The carriage ride up into Caldemount's Upper Ring felt less like travel and more like an ascent into a different law. Stone grew cleaner and taller; banners hung with meticulous geometry; guards' helmets shone as if polished by ceremony itself. Solis rode between Colins and a K.P.P. escort, one hand on the cloth-wrapped hilt at his back though he did not dare to touch the metal beneath. Vaidya sat opposite of him, a small pack in his lap and a look like a man carrying too many thoughts.
Colins spoke little on the way up. When he did, it was to give short orders over his shoulder. "We'll report to the king. Orsic will have questions. Keep your story simple. Tell the truth and nothing more. Let me do the talking when it comes to where you were and who saw what."
Solis wanted to say something braver than the tight knot of fear in his chest. He wanted to promise revenge, or at least a clear course of action. Instead he nodded, and the carriage rolled into the palace square with a sound that made the air itself sit up straight.
They were led through a maze of polished halls to a stone room that smelled not of herbs or smoke but of honeyed wax and old velvet. Tapestries the size of whole lives hung from the walls; portraits of kings who had faced worse storms watched them with stern patience. A small dais had been set at one end where a low table and two chairs waited like judges.
Commander Orsic sat there like a folded threat. His armor gleamed with ceremonial precision; his jaw was as strong as a lion; his eyes were the color of tempered steel. He did not bother with a greeting. He had made his displeasure into posture and, by now, it had weight.
"You are Solis of Mailie?" he asked before Colins could properly introduce them.
"Yes, sir," Solis said, voice dry as dust.
"You were found a month and a half ago near Harrowgate?" Orsic continued. "Three months unconscious thereafter. You were the last Postknight reported to be in contact with the Blazing Dragon Sword. Tell me plainly: did you intend to free Kreg? Did you aide in breaking his seal?"
The question didn't come as a probe. It was a throwing of accusation in a soft velvet glove. People in the room stiffened. Vaidya's fingers curled around the satchel on his knee.
Solis swallowed. The memory he had — Razille's hand on the blade, a flash of black at her eyes — did not reconcile with the idea of his intention. He'd felt only panic, the wrongness of his own sword singing a note that wasn't his to command. "No," he said, and the single syllable felt too small. "I— I didn't. I fought to get it back. Razille — she—"
Orsic cut him. "So you say. Convenient. We have reports from multiple witnesses who place you in proximity of the Reliquary's ward at the exact moment the seal broke. You, and a blade with a draconic hum, a force known to resonate across old wards. Explain how you do not bear responsibility for this release."
Colins bared his teeth just a fraction but kept his seat. "Commander. The man speaks of what he remembers. He was unconscious most of the aftermath."
"Unconscious or unaccounted-for?" Orsic asked. He produced a small device — a slate engraved with runes that blinked faintly. "We detected a release-thrum on that day. The pattern matches a double signature: one like the Blazing Sword's elemental wake and another darkened curving that follows the Blacknight blade's imprint. The fact that the two manifested so near to this subject is not a coincidence I will accept that without a scrutiny."
Vaidya's throat made a small sound; Elizabeth's silvered medal at Solis's chest felt heavier than memory. Solis realized he had no clear rebuttal because he had been empty the last thing he remembered — the drain in the Bastille had taken chunks of time and left ragged edges. "It… it took my sword," he said finally, because it was the portion of truth that stuck to him. "Razille took it. I saw — she had it and she left and then — I don't remember the sealing tearing apart, I only remember the black in her eyes."
Orsic's expression did not thaw. "Either you were complicit or you are incompetent. Neither is pleasant. We will look at both angles." He tapped a rune and the slate gave a thin chime; a page unfolded on a nearby desk like a shadow taking manuscript form. "I will ask Captain Devon, who witnessed the clash at Harrowgate, to confirm the sequence."
Devon came in then, a presence like a man who had spent years turning raw danger into lesson plans. He set down a cloak and fixed Solis with a look that was not unkind. "I saw the seizure at the Bastille," he said. "Razille took the blade from Solis." His voice carried the authority of someone who had been there and had not been fooled by rumor. "She moved fast. I struck but she vanished into the crowd. She... she was not alone. There were others moving with her who took advantage of the confusion. I did not see Solis give the blade willingly." Devon paused and added with quiet directness, "If you want a witness who saw him resist — I'm that man."
That testimony braced Solis like a plank thrown across a well. For a moment he tasted relief: a tangible voice had said the thing he'd been too stunned to say. Orsic's eyes, however, slid to him later with an unspoken tallying of all that could be turned against a man: proximity, power, the history they were writing in the ash.
The interrogation grew. Orsic used both careful politeness and the intimidation of a man certain of the law. He had men bring forward rune-slates that recorded the residual aura in the vicinity of the Reliquary. "We do not accuse people without data." he told them before pressing his device closer to Solis as one might place a thermometer near a fevered brow. "But data can be interpreted multiple ways. A sword's signature is a language. It can sing consent or it can sing coercion."
"You're trying to make both elements blame him at once," Vaidya shot back, his voice tight and suddenly bright with fierceness he rarely allowed. "You have a man who woke from a coma after three long months. He has patchy memory. He is looking for the... no... his sword. Blame the person who had it at the time. That's Razille."
"You are a scholar," Orsic said, eyes narrowing in on Vaidya. "Beautiful adjectives cannot be policy. I will ask the man another way: were you present when the seal broke, Solis?"
Solis closed his eyes and felt the old ache — the pull of that draining touch, the sensation of his lifeblood threaded through a shadow and pulled out. He remembered the edge of the sword against his chest as Razille yanked, his hands losing their grip. His throat tightened. "I was there." he said. "I tried to stop it. But I wasn't able to stop her."
Orsic made a slow, deliberate sound that was not quite a sigh. "If you were there and tried to stop it, why would a man with your convictions be in the presence of such potent artifact without further protection? We have heard stories of postknights who flirt with power and lose their boundaries. The line between heroism and hubris is thin."
Colins answered him with a steadier voice than the room had earned. "Solis is a Postknight. It has been only a couple of year since he joined. Still as a newby, he has always been careful. He did not seek out the blade. It chose him in one of those ways that fate sometimes holds — by chance and need. He has no desire to see Kreg free."
Orsic's jaw tightened, then he looked up as if expecting the king to speak. The door opened and in came a small court of figures: Seraphine in gray-blue armor that cut light like a knife, a couple of royal aides, and, finally, Princess Lily's messenger bearing a brief note. The king himself was not present; a crown need not always sit to judge. Orsic liked that. He preferred to have the power of question without the counterbalance of royal temper.
"Given the testimony," Orsic said, summing the evidence like a man describing a mechanism of malice, "I will not incarcerate you permanently — not yet. But you will remain under guard. We will not allow a man with proximity to the two dragon artifacts wander in the city at will. This is not punishment but caution." He looked at Colins with a thin, almost respectful nod. "You are to remain in their custody for now. They will be processed under K.P.P. oversight. If I find discrepancies in their recollection and in the data, King MacLinny will be informed."
Solis felt the ground under his feet drop a fraction. Custody. Under Orsic's watch. The man imagined walls and an interrogation that would never end. Vaidya's fingers found Solis's and clenched. "We'll get through this," Vaidya mouthed. He did not let himself promise it aloud.