her loopy handwriting accompanied each one. Handy, it would make it easier, but still time-consuming since the reports from his network of spies had been written in code that had to be deciphered.
Sneaking into Wirral and helping the Bloodrose Clan win their freedom was more appealing than sifting through all the files. However, years of experience had taught Valek that golden nuggets of information resided within these piles. He’d just have to dig through them one at a time.
Hours later, a light knocking on his door jolted him from a detailed description of the Hunecker quarry operations in MD-4.
“Yes?” he called, grasping the handle of his sword with his right hand and palming a dagger with his left.
A guard entered slowly.
Smart man.
“Commander Ambrose has retired for the evening, sir.”
Valek studied the man’s face, committing the guard’s features to memory. “Thank you...?”
He straightened. “Sergeant Gerik, sir.”
“You’re new. How long have you been with the Commander’s security detail?”
“Three seasons, sir. I was assigned by Adviser Maren.”
Ah. “Has anyone else been promoted in my absence?”
“No, sir.”
“Thank you, Gerik. You’re dismissed.”
Gerik did an about-face and left. Valek added the man’s name to the list he’d written of items he needed to follow up on. New personnel in the Commander’s detail were not unheard-of, but Valek performed a complete background check on each candidate before he or she was assigned. Perhaps the paperwork for Gerik waited in one of the stacks he had yet to peruse. Those would take another couple of days to complete.
At least Valek had found a few clues that might lead them to uncovering the new smuggling routes. And, even better, he had an action plan to report to the Commander.
Valek swept up a few files, extinguished the lanterns and candles, and locked his office door. The three complex locks prevented most intruders from gaining entry. However, a professional could pop them in minutes.
Heading to the Commander’s suite, Valek passed a few servants and soldiers, recognizing them all. He nodded at those who met his gaze. A few returned the gesture while others kept their gazes on the floor.
Two massive wooden doors guarded by two soldiers Valek knew well blocked the entrance to what had once been the King’s royal apartments. The guards opened the doors, allowing Valek to pass into a short hallway.
When the Commander’s forces took control of Ixia about twenty-three years ago, Ambrose divided the King’s expansive rooms into two suites, one for him and one for Valek. The hall had only two doors opposite each other. Valek knocked on the one on the left and waited.
A faint “come in” sounded. Valek entered the Commander’s main living room. The Commander’s living space matched the rest of the castle. In a word, utilitarian. After the takeover, Ambrose had stripped the castle of all its opulent decorations. Paintings were removed, tapestries shredded and statues crushed. If it didn’t have a specific or useful purpose, it didn’t stay.
Instead of sitting in his favorite armchair near the fireplace, the Commander sat behind his desk facing the entrance. He still wore his uniform. A bad sign. Valek approached.
“Sit.” The Commander gestured to a hard chair with his quill. “Report.”
Valek perched on the edge. “Ari and Janco are going to sniff around the markets tomorrow and see if they can get a lead on the suppliers of the illegal goods. Once we’ve identified them, we’ll follow them and see where they cross back into Sitia.”
“A good start. Anything else?”
“No, but—”
“You’re dismissed.” The Commander returned to his work.
Valek didn’t move.
The Commander ignored him. Valek studied his boss. Thin, clean-shaven despite the late hour, and with a couple more wrinkles than the last time Valek’d been in Ixia. They’d been working together for the past twenty-four years. Cold fury emanated from Ambrose, and Valek wasn’t going to leave until he discovered why.
The top of the desk resembled the rest of the room: neat, spartan, and no ink stained the wood. However, a single decoration stood out amid the starkness. A ylang-ylang flower crafted from small multicolored stones glued together. Probably a gift from Yelena. Her clan, the Zaltanas, had a number of artists who created those figurines.
“You’re disobeying a direct order, Valek. Do I need to call for the guards and have you arrested?”
“Permission to speak freely, sir?” Valek asked.
“And if I say no?”
“Then you’ll need to call the guards.”
The Commander set down his quill. “You have one minute.”
“Spit it out, Ambrose. Why are you so upset with me?”
The silence stretched.
Valek waved a hand, indicating the two of them. “This isn’t going to work. If we no longer have an open rapport with us batting ideas back and forth, then fire me or arrest me.”
Nothing.
Last try. “Our relationship has always been based on complete trust and—”
“And I trusted you to tell me everything.”
Ah. There it was. Valek had kept one thing from the Commander. He reported all his adventures in Sitia, and obtained permission to render aid, but he had failed to inform Ambrose about the disturbing fact that a null-shield bubble could trap him. The reason? Initially to keep the knowledge from spreading. But in omitting the Commander from the list of those in the know, Valek acted as if he didn’t trust the Commander, which wasn’t true at all. So why didn’t he tell him?
“I’m sorry.”
How did the Commander find out? Who did know? Those fighting in the Bloodrose revolt—Opal, Devlen, Ari, Janco, Quinn, Kade, Heli, Nic and Eve. Quite the list. Who had opportunity? Anyone could have sent a message, but why would they? Only three people had been in Ixia since then: Ari, Janco and Kade.
“Not good enough, Valek.”
“You’re right.” He stood. “I’ll go collect—”
“Sit down.”
Valek resumed his seat.
The Commander studied Valek. The force of his gaze had broken many people, rendering them into a quivering mess as they begged forgiveness or confessed to every crime. It was impressive. And Valek suspected the Commander used a form of magic even though Valek had never felt it. To him, magic pushed against his skin like molasses. The stronger the power, the thicker the
