Later that evening, a quarter day’s north of the Latia Arena, a cenobite of the Holy Order of Sen Jerome approached his superior’s tent. Of medium height, with a soft jawline that made him look even younger than he was, he scowled at his locks of curly blond hair. He needed to cut them soon.

  Instead, he straightened the white surcote he wore over his padded woolen tunic and called out, “Heirobite River?”

  “Who is it?”

  “Cenobite Elm, Mater.”

  “Come in.”

  Elm pushed into the tent, which was warm despite the advancing cold. The reason why stood next to the hierobite’s table: a brazier full of glowing red lumps of everlasting coal, a recent Souran invention.

  “Mater.” Elm placed his hands together and bowed so deep, his nose touched his knees. “I have a request to make.”

  “I see.” Hierobite River put down a pair of tickets, rose to her full height, and assumed a stance designed to emphasize the bronze trim on her shoulders and the muscles she still had despite her middle age. “What is it?”

  Elm rose. “I’d like to return to Sen Jerome’s.”

  “Oh? Why?”

  The actual answer was that this camp had nothing left to offer, but the answer River was expecting was “I believe I can serve better in the fortress.”

  The hierobite’s eyes flicked to Elm’s neck. “Have your wounds been bothering you?”

  Elm’s hand twitched as if he’d like to touch the almost faded ligature marks on his neck. “No, Hierobite.” Would garnering sympathy work here? No, that would get Elm subjected to Souran medicine, always undesirable but especially in his present condition. “I am well and able. I merely believe that the fortress could use my skills.”

  “I see.” Hierobite River eyed Elm. “You are on the list.”

  Affecting confusion, Elm frowned. “What list, Mater?”

  “The list of cenobites who were or have been given mysterious assignments all throughout the city.” The hierobite leaned forward to put her knuckles on the table. “Like how you and five others were sent to escort those mages into the woods.”

  Did River want to join? Elm bowed his head. “I was called to serve and I did.”

  “And how did you serve?”

  Best avoid that question. “My oath compels me to silence.”

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  The hierobite’s nostrils flared. “Your oath. We of Sen Jerome’s make only two: one to Cueller, may His blessings pour onto us,” her right hand made the sign of the cup, “and one to Her Majesty, may she be guided to everlasting wisdom. There are no other oaths.”

  Ah, so River didn’t want to join; she wanted to root them out. Too bad that didn’t make her an ally.

  “But,” Elm’s pitch rose a little, “I made an oath.”

  River absorbed this. “Was it only an oath of silence?”

  This line of questioning was taking Elm further and further away from getting the transfer, but this would do. He swallowed and nodded. “Yes, I can’t say anything.”

  “What if next time, I just… follow?” River asked.

  Elm nodded his head, slowly. “I… was going into the forest after this. On patrol.”

  River’s eyes flicked to the patrol schedule on her table. Elm’s name wasn’t on it. “I see. Then you’d best be on your way.”

  “Yes, Mater.”

  Elm bowed again then left. A careful circumnavigation of the camp gave River plenty of time to emerge from her tent and limp after him. Lighting a torch, Elm headed into the darkening forest, letting his feet crunch and swish through the dead leaves as he went. He kept going, only occasionally stopping to check for marks he’d cut into exposed bark, until he reached a large hollow tree.

  Hierobite River stopped, her hand rubbing her knee. “Is this the place?”

  “Yes, Mater.” Elm started to pull dead leaves out of the hollow. “This is the last place we met.”

  River frowned. “Why here?”

  “Two weeks ago, I came here.” Elm kept digging. “I had to know.”

  “Two weeks ago?” River came up to Elm. “Are you talking about Latia Arena? Were you there?”

  “I can’t answer that.” But by the look on her face, that meant yes to River. Elm paused. Maybe this next part wasn’t necessary. “Do you believe Dwayne was trying to kill everyone in the arena?”

  “Of course not.”

  Elm let out a slow breath. “I see.”

  “That was a mistake. He was trying mesmerize them.”

  It was a good thing Elm had complete control over his expression. “Pleas explain, Mater.”

  “Everyone knows Ri sorcerers can mesmerize people, make them do things, but he mixed up his spells and almost blew everyone up instead.”

  Elm’s heart beat in his ears. Setting aside how River had confused Ri for Fo’Ri, Dwayne never mixed up spells and would never resort to mesmerism. Elm pulled out two more handfuls of leaves then stood up. “There.”

  “What is it?” River peered into the hollow. “I can’t see anything.”

  “Here.”

  Elm handed River the torch, then stepped back. She brought the light close to the hollow, revealing the soft jawline and close-cut blond hair of the body crammed into the tiny space.

  “What is this?”

  “Proof.”

  Elm’s palm delivered a pulso te essedare into the back of River’s neck. She collapsed into his arms.

  “Fo-pha-du.” Cenobite Elm, his jawline, his blond hair, fell away, leaving Dana holding River.

  When lu had found Elm still tied up in the underground tower beneath Latia Arena, Dana had thought luzself lucky, but returning late and wounded had made SHROUD, the code name lu had given Bruce’s collection of cenobites, too suspicious. It had been a waste of weeks of work, made worse by the fact that, if Dana had personally delivered the warning to Dwayne instead of slipping it into his instructions, lu would have had nothing to worry about.

  No matter. With a hierobite’s surcote, Dana could go straight to Sen Jerome’s fortress and look for Dwayne or at least for clues as to his whereabouts.

  First, though, Dana had to clean up after luzself.