The Light On Your Face For The First Time

It was only when Redmaw glimpsed Lotusfoil leaving with the messenger that he became aware of the impending Wellness Evaluations. He'd wanted to speak with the Court Herald before any of his Knives got to; the fact that it was Lotusfoil initializing the evaluations was only marginally reassuring. Her questions would not be designed to undermine him.

The cadence of her footsteps was pressed into his brain. He turned the corner first, intercepting Lotusfoil to grab her tunic and pull her back around the corner, away from the ogling of passersby.

"Did you speak of Gillstain and Ivorybelt?" he growled.

"No," said Lotusfoil.

"Beocraft?"

"No."

"What then?"

"Nightchurch," she said. "And my loyalty to you."

Redmaw let her go. Mistrust at war with satisfaction. He shouldn't even be asking what she spoke of in her evaluation, but Lotusfoil implied her loyalty to him exceeded all else; he wouldn't have to worry about her double-crossing him.

"What's wrong?" she dared to ask.

"We'll speak later."

Lotusfoil simply nodded and continued down the hall. Redmaw watched her, undecided on what exactly they would speak about; it only mattered that he lay claim to her company.

Storming through the research wing, Redmaw knew Evander was still in the interview room by the closed door. He knocked once, then rumbled, "Evander."

From within came a sigh. "Yes, Redmaw?"

He needed no invitation. Redmaw pushed inside, shutting the door behind himself. "You have shared nothing with me on the whereabouts of Gillstain and Ivorybelt. I need to know what the situation is before you spill it to the rest of my Knives."

"I had no intention of doing such a thing," said Evander, yet to rise from his chair.

His notes on Lotusfoil were right there, illegible from Redmaw's angle, yet flaunting her inner thoughts all the same. Redmaw resisted distraction. "Tell me what happened to them."

"They have not materialized yet."

"What's taking so long?"

"I don't know," said Evander. "Shall I ask the creator why she plagues us with crystals and strange powers too?"

Redmaw grunted. "What am I to tell my Knives then, when they ask where their friends are? Do I tell them the immortality they take comfort in is no longer applicable? That their existence is suddenly indefinite?"

"They cannot expect you to possess all the answers, Redmaw, as you cannot expect the same of me."

"Yet you seem to know more than any of us," said Redmaw. He planted his hands on the table and loomed over the Court Herald. "Where are my Knives?"

Evander slowly rose, deflecting, "Perhaps we should ask the ones who dispatched them."

His tempered undertone only made Redmaw bristle. "Very well. Let me speak to the prisoners."

Tucking the clipboard under his arm, Evander gestured for Redmaw to follow as he left through the door on his side of the room.

From the sterile white corridors of the research wing, through the clean stone walls adorned in tapestries and paintings, the castle gradually lost its ornamental charm the deeper into its pits they traveled. With each stairwell winding down, the stonework became darker, grimier, wetter, as the absence of sunlight encouraged moisture and mildew to linger. The scent of mold grew thick, and with it the fatigued stench of human sweat and excrement. Soon the only source of light was stuttering lanterns hung on grisly dungeon walls, while the distant drip of water into a lonesome puddle resounded for miles. Shuffling bodies and hushed voices emanated from dark wells behind rusty iron bars.