The pounding on the door rattled the cramped storage closet.

  Isabelle’s wrist flicked and the dagger slid free from its hidden sheath. Her fingers closed around the hilt; breath pressed tight in her chest. If they found Alyra here with that heretic, there would be no clean ending. Unless she came up with a perfectly plausible lie for why she was in this room. Something she had never been good at.

  Alyra’s hands clutched her skirt, knuckles white. Her eyes were wide and glassy, like she was staring straight into judgment itself.

  Sierelith snorted. “Told you we should’ve left when we had the chance.”

  A gruff voice bellowed from beyond the door. “I won’t say it again. I don’t know what foolish stunt you’re pulling, but you’d better come out right now!”

  Isabelle drew her grip tighter on the dagger. “Who goes there?” she asked, voice low.

  The spy tilted her head. “Put away your little toy knife. It’s just the custodian. He wanders around the school at night all the time.” She raised one brow, as if arriving at a conclusion. “I think he’s insomniac. Doubt night patrol is actually part of his job.”

  Color flamed along Isabelle’s cheeks. “What do we do?” Her eyes flicked to the blade. “I can’t just—”

  “What? Kill him?” Sierelith blinked, then chuckled. “Relax. I can think of a solution a little less permanent.” She spread her hands and the small violet sphere hovering above her palm swelled until it was the size of a melon. It spun silently, like it dangled from an invisible string.

  Isabelle swallowed. “What are you planning?”

  The spy tilted her head, studying her like a tailor checking measurements. “Yes, the height’s about right,” she murmured. “I could never keep three of us disguised for long. Certainly not against a trained mage. But tricking a custodian for a few seconds?” A faint smirk curved her lips. “That’s manageable.”

  A sharp knock struck the door again. “I’ve had enough of this,” the voice outside barked. “If you don’t come out on your own, I’ll fetch an Instructor.”

  Isabelle’s jaw tightened. “What are you plotting, heretic?”

  “You, Warden, will be Claudine,” Sierelith said. “You’re a bit taller and sturdier, but if we move quickly, the old man won’t notice.”

  Isabelle’s mouth parted, words caught behind her teeth. That lunatic truly meant to disguise her as Instructor Claudine using Illusion magic. “What? Don’t you dare. I’ll do no such thing.”

  Sierelith lifted a shoulder. “Fine. Prefer Varom instead? You’d fit his height better, but you’d have to keep your mouth shut or you’ll give it away.”

  Warmth rushed to Isabelle’s face. Her hand clenched tighter around the dagger. “I will not deceive anyone. I am not like you.”

  The illusionist spread her hands in mock surrender. “Suit yourself. I’ll manage either way, and you probably will too.” Her gaze slid toward Alyra. “But her? She’s the one who’ll be in trouble for sneaking out of her dorm in the middle of the night.”

  Isabelle’s teeth pressed together until her jaw ached. That damned spy. She always knew how to corner her, how to twist every choice until defying her own principles felt like the only way out. Surely demons whispered in that woman’s ear.

  Sierelith turned to Alyra. “And you will be that vile sycophant, Mirelle.” Her lip curled in disgust.

  Alyra froze, color flaring in her cheeks. “What? No, I don’t want to. Mirelle is always kind to me.”

  Sierelith arched a brow. “Kind? You only think that because you don’t hear what she says behind your back.”

  Alyra went white, hands trembling at her sides.

  “Sorry, kid,” the spy said. “But I’d rather risk her being blamed than you. I need you free to move around the school without drawing eyes. If suspicion lands on you, they’ll watch you, and that would be a problem for me.”

  Isabelle let out a short, controlled breath. “And you? What do you intend to do?”

  Sierelith placed a hand over her heart with mock innocence. “Who, me? Why, turn invisible, of course.”

  “And you cannot do the same for us?” the Warden asked.

  “Not strong enough yet to vanish three at once.” Sierelith shook her head. “Besides, he already heard us. If he found no one inside, that would be suspicious.” She smiled, the kind of smile that made the skin crawl. “In ten seconds you open the door. By then you’d better have a plausible story for why Claudine and Mirelle are locked in a closet together. Make it something that raises no questions.”

  Isabelle stared at the wooden door, vision narrowing. Her stomach coiled and her hands tightened until her knuckles went white. She would have taken an army of undead over the old custodian. That man had stood watch here when she was a student: honest, dutiful, the sort who respected rules. Now she was to lie to his face. Her fingers flexed around the dagger as if to squeeze the thought away. Damn that heretic. Let her schemes stand between them and the children, Isabelle vowed. Someday she would see her answer for this.

  Sierelith flicked her hands through the air.

  A metallic click at the lock, and the door swung open.

  A rush of air hit Isabelle’s face.

  The custodian stood exactly as she remembered: sparse white hair in tufts behind his ears, shoulders stooped beneath a stained robe. Cloudy, faded blue eyes fixed on her, his gaze slack as if he had glimpsed a ghost. In his fist he held a heavy iron ring with half a dozen brass keys. “Uh? I—Instructor Claudine?” he stammered.

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  Isabelle froze. Her throat tightened. The name surfaced with a small effort. “Orben,” she said.

  The already-hunched man dipped lower in a bow. “My apologies, Instructor. I never expected to find you in this closet.” His gaze slid to Alyra. “And what… what are you doing here with young Mirelle, if I may ask?”

  Alyra cleared her throat. “Well, we… um… we were—”

  “We were searching for a special item for a particular training exercise tonight,” Isabelle cut in. “It’s a secret lesson I reserve for a handful of the most devout students.”

  The custodian’s bushy brows knitted. “But that’s just a closet. I keep brooms, buckets, all my cleaning things in there. I go in and out every day and never saw anything special.”

  Isabelle lifted her chin to reclaim authority. “I placed the item here myself. I was certain no one would think to look.”

  The man blinked. “Placed it, you say? And where?”

  “If I told you, it would no longer be hidden.” Isabelle’s tone stayed measured. “And I cannot disclose what it is.”

  The custodian took a step closer. His pale, milky eyes gleamed. “Is it… a secret?” he whispered.

  Isabelle gave a slow, solemn nod. For a heartbeat, she almost felt like Sierelith herself. “Oh yes. And I trust I can leave it in your care. You won’t tell anyone, will you, Orben?” Her stomach twisted around the lie, but she kept her expression steady.

  The old man straightened as much as his bent spine allowed. “But of course, Instructor Claudine. You know secrecy is my specialty. I’ll keep it safe.” His gaze shifted toward Alyra. “But if it’s a secret hiding place, why bring this student along?”

  Isabelle’s pulse hitched. Her mind went blank. Lying had never been her strength.

  “Claudine couldn’t find the item for my training anymore,” Alyra said, her voice trembling. “So in the end she allowed me to help her search.”

  Orben nodded, then jerked as if stung. “But if you were only looking for something, why lock the door?”

  “We wanted to avoid being seen by anyone passing by,” Isabelle said quickly, “but apparently that didn’t work, did it? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve retrieved the—uh—item, and I must go with Mirelle to conduct her special training.”

  The words nearly caught in her throat. Her heart hadn’t beaten this fast since her duel with Elias in Ebonshade.

  The custodian bowed awkwardly to the side. “Of course. Forgive me for the interruption. Your secret is safe with me.”

  Isabelle marched out of the cursed closet, Alyra rigid at her side like the handle of a broom.

  Neither dared look back, though Isabelle felt certain the old man’s gaze lingered. Their story had more holes than a fishing net; best not to think on them. Their only hope lay in his deference to Claudine, in that small habit of respect that might stop questions.

  Even if he spoke with the real Claudine tomorrow and the ruse unraveled, there was no way he would trace it to her and Alyra.

  And with Garath already aware of Sierelith’s presence at the school, blame would fall cleanly on the spy.

  As it should.

  Isabelle’s jaw tightened. That spy had vanished with the coins and a vague promise to help. Now both the girl and the coins sat in her hands. Her only proof to stop the war. Garath had entrusted them to her at a time when he trusted no one else.

  They rounded the corridor and left the custodian and that cursed storage room behind. The dim glow of scattered crystals slid along the walls, one after another.

  How could she have been so foolish? For all she knew, Sierelith had paid Kato to attack Derek on the bridge. And now Isabelle had handed the only proof she possessed to that woman. Her fist slammed into the stone beside her. Pain shot up her forearm; she kept striking until the sting blurred into dull heat. “Damn it,” she hissed. A bead of blood traced from her knuckles down the stone.

  “Isabelle!” Alyra’s voice broke, small and urgent. Her expression had already smoothed. “What’s wrong with you?”

  Isabelle shook her head, forcing her expression steady. “Nothing. Go back to your dorm before someone sees you wandering. You’ll get in trouble.”

  The girl set a hand on her shoulder. “Not unless you tell me what’s going on.”

  Isabelle rubbed her forehead. “It’s nothing, truly. Don’t worry.”

  Alyra frowned. “You think Sierelith tricked you, right?”

  Isabelle exhaled slowly. “I was a fool to believe she cared about stopping this war.”

  “You think she doesn’t?” Alyra’s voice fell to a whisper.

  Blood still gleamed across Isabelle’s knuckles. She pressed them to her lips, the taste of iron sharp against her tongue. “I don’t know what to believe anymore.” Her voice thinned to a murmur. “I… feel like I’m losing myself.”

  The girl tightened her grip on Isabelle’s arm. “What does that mean? Why would you say that?” Her wide brown eyes searched Isabelle’s face, desperate for an answer.

  She had changed so much. Only weeks ago, the girl had barely dared to speak in her presence. Now she had stood against Varom himself. Bringing her here had been the right choice. One of the few lately.

  “It’s nothing, really. I’m just tired. Too much has happened lately,” Isabelle whispered.

  Alyra didn’t move. Her gaze stayed fixed, stubborn and unblinking.

  Isabelle gestured for her to leave. “Go now. I won’t say it twice.”

  After a heartbeat of hesitation, the girl sighed and slipped away down the corridor, silent and quick as a cat.

  “They grow so fast, don’t they?” a woman’s voice purred by her ear, close enough to make her flinch.

  She turned, and Sierelith’s sly smile met her eyes.

  “You… what are you doing here? I thought—”

  The spy tossed her the pouch.

  Isabelle caught it in her bloodstained hand. She frowned. “Why give it back?”

  Sierelith shrugged. “Seemed like you wanted it. Besides, I’ve no use for your Church’s money.”

  Isabelle narrowed her eyes. “You found something, didn’t you? Otherwise you wouldn’t have returned it so soon.”

  The spy’s smile didn’t waver.

  “Tell me who it is,” Isabelle pressed. “Someone important, isn’t it?”

  Sierelith tilted her head. “I took your coins because I thought I’d need time to trace the residual magic. But the instant I touched them…” Her nose wrinkled. “I’d know that stench of magic among millions.”

  Isabelle’s jaw tightened. “Who?”

  “Red hair, red beard,” Sierelith said. “Ring any bells?”

  The Warden’s eyes widened. “Theodrick Brayden, Divine Inquisitor,” she whispered.

  Sierelith nodded. “The very one. Council member. Uriela Valen’s right hand. The man who backed her rise and cleared her path to power.”

  Isabelle’s knees nearly buckled. The world narrowed to the sound of her own pulse. Could he have acted without Uriela’s knowledge? Or had she known all along and chosen silence?

  Or worse… had High Priestess Uriela Valen herself ordered Theodrick to hire someone to kill the Cashnar?

  Exactly as Derek had always claimed.

  Sierelith was still there, watching. Her green eyes gleamed under the dim light, that same mocking curve playing on her lips.

  Isabelle forced her shoulders straight. “I thank you for your service, spy. You may go.”

  Sierelith dipped her head in mock respect. “And my reward?”

  Isabelle waved a hand. “For now, I’ll refrain from arresting you. Consider that your reward.”

  The spy chuckled behind her hand. “As if you’d ever manage to catch me.”

  “Very well,” Isabelle said evenly. “State your request. I give you my word of honor I’ll consider it seriously.”

  “Tell me what you’ll do,” Sierelith said.

  “What does that—wait, you mean that’s your request? To know what I’ll do?”

  The spy nodded. “That bit of knowledge has value to me right now. Tell me the truth, and I’ll consider your debt cleared.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “Spy’s honor.” Her grin widened as she winked.

  Isabelle shook her head. “I don’t see what use that has for you, but if it clears my debt, I’ll oblige.” She exhaled softly. “I’ll confront Theodrick Brayden, show him the proof of his involvement, and force him to confess everything to Uriela. Once she knows the truth, she’ll have no choice but to call off the campaign against the jungle tribes.”

  Sierelith blinked. “You… you’re serious? That wasn’t just one of your strange jokes?”

  Isabelle frowned. “Why would I joke about this?”

  The spy’s mouth fell open, all trace of amusement gone. “You’re completely insane.” She pressed a hand to her forehead as if checking for fever. “But why am I surprised? You even tried to appeal to an undead’s good heart, for heaven’s sake.”

  Isabelle crossed her arms. The memory of Elias still felt raw, a wound better left untouched. “Then tell me, what would you have me do?”

  “Well, for starters, I’d plug the holes.”

  “Holes?” Isabelle repeated.

  “Yes, holes,” Sierelith said, tilting her head. “Your story leaks everywhere. For instance: how did Theodrick even contact someone from the tribes? He’s a Council member, not exactly the type to wander through the jungle. Finding and hiring a killer takes the right connections. And the tribes aren’t easily bought—especially not with coin.” Her smirk deepened. “Someone introduced them. Find out who, and you’ll know who else is involved. Only once you see the full web will you know who you can actually trust. And only then should you act.”

  Isabelle swallowed the tightness in her throat. “You mean only then will I know if I can truly trust Uriela. That’s what you’re implying, isn’t it?”

  Sierelith’s smile thinned. “That too.”

  Isabelle lowered her gaze. Damn her. The viper’s words made sense. As they always did, until they led her into another tangle. Still, what harm could there be in digging deeper? More evidence would only strengthen her hand.

  She drew a long breath. “I’ll consider it. Now answer me this: why are you helping me?”

  The illusionist’s smile widened. “Because it’s obvious you’re not made for this game. And if you truly believe the Awakened Chain wants this war, then you’ve understood nothing of our ideals.”

  “You’re heretics,” Isabelle said, her lip curling. “What ideals could you possibly hold beyond destroying the Church and seizing power for yourselves?”

  Sierelith’s expression dimmed. “You think I’m the queen of deception. But at least I haven’t spent my life lying to myself, Isabelle Blackwood.” She raised her hand, and a violet haze swirled around her. The air shimmered, then swallowed her whole.

  Isabelle stood frozen in the corridor, the echo of her voice still clinging to the stones.

  Those words lingered, too familiar and too sharp.

  Almost the same ones the Cashnar had spoken to her not long before.