Smoke hovered between the beams of the tower room ceiling from the window, swirling with the tendrils of the lighter trails drifting from the lamps and Qasim’s pipe.

  Enya sat with her legs crossed on the floor. She was leaning on one elbow toward the lamp beside her so she could read her share of pages from Gerard’s records around the excess of her cotton shirt that fell around her like a white cloud. She had undone the top of her trousers and belt to be more comfortable and her boots were set neatly at the foot of her mat with her armor that was leaning against the wall. Her braids spilled over her shoulder on the same side that her mouth was pinched to in deep, concentrated thought.

  Draka was on the mat set under the window, his pillow propped behind his back against the wall. He, too, had his cotton shirt untucked, a handful of Gerard’s records in the hand that was resting on the knee bent upright with his other leg stretched outward, one bare foot wiggling while the other bounced slightly beneath that propped knee. His own armor, like Enya’s, was set against the wall with his boots beside them, but his lamp was set on the windowsill over his head. He had given the bed to Cleric Park, who was on watch in a few hours and, thankfully, snored enough to drown out the baby’s crying. Not enough for them to sleep, but enough for them to go over his notes throughout the records.

  Who knew such a small thing could scream so loudly? It was never ending. He had tried to sleep in his own room. Tossing and turning, pulling and shoving his pillow to his ears to block out that cry, made his bones claw for relief. That was when he decided to move the other women in there and himself into the tower room. Free Isa and Jasmine, give Aurie her relief from the cold of her room, and muffle that screaming bundle of vomit and slop. Bringing Enya and Qasim with him was a bonus, in his mind. He would have gone to the stables if Vigora…the thought had made him nearly collapse in the hallway if it wasn’t for Aurie watching him.

  He didn’t want her to see him cry anymore. He had cried in her arms in his dreams, that was enough for him. He needed to be strong now. And, with Qasim and Enya joining him, it was easier to distract himself.

  Enya had stacks of reports in her arms while Cleric Park carried both his own and her bedding with him into the room to do just that. Apparently, she was excited for this opportunity, in a thankful but worried sort of way, as if something that had been weighing on her shoulders was finally being lifted. When she showed him what those reports were, Draka tipped his head and raised a suspicious brow. Gerard’s records. After they had settled their mats and began going over their stacks of over twenty years worth of counseling statements, battle records, performance reviews, and Cohort orders pertaining to him, Draka found himself hearing the baby’s crying less and paying more attention to the words on the pages.

  Qasim, whose mat was set beside the bed and had been laying on his back while reading his bit of the records with his pipe sticking from his teeth, sat upright and crossed his legs. “Park caught this here. Battle of Hamah, Gerard was on guard for Paladin Firth before his revocation. He was in the vanguard.”

  Enya turned her head toward him with a lean into her braids but otherwise didn’t move. Draka raised a brow at him with a shrug.

  Qasim huffed with a furrowed brow. “You were his partner on guard that night. Sorry, overlooked that,” he rolled back onto his mat, letting out a long puff of his pipe. Draka rolled his eyes with a nod.

  “You were with him for over a year before you were elevated,” Enya set another page onto the pile beside her. “Did he ever speak of Aurie? Seems he was writing to her often. So many were confiscated before he was rebuked.”

  Draka let his hand holding the parchments rest as he leaned his head back from them. He could remember Gerard talking about someone he missed, but never made the connection before now. Never paid much attention to his stories, either. He was still learning their language at the time. Much of what he had been saying was lost not only by the haze of memory, but by the fact that he honestly understood little of it. Especially since he knew early on that Phillip, who was also in their cohort, had a tendency to lie about what others were saying when he translated because he thought it was funny. Draka shruggingly nodded.

  Enya straightened a leg, reading aloud, “Innuendos of a sexual nature meant for an espoused woman, intentionally attempting to inspire infidelity and abandonment of holy matrimony. Multiple interceptions, preventing such temptations from reaching the recipient in question. Performance of the individual is standard at best, unsure how to proceed. Signed, Cleric Centurion Esther Purciv.”

  “That’s disconcerting,” Qasim shook his head.

  Draka remembered Esther. When he found their camp in the desert, starving and thirsty from weeks of wandering with the voice pounding in his head, he stabbed the side of her camel and was drinking its blood when Gerard and Phillip captured him during their night patrols. She was the one they brought him to and who decided to incorporate him into their ranks instead of punishing him for his offence.

  “Looks like that wasn’t the only time he was caught doing such things,” Qasim held another paper out for Draka to look at. Draka took it as Qasim said, “In Al’Constantine, he was caught attempting to arrange travel for—” he held up fingers to emphasize quotations, “a courtesan to be brought to him in secret. Persistent. When he was denied, he put in his first request for Cathedral transfer. Denied due to poor performance according to Paladin Commander Renald at Hagia Sophia.”

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  Draka bit his lip. This was about two years after Alden had been born. By then, he was getting desperate. Draka was running a finger down the page he had resting on his bent leg. He had never seen such a negative counseling in his career for someone who wasn’t completely disavowed from the Order. Poor performance, poor attendance, consistent intoxication on and off duty, general misconduct toward subordinates…Draka was letting out frowning sigh after frowning sigh.

  “Battle of Kirkuk, he was a captive for ten days,” Enya shook her head. “Right after his return to Heblem from Al’Constantine for misconduct. Voluntold to campaign on front lines—mostly with hopes of getting rid of him, I imagine—and ended up getting taken with twenty-two others who surrendered to Khurd jihadists.”

  “I was on that campaign,” Qasim shrugged. “It was a border dispute that went badly for both sides. The jihadists were actually locals trying to carve out independence from both of us and caused a bloodbath between us, with them caught in the middle. Bloody mess, that one. Didn’t know he was one of the exchanged prisoners, though.”

  “He wasn’t exchanged,” Enya raised a brow. “According to this, he was reported to have been captured and self-reported to have escaped.”

  Draka and Qasim narrowed their gazes at her.

  She straightened and set all but the report in her hand to the side as she read to them, “Gerard Solle, accompanied by Baron Christophe von Strasse and Paladin…” She froze, gaping as her hand holding it began to shake.

  Draka gritted his teeth. Christophe was there. Who was the Paladin?

  Qasim half turned his head, still laying on his back, his brow pressed together. “Well? Who was the Paladin with him?”

  Enya blinked at it. “Collin Darrith of the Five Points.”

  Draka bared his teeth. Qasim shot upright with a growling, “That bastard! How long before his revocation? How long was it?”

  “Two months,” Enya swallowed. “They kept them from the front. Christophe took Gerard with him to Strasbourg a matter of days after their return, under protest of Paladin Commander Lorey of the Six Points. Her protestations went all the way to Sodiulakim and the Paladinate forced Baron Christophe to send him back to Heblem under threat of excommunication.”

  Draka bit his lip. He remembered Gerard’s return briefly. It didn’t seem so relevant at the time. Phillip was leading the army of the Holy Lands and Anatolia, combined with the Paladinate, winning victories all across the Sinai and Arabia against the Enemy’s hordes. It was just before…

  Draka felt his jaw stiffen and his cheeks tighten. He lifted his quill over the stack of blank papers beside him to write, “Phillip and I crossed paths with him there. It was a few days before the Fall. What reports follow?”

  Enya shook her head, “That explains why the time gap.” She shifted across her mat to hold handfuls for Draka to see.

  Draka and Qasim slid to huddle over them. Their dates were months after the Fall of Jerusalem to the Legions of Hell they still had yet to retake it from. Qasim drew in a breath. Draka bit his lower lip so hard that it stung. Enya shook her head, gaping in disbelief.

  “None of his chain of command he was assigned to signs his counseling statements afterwards,” she was watching Draka’s expressions intently with pursed brows. “They’re all from Baron von Strasse and Cardinal Olivier until my predecessor took control of Our Lady of Strasbourg a year later.”

  She shifted the parchments between handfuls until she came to where Park had left a marker, her lips trembling, “and his performance counselings are significantly better under them, but terrible under Paladin Commander Ian, whose death is the reason I was reassigned.”

  “Your reassignment was…” Qasim eyed her.

  “Was because they suspected it was an assassination,” Enya shook her head. “I was constantly fighting Cardinal Olivier when it came to sending posts to the Paladinate. He had to review all correspondences to Sodiulakim or we ended up in a tug-of-war for supplies. And, with my Order being spread across the Steppes and fighting the Olgas in support of Draka’s war, I had no choice but to comply because of his influence more often than not.” Her shoulders sank under Draka’s hard gaze, “I never interfered with Sepulcher’s affairs, but if there was any record of Gerard’s corrupt practices or poor performance, I’m willing to bet that it burned with him in Palais Rohan.”

  The silence between them was broken by another eruption of wailing from the baby down the hall. Draka’s spine crawled to its screams, making him wince.

  “Draka,” Enya was leaning close to him now, her voice softening, “How long before Aurie’s husband died did he arrive in Talkro at your request?”

  Draka turned his eyes on her and his neck straightened stiffly against the boards beneath the windowsill. A matter of days, he swallowed against the dryness in his throat.

  “It wasn’t very long, was it?” Enya was wincing even before Draka shook his head sorrowfully. With downcast eyes, she said through a beleaguered sigh, “Have you ever looked at him with True Sight?”

  No, Draka grinded his teeth and balled his fist tight enough that his fingernails were digging into his palms. But we’re about to.