of years. So why the hell are you saying she’s still alive?”

  “It’s exactly what I’ve said. The founder of the Emerald Order has been living for millennia, guiding her followers. She laid down the rules, and she appointed the Twelve to enforce them.”

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  “And how many people have actually met her?”

  “Just the Twelve.”

  Viktor snorted. “Of course. The only ones who have ever seen her are the same ones claiming she is still alive, while wielding absolute power in her name. Doesn’t anyone find that a little convenient?”

  “The thing is,” Lloyd said, leaning closer. “The Twelve are not made up of the same people for thousands of years, obviously. For all their delusions of grandeur, they are mortals, just like us. Sooner or later, someone drops dead or goes senile, and when that happens, a replacement is needed.”

  “True.”

  “So when a seat opens, the Order picks a candidate, and the Matriarch gives the official appointment. Which means, every now and then, someone new gets to see our dear Mother.”

  “The other members of the Twelve could just rig the game,” Viktor said, “making sure that only one of their creatures gets picked.”

  “No, they can’t. Or should I say, they couldn’t. There used to be a rule that the Twelve were not allowed to meddle in the selection process. Probably a safeguard the Matriarch herself put in place to keep the Twelve from gaining unchecked power. So, instead, the selection was done by the other top brass, many of whom, as I told you, found the rules inconvenient and wanted to have them changed...”

  Lloyd trailed off as Nadja approached with a tray. The scent of spiced vegetables, simmered broth, and something herbal curled around them as the white-haired man took an audible inhale.

  “This is all we have left,” she said, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. “If you want anything else, you will have to wait till the cook wakes up.”

  “This is plenty,” Viktor said.

  “Enjoy.” The waitress smiled. The freckles on her cheeks seemed to dance, and for a fleeting moment, he thought he saw Celestia. He watched her go, eyes lingering a beat too long.

  Lloyd didn’t miss it. “I thought you didn’t care about girls.”

  “I don’t.”

  “If you say so,” Lloyd said, irritatingly spooning broth into his mouth and blowing to cool it.

  The man was free to believe what he wanted to believe. Viktor couldn’t care less about other people’s opinions. So he said nothing, just reached for his spoon and stirred the bowl.

  “Continue your story.”

  “Right, right... where was I? Ah, yes. The selection,” Lloyd said. “There were people, powerful people, in the Order who wanted to rewrite the rules. And to do that, they needed to get into the Twelve. So they rallied their supporters. They promised that when they got to speak to the Matriarch, they would petition her to change the rules.”

  “Sounds good. But I’m guessing there’s a ‘but’ coming.”

  “Of course, the rules stay for thousands of years, after all. Despite countless promises.” Lloyd gave a sardonic smile. “Every single time, without fail, the same thing happened. The newest member of the Twelve had their audience with our dear Mother, and guess what they told everyone once they came out? They said that Mother had opened their mind and made them understand why the rules were necessary, and that they had been, well, enlightened. From that point on, they sang the same tune as the other eleven.”

  “That’s strange. Did they get brainwashed or something? Some kind of mind control spell? Or the good old-fashioned blackmail or bribery?”

  “Remember, those selected were all powerful mages, the best our Order had to offer. Some were too stubborn to be intimidated, some were too rich to be bribed, and all of them were ambitious and cunning. Surely, they must have suspected some sort of foul play and planned accordingly. Still, it didn’t matter. Once they stepped through that door, their minds were changed.”

  “Anyone ever shared what exactly was said during the meeting?”

  “No, the details were always... vague. They never gave us anything concrete, anything that diverged from what the Twelve had also been telling us.”

  Viktor mulled it over as he took a spoonful of soup. So that was how the Emerald Order had managed to remain in stasis for millennia, huh? He wondered what mysterious force could have bent even the strongest resistance to its will. A Reliquary? Or perhaps the Matriarch was actually “alive” after all. Not in the breathing, flesh-and-blood sense, of course. Maybe she was an undead, just like Khenemhotep. If that were the case, if she were indeed an ancient mage who had walked this world for thousands of years, her power would certainly be enough to dominate even the most gifted ones of the current generation.

  Wait.

  Then why did the Order fracture? Why did the schism happen at all? And...

  Viktor’s brow furrowed. “You said that there used to be a rule that forbade the Twelve from interfering with the selection, which means... now they can?”

  “Oh yes. One day, without any warning, the Twelve announced to the rest of the Order that the Matriarch had decided to change that rule. From now on, they would be the ones who chose their replacements.” Lloyd let out a dry chuckle. “Funny, isn’t it? Of all the rules that have remained untouched for thousands of years, the only one to ever be altered is the one that gives them even more power.”

  “Surely the other high-ranking mages were not very happy about it.”

  “Of course. There was always opposition within the Order, but they chose to play by the rules. Because they believed that if they were patient, if they climbed high enough, they would eventually get a seat at the higher table and push for the reforms they had long hoped for. But now, why even bother? What was the point? The cracks began to spread quickly, growing wider and wider with each passing year. Then, one by one, people left. All that remained were those who were loyal to the Twelve.” Then Lloyd grinned. “Of course, all of this only mattered to the upper echelons of the Order. For the low-ranking grunts, palace politics means absolutely nothing. Why should a peasant give a damn about who wears the crown?”

  “So that’s how the schism happened...”

  But why? Why change the system at all? The Twelve’s scheme had worked for generations. Whatever manipulation or enchantment they had used to keep their hold on the Order had proven successful. So why break it? Why take the risk?

  Was it greed? Or hubris? Or maybe something had forced their hand. Something big happened, and they had no choice but to change how the game was played.

  “When exactly did they change the rule about the selection?”

  It must have been recent, considering that neither the Brotherhood nor the Druidesses existed during his previous life—

  “Three hundred years ago,” Lloyd replied. “A few weeks after the death of the Dark Emperor.”