Karrie certainly went all in on the menu. They were all scrunched in around a dining room table designed for four people and laden with roast beef, vegetables, gravy, and his favorite honey rolls. A cake sat on the kitchen counter waiting for later. Damien piled his plate high and ate with enthusiasm. He sat between Jen and Karrie. If the table was just a little smaller the princess would have ended up on his lap. As it was the three of them were constantly banging elbows.

Damien hadn’t been this happy in a long time. Surrounded by the people he loved, no one trying to kill him, and a plate full of his favorite foods. What could possibly be better? Maybe if Lizzy could leave the sword for an hour and join them.

That’s sweet, but a demon at the dinner table might be a little awkward.

Damien hid a smile at Lizzy’s comment. Sometimes he forgot she was a demon. He thought of her more as an angel that dyed her wings.

A little tremor rattled the silverware. It seemed like they were getting more frequent. Damien’s wine glass shook and the tremor intensified. The table rattled and Karrie grabbed his arm.

Soon the whole room trembled and the glowing stone lamp above the table threatened to vibrate loose. A horrible rumble, like the cry of a giant beast, filled the air as the shaking continued to grow worse. When a crack ran up the wall Damien had had enough.

A golden bubble surrounded the group. Beams of energy shot out, stabilizing furniture and keeping the cake from crashing. The rumbling seemed to go on for far longer than it had any right to.

Five minutes later the last tremor subsided and Damien let the bubble vanish. “Everyone okay?”

Everyone was. Damien checked the strength of the walls and found the cracks shallow and the overall structure still sound. He fused the damaged stone back together and sealed the cracks.

“That was the worst one yet,” Uncle Andy said.

Damien hopped up from the table. “I need to check on Salem and the archmage.”

“Good idea.” Uncle Andy stood up as well. “There may be injured. John, go with Jen and Fredric, make sure everyone’s okay. We’ll head to the throne room. Damage reports will be coming in and we’ll need to organize help for people living in less well built houses. I’m sorry, my boy. It seems your party is going to be cut short.”

“No problem, but I was looking forward to that cake.”

Damien left the others to their tasks and rushed down the hall to check on Salem. He stepped over paintings and repaired minor cracks as he went. It was a good thing they’d built the castle to last. It might have been much worse. He rounded a corner to the guest wing. Someone whimpered nearby. Sitting under a small table, clutching his legs to his chest, was one of the castle’s errand boys.

Damien crouched down and looked the boy in the eye. “It’s over now. You can come out.”

The boy shook his head. “Don’t wanna. Everything’s falling and cracking. I’ll get smushed.”

“You won’t. It’s safe now. We’re starting to clean up and we’ll need your help. Can’t you be brave and come out of there?”

“You sure it’s safe?”

Damien nodded. He was as sure as he could be. “I’m sure. Come on.”

The boy took his hand and crawled out from under the table. “What should I do?”

“You could gather up all the paintings that fell and line them up against the wall. Someone will be along in a little bit to give you something more important to do. Okay?”

The boy nodded. “Thank you.”

Damien ruffled his hair. “Run along.”

He left the boy to his work and jogged on toward the guest rooms. As he ran Damien sent out streams of soul force to check the walls and floors for damage. He found several fissures that required repair, but all in all the castle had come through with little damage.

When he reached Salem’s door he knocked. “Salem? Are you okay?”

The door opened a second later. Salem burst out and hugged him. “I was so scared. Does that happen often?”

Damien rubbed her back. “We’ve been having small tremors off and on for a while, but nothing like this. As far as I know the capital has never experienced a quake this bad.”

“What should I do?”

“I’m going to check on the archmage. You’re welcome to come along. If anyone’s hurt it’d be handy to have someone with me who can heal.”

“Couldn’t you handle the healing?” Salem asked as they quick-marched down the steps and along the back halls to his master’s office.

“No, my soul force is too dense. I’m only good for causing wounds, not healing them.”

Groaning servants and staggering guards leaned against walls or in some cases sat in the middle of the hall. No one looked hurt, just shaken up. They kept moving, weaving their way through the occasional knot of people. Whenever anyone asked, Damien sent them to the throne room. Uncle Andy would have a better idea of what needed to be done.

They rounded a corner that led to the archmage’s office just in time to see her leaving. Damien waved. “Master!”

She stopped and turned his way. “The royals?”

“Everybody’s fine. They’re in the throne room organizing the cleanup. Dad and Jen are nearby.”

“Good. I sent four Legionnaires as well. If someone wanted to attack this would be a perfect time. I’m headed to the dungeon to check on the prisoner. Come on.”

Damien and Salem fell in behind the archmage who stalked through the halls with such a grim expression that cleaning servants and disoriented guards alike scrambled to clear a path. She almost seemed to take the quake personally, like nature had decided to annoy her on purpose. As if nature would dare.

The door leading down to the dungeon was open and hung slightly askew. The quake must have shifted the frame a fraction.

“Smells wet,” Salem said.

Damien sniffed. The air did have a damp smell to it, damper than usual that is. He hoped the cistern hadn’t cracked, that would be a pain to fix.

At the bottom of the stairs no lake waited for them to wade through, which came as a relief. All the cell doors appeared to be locked tight. There were three big puddles, but nothing major. If the archmage noted any of this she gave no sign.

They rounded a bend to the interrogation room and found Alden and Imogen lying unconscious on the ground outside. Inside the room David slumped facedown on the table, blood from a slashed throat dripping to the floor.

Soul force still flowed in the unconscious sorcerers. They were both still alive, thank heaven.

His master slammed her fist on the table. “Damn it! He was our best lead.”

Two cups lay on the floor beside the unconscious sorcerers, their contents spilled on the stones. A quick scan revealed poison. He couldn’t tell exactly what kind, but it must have been what knocked them out. “Salem, can you revive them?”

“I can try.” A glow spread from her hands to Alden.

Damien left her to work and joined the archmage beside David’s body. “Poison, Master.”

She held up a dart. “Here too. Probably shot David from the intersection and while it was working the assassin brought our thirsty questioners some nice, cool wine.”

“It must have been a servant.”

“Or someone posing as a servant. How much do you want to bet our mystery person let the Soul Knife assassin sneak in as well.”

“No bet. A spy in our midst would certainly explain a lot.”

“Yes. It seems David was right to be worried.”

A groan came from out in the hall. They turned in time to see Alden sit up and rub his head. Salem had begun healing Imogen.

“What happened?” the archmage asked.

“Damned if I know. One minute I’m sipping a lovely red wine and the next I’m waking up with the worst headache I’ve had in years.”

“You’re lucky to be waking up at all.” Damien turned to his master. “Why wouldn’t the spy kill Alden and Imogen as well? A lethal poison would have done the trick even if they had a shield up.”

“Most deadly poisons take longer to act. Our spy was in a hurry. The question is, why?”

Damien’s stomach churned. “Master, how secure is the urn?”

“Oh, no.”

“Salem, are you good?” Damien asked.

She nodded, not looking up from Imogen.

“Alden, find the guards,” the archmage said. “We haven’t seen a patrol since we got here. They may be in trouble. Damien and I will check the vault.”

Alden waved. “Will do.”

The royal vault was off the throne room behind a thick iron door. A guard stood behind the locked door at all times. When they arrived the door hung open and the guard lay in a pool of blood. That would be the dead fellow at their feet. Damien and his master shared a look. Heavy, iron-bound chests filled the room, each holding several thousand gold royals. Smaller chests held jewelry and gems. None of them appeared tampered with.

The archmage walked over to an empty shelf and ran her finger over it. She turned back to Damien. “We’re too late. The urn is gone.”