Agni paced back and forth in front of his throne, a frustrated scowl on his face. He’d sent Soren and a small group of Enforcers to Draconia to finish off what was left of the Dragons, but no one had returned yet.

“He’s late,” Agni said, eyeing the group of Enforcers that had reported to him. No one had any idea what had happened to Soren or the others.

“I wouldn’t trust a Draconian, no matter how loyal they pretend to be,” one of the Enforcers said. He cracked his knuckles and scowled. “Who’s to say Soren isn’t secretly helping the rebels? He could be with them right now.”

Without warning, Agni rushed forward down the steps, his fist colliding with the Enforcer’s jaw with a loud crack. The man was knocked back onto the floor, the king standing over him with his fists raised.

“Get out of my sight,” King Agni demanded through clenched teeth. “Take your men to Draconia and bring Soren back to me. Kill any other Dragons in your path! He’ll regret the moment he decided to betray me!”

He shoved the others out of his way and left the throne room, slamming the large doors shut behind him.

He stalked through the castle, furious at the thought that Soren might have gone against him. He’d allowed the Dragon to live in exchange for the upper hand against Draconia. If he wasn’t going to work, he wasn’t going to live.

Agni found himself standing in front of the containment chamber, glaring up at Prince Zane’s lifeless body. Soren had told him that the Dragon Prince was dead. Was that just another lie?

“I’m going to kill you,” he told Zane’s body, “one way or another. You’ll never have your kingdom back, and Draconia will be mine!”

***

Theron sat up slowly, rubbing his side where the Siren had bitten him, and hissed in pain.

“Damn, I shoulda brought some Draíocht with me.”

“You should be restin’ still,” Blaise told him.

Theron eyed him curiously. Blaise was dressed in his Occultus Draconem uniform, and he was sitting at the table, counting what little money he had.

“What do ya think yer doin’?” he asked. “Looks like yer preppin’ to leave.”

“I came here to get somethin’ done,” Blaise told him, not bothering to look at Theron. “I’m gonna see if there’s anything I can get in the port, and then I’m headin’ to settle things with my Da.”

“Yer not goin’ nowhere. Ya don’t know how to wield nothin’ ‘cept a sword, and ya ain’t gonna be able to afford one with what ya got there. Ya don’t even know where to find the Moordenaar, neither, and folks here ain’t gonna say nothin’ ‘bout it.”

Blaise sighed in frustration and leaned back in his chair. He hated being treated like a child by everyone around him. Why couldn’t they just let him figure things out on his own?

“Ya might be able to find an old sword somewhere in the slums,” Theron said. “Lotta shady places that sell shit on the low. Their prices ain’t high neither, even for the good stuff, ‘cause they’d be arrested if anyone knew what they was sellin’. So, they usually take what they can get.”

“I’ll go there then.” Blaise stood, smoothing the front of his shirt, and Theron just chuckled.

“Not dressed like that, you ain’t.”

Theron dug an old shirt out of his bag and tossed it to Blaise. It had a large open collar—Blaise’s scars would show.

“You wanna fit in with some lowlifes in the slums, ya gotta look the part.”

Theron’s shirt was much too big on him, and a lot of his chest was exposed. Blaise didn’t like it—the scar on his chest was a horrible reminder of what had happened to him in Cadmus, but he trusted Theron.

“Where’d ya get that?” Theron questioned, noticing a large mark on the back of Blaise’s shoulder. It looked like a scar from some kind of burn. The skin was dark and raised, and Blaise rubbed it with a thoughtful look on his face before he sighed.

“You asked me ‘bout my Da a few days ago,” he told him, and Theron’s eyes went wide.

“Yer Da did that?”

“Well, sorta. He burnt our house down. Part of it fell on me—my Ma got me out, but she got stuck inside and died.”

“How’d ya end up in Cadmus?”

“I hid away in a wagon that went into Cadmus. I was livin’ in the streets when Daemon found me and took me into the orphanage.”

Blaise shook his head and let out a breath.

“I don’t really wanna talk ‘bout it,” he said. “Let’s just get goin’.”

Blaise’s heart was pounding the entire time they walked through Oorlog. He wasn’t sure why, but the idea of buying a weapon in the slums made him nervous.

Theron seemed so unbothered by it all. It was like he knew exactly where to go and what to do. He’d told the fishermen that they weren’t from around there, but Theron clearly knew his way around the city. He had the accent, so he must have at least spent some time in Oorlog at one point in his life.

In the far back of an alleyway, they came to an old wooden door. There were no windows, and there were dirty men asleep on the ground, some gathered around smoking cigarettes and chatting quietly. They eyed Theron and Blaise curiously, but didn’t say anything.

Theron did even bother to knock—he opened the door and gestured for Blaise to follow. Blaise swallowed hard, his heart pounding, and stepped inside.

The room was dark and the air was a bit smoky. It smelled like some strange mixture of incense and cigarette smoke. There were shelves upon shelves of strange items, and old rusty weapons displayed on the walls. Nothing that Blaise was really interested in though, and no signs of any swords.

“What can I do for ya, boys?” There was an old man on the other side of the room, leaning on the counter while he smoked from a pipe. He eyed the scar on Blaise’s chest, then the one on Theron’s face. “Looks like you’d be needin’ somethin’ to defend yaselves.”

“What do ya go to offer?” Theron asked, and the old man grinned from ear to ear, showing off a mouth with hardly any teeth. It was unnerving, and Blaise kept his distance while Theron approached the counter.

“Ya come to the right place, son,” he told Theron. “I been tryin’ to move a couple things, but the guards been raidin’ the shops ‘round here lately. I dunno what they’re lookin’ for, but I can’t afford to lose my business.”

While Theron and the shopkeeper were talking, Blaise suddenly felt strange. He turned his head, as if something were trying to get his attention.

He walked slowly up and down the aisles of shelves, eyeing all the strange items for sale. There were things as simple as coin purses, but there were also preserved fingers and dead animals in jars. What kind of place had Theron brought him to?

He came across something wrapped in cloth, and his heart started to pound wildly. Was he scared or excited? Was it his feeling or Zane’s? Zane had mostly been quiet the last few days since Blaise had told him to shut up.

He picked up the item, carefully unwrapping it. It felt a bit heavy, like it was made of metal.

Pulling back the cloth, it revealed a silver circlet. He’d seen circlets before, but this one was more elaborate and extravagant than anything any normal noble would wear. In the center, it held a large ruby, and Blaise realized that was where the feeling was coming from.

It emanated a strange power, and it made Blaise nervous. He held it with the cloth, examining it all over for a price. He didn’t have much money, but he wasn’t completely broke either. He earned money doing small things for the Occultus Draconem, even if he hadn't been allowed to fight.

“Zane,” Blaise uttered under his breath, and he felt Zane’s presence stir for the first time in days. “You ever seen somethin’ like this before?”

Blaise coughed a bit as his heart jumped. Zane was suddenly all worked up, and it was a shock to his system when he hadn’t done anything in days.

That’s my circlet!

“Ya like that?”

Blaise jumped at the sound of the shopkeeper’s voice. He was standing a few feet from him, eyeing they circlet in Blaise’s hand. He immediately put it back on the shelf where he found it.

“I got this from an Enforcer a few years back,” the man said, taking it back off the shelf and showing it to Blaise. The strange power of the ruby bothered Blaise for some reason, and he kept his distance from the man. “They brought me lotsa stuff from the old Dragons’ castle. Figured this one’d be a’right to keep on the shelf so long as it's wrapped up real good. The other stuff I gotta keep out back ‘cause I ain’t tryna attract the wrong attention here.”

“What else ya got?” Blaise asked, and the man laughed softly.

"What are ya lookin' for?"

***

Kenric lay awake all night, staring at the ceiling. He had too much on his mind to even think about falling asleep.

He wondered how Theron and Blaise were doing, but he couldn’t afford to go back to Anzino… not after such a recent attack on Draconia. He knew the attacks were likely to keep coming, and the Enforcers would return with greater numbers. He just had to wait and hope they’d be all right, and that King Nero would keep his word.

“Why deprive yourself of sleep over things you can’t control?”

Kenric didn’t move—he wasn’t surprised that Soren was standing in his bedroom. He’d already known that staying in his cell was just a façade. Getting out of cells was an important lesson they’d all been taught by an old Draconian soldier, in case any of them ever became prisoners of war.

“Why are you still here?” Kenric asked, not bothering to even sit up. “I thought you wanted to return to Cadmus to be killed by Agni.”

“I don’t know.”

Kenric sat up then, eyeing Soren curiously.

“What do you really want, Soren?”

At first, he didn’t say anything. There was a strange, stormy look in his eyes, but he kept his thoughts closed off to Kenric.

“I want to apologize,” he finally said, letting out a long breath. “I want to apologize for everything I’ve done… everything I’ve put you through. I know that a simple ‘I’m sorry’ isn’t good enough—I’m prepared to be executed for treason, whether by Zane or by Agni, but I at least wanted you to know that I am truly sorry before that day comes. I’ve made terrible mistakes, and this is where it’s landed me. No home, no friends, nothing. I never meant to hurt you. My addiction got the best of me, and it was my own doing. I put my own selfish wants before the needs of you and Draconia, and I am sorry for that.”

Kenric narrowed his eyes at Soren, and Soren finally opened up his mind to him.

“Either you’re telling the truth, or you’ve gotten very good at lying to me. Considering the fact that we’ve been here before, I can only assume the latter.”

“I’m not lying,” Soren said with a scowl. “Why would I be standing here? I had the perfect opportunity to destroy Draconia a second time, and look where I am. The only survivor. The only Draconian. I could have told them about the illusions. I could have told them about the magic that protects this castle. I could have killed half your men before they even knew who I was!”

“I don’t doubt that,” Kenric said, “but that doesn’t mean you’re being honest with me.”

“What more can I say to you?”

“Why did you allow my men to capture you?”

Soren fell silent, a pained look on his face while he clenched his fists tightly. He seemed reluctant, but finally spoke up.

“I just… I wanted to see what had become of Draconia. It was the only way to get in here without the Enforcers knowing that I’ve been keeping secrets from them. Agni doesn’t know about my past with the Royal Guard of Draconia—he only knows that I’m Draconian.”

“That’s your excuse? You just wanted to see?”

“What do you want from me, Ken? I’ve given up everything just to be back here, knowing that I’ll be killed one way or another. That’s not enough for you?”

“I want to know why, Soren. I want the truth… all of it. You can’t stand there and tell me you’ve risked everything ‘just to see,’ and think I’ll accept that. So, I’ll ask again. Why are you really here?”

Soren let out a long, frustrated breath, running his fingers through his hair. He knew he had to choose his words carefully. What could he say, though?

“I don’t want to be an Enforcer anymore. I never wanted to be one in the first place. I didn’t have a choice. I was weak and desperate, and my only other option was death. Maybe I should have just chosen death back then, but I didn’t. Now, it just feels like I’ve been dying anyway, just slower.”

Kenric sighed, and Soren took a step towards him, a wild, desperate look in his eyes.

“I’m not as dependent on Draíocht as I was when I left. I don’t even need in every day anymore. When I do need it, it’s just a little amount to stave off the cravings or treat injuries. Like I keep telling you, I don’t want to keep doing this."

Kenric was silent for what felt like an eternity. Soren stood there, staring at him, waiting for a reply.

“Say something,” Soren begged.

“I don’t know what to say,” he told him. “I want to believe in you, Soren, I really do. But we’ve been down this road a hundred times, and the result was always the same. I just… I can’t trust you anymore.”

Soren’s shoulders sagged in defeat.

“I don’t know what else to do. I’m here, and I don’t want to go back to Cadmus. I don’t want to be part of this war anymore. I want it all to end. Let Prince Zane have me executed and have that be the end of it.”

“I’ve already told you, I won’t let that happen. I’m not going to let anyone kill you.”

“Then I’ll do it myself!” Soren grabbed one of Kenric’s daggers off the table where he’d left his uniform. He held the blade to his own throat, a hard, determined look in his eyes. “I’m not above suicide.”

“Don’t.” Kenric tensed, but didn’t move, eyeing the blade in Soren’s hand. He wouldn’t really kill himself, would he?

“I’ve had enough of the death and destruction,” Soren said, tightening his grip on the knife. He dug the blade into his skin, and a bit of blood pooled to the surface. “I won’t betray you or Draconia any longer.”

He tried to drag the blade across his throat, but found himself frozen in place, and his eyes went wide. Kenric was using his power to control his movements.

“Release me!”

“Put the dagger down,” Kenric demanded.

Soren struggled against his control, his hands shaking and sweat running down his face, but he was no match for Kenric. He was forced to drop the weapon on the floor, where Kenric picked it up and tucked them into his belt, out of his reach.

“You know I have to lock you back up now, don’t you?” Kenric asked, looking terribly sad.

“Why are you doing this?” Tears ran down Soren’s face. “Why do you care if I live or die? Just let me do this so I can finally have some peace! You don’t understand that I—”

Soren was cut off as Kenric’s fist hit his stomach. He hadn’t even seen Kenric move.

“Why?” Soren choked out before slumping forward against Kenric’s arm.

“You’re right, Soren,” Kenric said, letting out a sad sigh. “I don’t understand. We chose different paths for different reasons, and I don’t know if we’ll ever understand each other’s choices. But you’re still my best friend, and I’m not going to let you die.”