‘Your world is corrupt.’

  The words reverberated inside Yelena’s mind as she brought Archimedes to bear against the enchanted torso of the training dummy. Her wrists ached from the impact, but she paid no heed to something as insignificant as pain.

  Jack Thatcher’s words had ruined her mood for the rest of that day and were now bleeding into the next. She hated it. She hated how much they stung. Not because she valued his opinion of her—nothing could be farther from the truth. But like truth, his words were laden with things she’d gotten quite good at ignoring.

  ‘If doing the right thing kills me next time, don’t get involved. For all I know, you’ll join them.’

  She swung again, her massive greatsword arcing through the air with a low thrum. It crashed into the dummy, but its enchantments were more than up to the task of negating the damage she should’ve done.

  Let’s test that, she thought angrily.

  She pulled on her Strength and Dexterity reservoirs with ease, infusing her bones and movements with lightning-quick speed. Archimedes danced. Her breath hissed. Crash after crash rang out in the otherwise abandoned training field. Her black undergarments clung tightly to her chest as sweat riddled her body.

  Yelena Stark attacked again and again, hoping that with enough power, with enough exhaustion, those horrible words might go away.

  They didn’t.

  A scream built in the base of her throat. It was worse than unspent tears or unwelcome anger. It tasted of guilt.

  Of regret.

  Once more, the hatred for Jack Thatcher returned. How dare he lecture her on what was right? On what she stood for? He knew nothing. He had no idea of the intense and cutthroat politics that had consumed her every waking moment since joining the Red Knights! He knew nothing of how much she’d sacrificed, nor of how hard she had to push to be given even the tiniest sliver of respect as a Mayandon in this damned military!

  The countless hours studying. Training. Listening. Learning.

  She had pushed each of her class skills to their utter maximum, breezing past their lower levels and quests with ease. Sure, they still had several tiers to go before she reached the Sage tier, but she was getting a little closer every day.

  Her level might be stagnant at level 28, but most of her skills were in the 40s and 50s. It was a fact she kept well-guarded and well-honed.

  ‘Your world is corrupt.’

  SLAM! SLAM! SLAM!

  Yelena struck the dummy’s neck, but used the rebounding energy to wind up a double roundhouse kick. She planted Archimedes into the ground, her hips whirring around to land two kicks back to back. With her final bit of momentum, she planted her lead foot against the dummy’s chest and shoved off. Yelena swiveled through the air, using Archimedes as her fulcrum. When she landed out of her elegant flip, there was a strange moment of stillness after so much noise.

  The dummy stared back at her.

  “HYAH!” she screamed, letting out just the tiniest sliver of that building pressure in her throat.

  She leapt forward, clearing over ten feet with no effort at all.

  This time, however, she didn’t restrict herself to base combat. Oh, no. She wasn’t going to let this bastard off that easily.

  Flying through the air, she mentally cast Glacial Execution. She curled inward so that she flipped forward this time. Within a heartbeat, she landed on the dummy feet-first, her military boots crunching against the durable shielding that protected her inanimate foe.

  Her legs wrapped around its ribcage, she planted her hands on either side of its face. Her red hair fell down her back, having escaped her ponytail in the back-to-back flipping. Ice shot through her veins and across her wrapped forearms. Tiny spikes spread out in a loose facsimile of draconic scales down her arms. But those were merely symptoms of the spell.

  It was the devastating cold that erupted from her palms and fingertips that was the skill’s true effects. Twelve tendrils of blue-white light flashed in the pre-dawn darkness, and the dummy’s protections were overloaded. Pain flashed in her hands as the enchantments fought to rebound her magic. She didn’t let it. She grimaced but held on, using this pitiful outlet for the anger that roiled inside her.

  There was a snap, and the shields dissipated. The dummy’s head exploded in her grip a split-second later.

  With the shields gone, her Glacial Execution finished the wooden doll off with ease. Icicles spread down its neck, spiking through its torso even as it fell limply to the ground. Yelena followed it down until she could easily regain her footing. She stood over the headless training dummy. Her breathing was heavy, though it had little to do with how far she’d pushed herself in during this session.

  ‘Your world is corrupt.’

  “Maybe you’re right, Jack. Maybe you’re right,” Yelena whispered.

  “Who’s Jack?” Stensen said behind her.

  She whirled, instinctively activating the ring on her right index finger. There was a quiet hum as Archimedes was magnetically drawn to her extended hand. It slid free of the hard earth that composed the training field and rushed to her awaiting grasp. The blade was at Stensen’s throat before she’d even fully registered who’d spoken. When she did, she dropped the blade immediately.

  Stensen—to his credit, or, perhaps, stupidity—didn’t flinch when Yelena put a sword to his throat.

  “What are you doing here?” Yelena demanded breathily. “And why didn’t you defend yourself?”

  “I trust you,” was all he said in reply.

  You poor bastard, she thought, tucking an errant red strand of her hair behind an ear.

  She rose to her full height.

  “What is it, Sergeant? Roll call isn’t for another half-hour,” Yelena said matter-of-factly.

  Inside, she screamed, Please. Please let me go. Stop looking at me like that.

  Stensen’s smile didn’t arrive like it usually did. This morning, it was entirely too strained, and she furrowed her brow at him.

  “What is it, Stensen?” she pressed.

  “I’ve been ordered to bring you to the major’s office,” he said, his tone implying he hated every word. But it was what he said next that finally put the pieces together for Yelena. “Unarmed, Captain. I am to bring you to him without Archimedes. Or any other weapon, for that matter.”

  Her spine turned to ice.

  “May I ask why, sergeant?” she asked, her voice low.

  “I haven’t the damndest idea, ma’am,” he admitted, his shoulder relaxing a fraction when she didn’t resist his quiet request for her blade.

  She hesitated, but then handed the large sword to him by the hilt.

  “Let’s go,” she said resolutely.

  “But ma’am,” the sergeant said, his cheeks turning red. “Should I gather your…ah…shirt before we go?”

  She looked down and cursed. Somewhere in her workout, she’d discarded the restricting cloth in favor of her black gauze wrappings. They were enchanted to fit her figure perfectly, and even accounted for breathability and hygiene. She wasn’t embarrassed in front of Stensen. She and the warhounds had spent countless patrols in the wilderness where things like modesty were luxuries they couldn’t afford. That, combined with growing up at the Crimson Academy, made her blind to such unimportant things.

  Still, she didn’t want to confront the major like this. He knew what kind of man he was.

  Sighing, she nodded. “It’s hanging on the gate.”

  Yelena waited as the rugged man gathered her own shirt and then pulled it on with a few quick tugs.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Together, the two of them headed inside the large black fortress, Sergeant Stensen carrying Archimedes behind her.

  “This is probably poor timing,” Stensen whispered just loud enough for her to hear. “But my sister gave me another scroll for you. It’s hidden in your bunk’s compartment.”

  “You’re right,” she said with just a hint of playfulness. “This is terrible timing. Now, all I’ll be thinking about is that scroll while Booth chews me a new one.”

  “Sorry about that. I knew how much you wanted to know when the next one came. I thought it might cheer you up,” he replied. “I still don’t understand why you tasked my sweet sister to look for those useless experiment logs from those freaky Kennites. It’s not like they figured anything useful out, or they’d still be around.”

  She heard the unspoken question. The invitation to share what in Ardent’s name she was searching for.

  Yelena glanced over her shoulder to look back at him. She gave him the smallest of smiles. “I’ll be sure to apologize to your sister next time I see her. Maybe she’ll finally take me up on that offer to date my idiot cousin. Those two were made for each other.”

  “Yeah, but if you can wait until after you slit my throat, that would be great. Malachi is… a lot.”

  Yelena laughed. It felt good, even if the rest of her was left hollow in its wake.

  Few clerks were awake at this ungodly hour, which Yelena was grateful for. She had no doubt her ominous summons—or how close Stensen was walking behind her—would spread through the facility within the hour. But that was better than the near-instantaneous gossip that plagued places such as these when the sun was out.

  When they made it to Booth’s double doors, Yelena watched as Stensen strode around her and opened them.

  “She’s here, sir,” Stensen said, waiting outside the room.

  “Let the bitch in.”

  Another chill crept up Yelena’s spine. That was not the commander’s voice.

  Inside, four men and two women sat in various high-backed chairs she knew must’ve been sent for at their behest. All of them were nobles, and she instantly recognized them as the parents of the fools she’d brigged yesterday.

  Just the notion that these guests of Major Booth had ordered tired squires to haul these monstrosities up the flights of stairs sent a comforting flash of anger through her chest.

  These are not monsters. The real monsters are out there. These are just people, Yelena reminded herself.

  Still, they were not a force to be trifled with. The one who’d spoken was none other than Lord Montclair, Ambrose’s father. By his side were Lords Steinberg and Greymark. Across from them in the semicircle were Ladies Ashborn and Thornwell. Lady Thornwell, for her part, appeared distinctly uncomfortable at this gathering.

  But it was the cold statue of a man sitting in the center with his legs neatly folded over one another that truly sent a pang of dread through her.

  “Good evening, Mayor Vaskir. Lords. Ladies,” Yelena said, offering them all a slight dip of her head. “How may I be of service to Ardent’s noble houses?”

  Behind them, Major Booth scoffed as he gazed out the tower’s window, an amber liquid swishing in the glass cup he held loosely.

  “No proper salute from the rustheaded whore? Is this how far the proper procedure has fallen, Major? I demand satisfaction from this Mayandon slut!” Lord Montcliar sputtered, his thick neck undulating wildly in his spastic exclamations.

  “The noble houses are not ranked in the Red Knights,” Yelena said before she could clamp her own damn mouth shut. She met Lord Montclair’s eyes. “Milord.”

  “We own you, CAPTAIN!” It was Lord Steinberg’s turn to roar, and he rose slightly in his chair. “We pay your salary, for your armor, enchantments, and even that damn horse of yours! You will show us the respect we deserve, or we will–”

  “Enough.” Mayor Vaskir didn’t even have to raise his voice to silence the other two men. He turned his cold gaze from the nobles and onto Yelena. “You overstepped, captain.”

  “They were attempting to rape a citizen of Kieheart in broad daylight, Mayor. I stepped in, as it is illegal under Red Knight law to behave in such an abhorrent manner,” Yelena shot back, feeling some heat rise into her voice.

  “How dare you accuse my Theodric of such disgusting behavior!” Lady Ashborn squealed. “If he wants a whore, he can more than pay for one! You take it back, you ungrateful–”

  Taulkin Vaskir raised a hand and silenced the woman.

  “Stopping them was well within your rights. That, the law agrees,” Vaskir stated clinically. “But administering punishment on your betters is not. For this, you must therefore be punished.”

  This is ridiculous, Yelena thought, resisting the urge to scoff. The noble houses have always funded the military, but to say they own us, or that they have any right or say in a disciplinary action, is not only idiotic, but it sets a horrible precedent.

  She knew this. And based on the tension in Major Booth’s shoulders and neck, he knew it too. Still, her superior officer—and the man in charge of the Red Knights here in Thistlebrush—remained conveniently silent.

  Yelena Stark met the haughty gazes of each noble present. She would not bend in the face of these paper snakes. Besides, she had a pretty good idea of how to undermine their argument without pointing this all out, as she knew it would only fall on deaf ears.

  When she spoke, it was with the calm of a glacier. “You are insinuating that the nobility hold a higher rank than Ardent’s army. To veto one of our orders is to place you on the same footing as Ardent himself. Is that what you want? To take Ardent’s place?”

  Vaskir only smiled while his kangaroo court did his work for him. They all spoke over each other in a din of ‘righteous’ indignation.

  “How dare you accuse us of heresy, you–”

  “Mayandons don’t even follow Ardent. How would you know anything of–”

  “See?! See?! She is a poison! She is unfit for her position!”

  “I’ll have you know that as one of Ardent’s faithful, I take great offense to–”

  More shouting followed, and Yelena bore it all. The insults. The accusations. The hatred.

  These are not monsters. These are men, she kept telling herself.

  It barely helped.

  Finally, Vaskir raised his voice. “Major?”

  Commander Booth turned from his study of the streets below and grunted. “Right.” He cleared his throat. “Captain Stark, you are hereby reprimanded for disorderly conduct. You must draft a formal apology to each noble house for wrongly defaming their good–”

  “No.”

  The word was out of her mouth before she knew what had happened. Yet, as the silence that followed extended into several long seconds, she was grateful for it.

  “No?” Booth said, as if unsure if he had heard her correctly.

  She rose up into a formal salute directed solely to her commander. “Yes, sir! I will not be apologizing to any of the noble houses represented here. Not for my conduct. Not for saving that citizen.”

  “My son recalls that a second lowborn rat was the first to come to the girl’s… assistance,” Vaskir commented dryly.

  “No?!” Major Booth repeated, unwittingly speaking over the mayor.

  He stormed over until he was inches from Yelena’s face.

  “Yes, sir. I will not,” Yelena replied, ignoring Vaskir’s words about Jack.

  “That is quite alright, Major,” Vaskir said, finally getting the beet-red man’s attention. “I expected she would not acquiesce to our generous offer for reparations. Instead, I have a different proposal.”

  The look the commander gave Yelena screamed of violence, but he managed to hold back the worst of his temper.

  For now.

  “Yes, sir?” the major said through gritted teeth.

  Taulkin peered past the man looming in front of her to meet her steady gaze. “My spies tell me that the slums are in tumult. They even mention that those disgusting creatures are frequently slipping into the shroud to mate and cavort with the orcs there.”

  Vaskir’s growing smile looked like fractured glass. “I recommend that the captain here investigate these rumors. A week of patrolling the shroud should set her straight. No leave, of course. Time is of the essence with these things, you see, so no more time out of the voidlands than is necessary to cleanse the shroud corruption.”

  “A week?” Lady Ashborn gasped, putting a lacey hand to her full lips. “Will that be enough?”

  “More than sufficient to verify the validity of such dark rumblings, I imagine,” Vaskir replied dryly. “You have your orders, captain. You’re dismissed.”

  Yelena remained where she was, fighting to control her anger. When she didn’t budge, Major Booth finally spoke up. When he did, his accent was nearly as thick as his fury at her disobedience.

  “You heard the mayor, Stark. Get to it. You leave at first light. Go fetch those warhounds of yours and make sure I don’t see that rusty mug of yours until a week has passed, or you are on a funeral pyre. Is that understood?!”

  “Yes, sir!” she replied.

  Yelena fought to keep the smile from her lips as she saluted, then turned on her heel and exited the room. Stensen leapt to rejoin her, Archimedes still in his grip.

  He must’ve been waiting in this hallway the whole time! Yelena realized.

  “What is it? What happened, Captain?” he asked.

  But Yelena kept striding onward and downward. It wasn’t until they exited the black fortress did she speak, turning to the man and taking back her greatsword.

  “Gather the warhounds. Roll call is going to be early today. We got it, Stensen. We’re going in,” she said breathlessly.

  It took him all of two heartbeats to gather what she was saying. “Are you serious? They’re letting us hunt those orc raiders?! I thought they were going to punish you for something!”

  She shrugged. “They think they are. We’re to ‘investigate rumors pertaining to the shroud.’ I don’t know about you, but I heard a rumor that some orcs hit a farm not too long ago, and they’ve been in dire need of a few well-placed swords.”

  Stensen’s grin lit up the night. “You know, I think I heard the same rumor. Strange how fast those little whispers can spread.”

  “Strange, indeed. I’ll need a few minutes to go over that scroll, then I’ll join you and the others, alright? Make sure they’re ready to go by dawn. No mounts. We prioritize speed and stealth this time, okay? Titanhold’s streets are too complex to navigate on horse anyway, and we have just one week to find our target.”

  Stensen let out a curse. “A week? Are they trying to kill us?”

  “Just me,” she answered honestly. “Now, go.”

  Yelena watched as her sergeant saluted and then jogged off to wake the others. She smiled, holding Archimedes’s grip tightly. Her green eyes swept toward the shroud and the city it hid.

  We’re coming. And you’re going to give me what I need.

  They would hunt for orcs, yes. But she would finally progress her Unique quest, or die trying.

  And for the first time that day, her thoughts were not on Jack Thatcher or his haunting words.

  What do you think Yelena is searching for in the Shroud?