"You festering, cock-sucking son of a pox-ridden whore!"
Vencian's voice exploded against the stone walls.
"I should've strangled you the moment I saw you, you slimy, twink of a monk!"
Jeriko flinched.
Sebastian stayed frozen, wide-eyed.
"You think you'll walk out of this clean? I'll tear your throat open and wear it around my neck."
He lunged.
The ropes still held him down, but not enough to stop the sudden thrash. He kicked forward, dragging himself across the floor toward Sebastian with blood in his eyes.
"Stop it!" Jeriko snapped.
But Vencian didn't.
"You betrayed your Abbey, you backstabbing, crotch-rotted hypocrite! You fed your flock lies and bathed in their trust like a pig in its own slop! I hope they bury you face-down in a latrine! I hope your name's scratched into the floor of a brothel!"
The door slammed open.
Two guards rushed in.
Before Vencian could launch again, a boot hit his side and sent him down.
One of the men barked an order. The other kicked him again, harder this time.
"He's gone rabid," the first one muttered.
Vencian didn't stop. He spat toward Sebastian's feet, tried to claw forward through the kicks.
"Give me one minute with him," he shouted. "One! I'll turn him inside out."
The guards dragged him back.
The second guard grabbed Vencian's shoulders, yanking him back. "Enough! Get him out of here," the taller one ordered. "Toss him with the crates."
Vencian's feet scraped across the stone. His curses echoed even after the door slammed shut.
---
Osrick sat alone in his chamber, listening to the muffled noises from the next room.
Far off came muffled voices and the sound of something striking the wall.
He recognized the urgency in those sounds. This was far from an idle argument.
Curiosity prickled him.
He rose and stepped into the dim corridor outside his door. Outside his door stood a lone guard, tense and alert.
"What's going on with Vencian?" Osrick asked calmly.
The guard hesitated, then answered quietly,
"The Vicorra whelp's losing his head. Tried to throttle the abbot. We had to drag him out before he tore the man's throat."
Osrick nodded once. "Fine. Keep them apart."
Closing the door he returned to the cool silence of his quarters again.
He eased himself into a heavy wooden chair by the window. His thoughts turned to the maniacal figure in the next room.
It didn't surprise him. Sitting across from the man who sold you out could boil the blood of anyone. And Vencian had more reason than most. His father was about to swing. His house was crumbling. Soon enough, there wouldn't be a Vicorra left with a title.
He lived for moments like this, where precision met power.
Memories of the plan that had brought him here intruded on Osrick's mind.
Matthias, the Duke's agent, had sent word for reinforcements.
The original plan had been to whisk Sebastian away to safety, but events had moved too quickly.
Instead, Osrick's men had slipped through hidden tunnels beneath the keep, keeping their approach secret.
The hired mercenaries had been used as bait to lure Jeriko's forces.
He remembered how the mercenaries had strutted into the yard, unaware of their fate.
As expected, Jeriko's men had marched straight into the ambush.
Vencian's family had been all but wiped out, leaving Montaro to inherit all its lands and titles.
Montaro would claim the entire Marquessate, while Ortega would be given a share, most likely a promotion to count.
He felt no envy; Ortega had proven his worth.
Osrick could almost taste the favor that might come his way if he remained useful.
If he proved himself to his father, he might be entrusted to govern the Vicorra lands.
Osrick hoped Montaro would remember who held the trapdoor open for him.
His mind was calm and calculating. He was only waiting for the final orders from the capital about the prisoners.
He waited in silence, hardly blinking as he kept his gaze on the gramox that sat on the table sticking to the wall.
Suddenly, polished brass and steel contraption clicked and whirred, gears turning as its writing arm traced words onto fresh parchment. Osrick approached, watching the message form in precise strokes.
The final line appeared, and the machine gave a sharp hiss as it stopped. He tore the sheet free and scanned it.
The Duke's order was short and absolute: every prisoner was to be executed at once, and their bodies disposed of without a trace.
Osrick's lips curved in a thin smile.
A thrill ran through his veins at the order.
He chuckled quietly, appreciating the simplicity of the command.
The decision pleased him. He had no mercy for them.
None would witness their end; he would spare neither Vencian nor Sebastian.
He set the letter aside, already planning what he would do.
Before he could act further, a thunder of noise erupted through the keep.
The floor beneath his feet trembled as distant shouts and the clash of steel reached his ears.
War cries and the sharp bang of explosive charges echoed down the halls.
Osrick stepped into the corridor.
The air was thick with the shouts of men and the clatter of steel. Down the hall, two of his soldiers locked blades with a pair of Vicorra fighters.
More movement drew his eye. The prisoners' guards were gone from their posts. The men from Vicorra who should have been tied up in storage were now in the fight, breaking lines and cutting down his own.
A guard ran toward him, face pale and eyes wide.
"Sir—how are you here? Weren't you just a moment—"
Osrick didn't hear the rest.
A sharp neigh split the air from outside.
He strode to the nearest window.
In the yard below, three riders burst from the shadows, their horses already at full stride. One of them looked back.
Even at the distance, Osrick saw the face.
Vencian Vicorra.
The boy's eyes found him for a heartbeat before he spurred his mount. The smirk on his lips was clear, even as the horse lunged forward into the night.
Osrick's jaw tightened.
He left the keep at a brisk stride, boots striking against the worn stones of the courtyard. The shouts around him faded into a low background roar as his attention fixed on the open gate. Three riders had broken free, silhouettes barely visible in the dim light.
He swung into the saddle of the nearest horse. The animal snorted, restless, but Osrick's hand was firm on the reins. He dug in his heels, and the horse lunged forward. Cold air hit his face as they passed through the gate and onto the rough track beyond.
The riders ahead were scattered, their spacing uneven. The one in front seemed to be pushing the horse without any rhythm, jolting in the saddle, while the two behind drifted in and out of alignment. It didn't seem planned at all; it looked more like desperation.
The ground beneath Osrick's mount grew harder, frost clinging to the edges of the path. Beyond this stretch lay the Laauar Plains, but they were not the open kind a rider could cut across. These were shattered lands, split by black, ice-choked chasms that could swallow a horse whole. To cross here in darkness was dangerous.
Osrick pressed on, narrowing the distance. The shapes ahead shifted in the gloom. First there were three riders, their outlines faint against the broken horizon. Then, after the road bent, only two shapes remained. He blinked, scanning the ground on either side.
A moment later, the second figure was gone as well. Only one rider remained in view, pushing hard toward the splintered edge of the plains.
He slowed enough to scan the sides. The terrain made it impossible for anyone to vanish silently. The uneven frost ridges and uneven ground offered no hidden paths, no cover. Yet Jeriko and Sebastian were gone.
The lone figure ahead urged their horse forward, but there was no clear route to escape. In the distance, the fractured plain stretched open, streaked with frost and mist. A half-frozen crack cut directly across the track, forcing anyone ahead to stop or risk plunging in.
The rider didn't slow until the obstacle was nearly on top of them. Their mount stopped short, lost footing against the ice-edged ground. They wheeled sharply toward a scatter of low boulders as if hoping to find some alternate path.
Osrick adjusted his approach, circling around to block them off. His horse slipped once on loose frost before finding purchase again.
The rider turned in the saddle, and the faint light caught their face.
Vencian Vicorra.
The boy's chest rose and fell in quick bursts, his eyes darting toward the jagged expanse behind him and then back to Osrick. There was no plan in that look; it was only the realization that he had run straight into a dead end.
Jeriko and Sebastian were nowhere to be seen.