Juda didn't give a shit that Luca Zar-Kuron was dead.

As far as he was concerned, Zar-Kuron had been a boorish, over-privileged swamp skunk with fish guts for brains and a lust for blood and death that turned even Juda's stomach. He deserved to be nothing but fodder for the dark waters of the Setalah.

He didn't even care that Luca had been murdered, because by the dead gods, he'd thought about slitting his throat practically every day since he'd joined the Order. Zar-Kuron had that effect on people. If he wasn't relishing every second of painting the training arena with the blood of his fellow Highguards, he was doing his best to shirk his responsibilities in the novice quarters. The man was as lazy as he was ugly. Or at least, had been until someone had done what Juda could only dream of doing.

It was just the poor fucking timing of it all.

The Grim never granted favour to any of the novices, but this was a Zar-Kuron, after all. A golden son of the infamous gold merchant family of the upper echelon and close to Ban-Keren himself. There was no way the King would let this affront go unpunished and if that meant torturing the whole of Grimefell with thirst and ripping the slums apart – stone by grubby stone – then, so be it.

No, The Grim would have no choice but to follow orders and send the Highguards to the port to divert the shipment from Dreynia and crush any hints of unrest that would undoubtedly erupt once the slum rats realised they had been well and truly fucked.

It would be a bloodbath.

And what was worse, it was going to ruin all of Juda's plans which meant he had to act fast before his time and skills were commandeered for law and order and bloodshed. He'd been plotting this for the past two cycles, and if he didn't get into the catacombs under the citadel soon, then all opportunity would be lost to him and that was something Juda could not bear. He would not.

Leaving the protection of the novice quarters this eventide was risky, especially when the Order was on high alert, but they still had no idea whether it was an attack on the Serpent Order itself or just Zar-Kuron's bad fortune. Juda wouldn't have been surprised if it had been the latter. Luca might have been a brute force, but he lacked Juda's speed and agility and if he'd wandered off course while on patrol in Grimefell and had become cornered by one of the cut-throat slum gangs, then all the strength in the world wouldn't have saved his arse. Juda supposed that's what happened when luxury and wealth softened your guts and made you idle, and if that had been the case, then poor luck to Zar-Kuron.

In fact, fuck Zar-Kuron.

Grabbing his cloak, Juda draped it over his shoulders and fastened it as his throat, avoiding his own gaze in the mirror. He'd tried telling himself that the permanent mark of the batak tree oil slashed across his face was a small price to pay in comparison to the end goal, but whenever he felt the lingering touches of the burn, he imagined his mother, the ghostly remnants of her fingertips brushing over his skin, the frown cutting into her smooth forehead.

Soon, mother. It will be over soon. By my blood, it will.

Blinking her away, Juda sheathed his scimitar and peering out of the doorway into the darkened passageway, he slipped out as silent as a whisper, passing by the cell doors of his fellow novices.

Pausing briefly by the open entrance of Terrick Bo-Dreven's now-empty cell, Juda cast his gaze over the space already cleared of the dead novice's belongings. Had Bo-Dreven's mother cried when she clutched his cloak to her chest? Had she sobbed when she'd inhaled the scent that lingered still on the woollen fabric? He sincerely hoped so, but he wished more to see the pain twist the hardened features of Jasul Bo-Dreven, to watch his spine crumble and body sink with the exhaustion of grief, anchoring it as deep as despair could possibly take him. Then, Juda would look forward to the day that he could reveal the name of the novice who'd stolen their son's life, just as Jasul had enjoyed Aleina Vikaris' screams and the feel of her jaw slackening under his knuckles.

Grinning into the gloom, Juda took the back staircase, navigating the unruly stone steps with nimble feet and a soft tread, until he reached the entrance to the undercroft. Excitement fizzled under his skin, the prospect of escaping the suffocating bind of the novice quarter thrilling him as it always did. Outside, he felt alive. Invigorated. Like he could finally feel his heart pumping in his chest once again. Inside, surrounded by everything he despised; Juda could only feel death inching its way through his veins with each passing of the dark moon. It was a creeping rot. An infection that gripped his lungs, the sporous spread blackening his ribs in thick, poisonous mulch. Even in the slums, he could breathe, even if you had to be grateful for each minute of breath when the vagabonds and thieves lurked in every shadow, ready to empty your lungs with the blade as quick as they would empty your pockets.

Creeping through the maze of passageways cut into the black rock of the undercroft, Juda followed the trail of dimly-lit lanterns, their tiny halos of light barely enough to weaken the darkness. Damp clung to the walls, the coldness of the hard earth under his feet permeating the narrow space until he could see his breath mist in front of his face.

As he drew closer to the rear of the undercroft, the cloying odour gave way to the sharp tang of vinegar and fireroot spice, and an underlying foulness that coated the tongue. Voices rose to meet his path, forcing Juda to move swiftly into a side passage, pushing himself back into the shadows and tugging his scarf over his mouth and nose.

'This is grave business, Grim,' the first voice said, its tone biting. 'Grave business indeed. The King calls for nothing less than absolute obedience and an attack upon the Order, the King's guard, is an attack upon the King himself. That being said, His Most Exalted demands answers of you, Grim, specifically just what Novice Zar-Kuron was doing patrolling Grimefell alone?'

Juda willed his breath to still and heart to dullen as The Grim and the Priest of Druvari he had seen watching his fight from the balcony in the yard swept past his hiding place into a room opposite, carved out of the rock.

'Rest assured, Lord Dageor, whatever Zar-Kuron was doing in Grimefell that day was not the bidding of the Order,' The Grim said, his gruff voice scraping along the walls of the passage. 'There was no reason for the novice to be patrolling alone. His instruction was to remain with Novice Bo-Dreven.'

'Whose body now graces this very slab next to Novice Zar-Kuron,' came the reedy reply.

'You are not suggesting there is any connection?' The Grim said. 'You watched him perish in the arena, Lord Dageor. There is no mystery to Bo-Dreven's demise.'

Juda's heart picked up a frantic beat.

'I am merely stating a fact that two novices tasked to patrol together are now dead. One, by the blade, the other, it appears, lost to the Setalah. While their ends may differ, both were gifted to the Order from noble families – families with close ties to the King himself.' There was a pause. 'What do you know of Novice Vikaris?'

Eyes widening, Juda edged closer to the damp wall, as if any moment the shadows would dissipate, revealing his presence in the nook of the black rock. They could not suspect him, surely? He'd have met Zar-Kuron in the arena one day soon, that was certain, but whatever had befallen the novice in the slums was not his doing.

'An orphan sponsored by Roth Vi-Garran.'

'The Master Librarian? What does he want with an orphan?'

'A debt owed to an old friend, he said. Apparently, the boy's skills were unsuited to books and study, much to Vi-Garran's disgust,' The Grim replied. 'Vikaris showed no interest in his guardian's dedications to page and parchment, and Roth called upon me to make the assessment.'

'And? What found you there?'

Footsteps echoed off the chamber walls, a slow firm tread as if someone was circling the room.

'A strange one,' The Grim replied. 'As a child, he was detached from the usual pursuits of younglings. A cold, distant boy who yearned for the blade more than he yearned for the company of others his age, in truth I was as surprised at his lack of emotion as I was his level of aptitude. At that age, it's usual for the brats to still be crying out for the warmth of their mother's tit or shaking like strangled pigs at the thought of entering the Order, but Vikaris displayed neither. I told Roth to send the boy my way when he reached his eighteenth moon, but he was quite insistent that I should take him before. He was convinced Vikaris would slip from his grasp if he did not begin his training as soon as possible. I got the impression he was quite terrified of the child.'

Lord Dageor laughed thinly. 'Roth Vi-Garran, scared of a mere boy? That does not sound like our Master Librarian. He has held mastery over the Citadel Vaults for many years and was a Highguard himself once upon a time. I cannot believe he would be frightened of a parentless brat.'

'Believe what you want, Lord Dageor,' The Grim said, his voice edged with derision. 'You are welcome to question Vi-Garran yourself and attest if what I say is true.'

'I take it you did not bow to Vi-Garran's demands?'

'I bow to no one but King Ban-Keren himself, of which you are well aware.'

Danger now dripped from every word, as did the truth of it.

The Grim was a cold, unfeeling bastard who viewed most with a disdainful eye. While his years increased, his skill and strength never waned, and he had maintained his role as Commander of the Order without bowing and scraping to the nobles of Druvaria. His sole duty in life was to his King, and to train Highguards committed to placing Ban-Keren's continued existence above their own. Preparing those destined to become the King's personal soldiers was a task he had mastered successfully for many moons, and for that he had earned respect throughout the citadel.

Except perhaps from this dark priest of Druvari.

'And when Vikaris came of age? What thought you of him then?'

Juda stiffened.

'That he would perhaps become the greatest and most skilled Highguard this Order has ever seen pass through its black gates.'

This, from The Grim himself? The Commander never gave one word of encouragement or praise to any novice. Pride was a rot. A way to soften your gut and turn stone into silk. There was no glory to be found under The Grim's ever watchful eye, just servitude and compliance, and more fool the novice who believed otherwise. It would be cut out of them.

'Indeed?' The priest sounded distinctly unimpressed. 'Then let us hope that Jasul Bo-Dreven never learns that your star novice tore the entrails out of his son. It would be a shame for the King to lose the guardianship of such a warrior.'

The blood thrummed through Juda's veins, a warring drumbeat that fired up his bones and pulsed resoundingly in his temples. Maybe he was closer than he had thought.

Calm, Juda, calm, his mother whispered from the shadows. There is victory in playing the long game, as you well know.

Yes. And a long and arduous game it had been, but Juda felt the end goal within reach of his fingertips. All he had to do was hold on a little longer.

'That would be a pity if he did,' The Grim said. 'With the unrest in the slums an ever-present threat, it would be unwise if we did not do everything in our power to ensure the King is protected. I am certain that even His Most Exalted would be aggrieved to learn if we cannot even keep our nobles in check also.'

'Quite,' Lord Dageor said. 'But all this still does not explain why Novice Zar-Kuron strayed from his patrol companion or why he disobeyed your orders, Grim. I would trust that dissent in your ranks is not a problem, because if it is, then I would suggest unrest among the nobles would be the least of your concerns. After all, if you cannot control one novice...'

The Grim's voice rose, anger searing the edges. 'Luca Zar-Kuron was an insolent, brutish whelp who held no loyalty to the Order. That was clear from day one. He was sent here because his own father despaired of him, so do not talk to me of lack of control. He had two cycles left at the most before his own self-importance killed him in the arena. He gave no respect and earned none. He was always going to end up on this slab, whether during the fight or with the waters of the Setalah blackening his corpse.'

Silence stretched out into the passageway, dark and weighty with violent tension.

Finally, when Lord Dageor spoke again, his voice was closer to the doorway of the chamber.

Juda reached into the shadows, holding onto them as if he were shadow himself and nothing more.

'Be mindful, Commander,' Lord Dageor said, cold amusement in his tone. 'You are a man most respected, that is true, but it is not you that sits by the King's side. It is not you that holds court with him. While you have held command for many years and have achieved much, your disdain of the nobles could be your undoing. It is not wise to anger them so, particularly when their sons are in your charge.'

'And what do you expect then, Lord?' bristled The Grim. 'That I should nurse them at my breast, like their mothers did? That I should wipe the shit from their arses and mop up their snot when they cry for the privileges they lost the moment their doting parents decided they wanted to make men of them? I will not pander to anyone. My duty lies...'

'With the King, yes, yes, you said.' Dageor stepped out into the hallway and Juda could see him now, the high arch of his thin brow, the contempt turning the corners of his mouth. 'If that is the case, Grim, the King will expect the murderer of Luca Zar-Kuron to be presented to him by the end of this cycle and you will hand the culprit to His Most Exalted yourself.'

'That is not enough time,' spluttered The Grim. 'It is barely five moontides from now! Tomorrow, we patrol the brogboar run and then I am to manage the shipment of Dreynian water and crush any unrest in the slums...'

'Then you are a very busy man, Commander, and I shall leave you to attend to the tasks at hand. Fair eventide to you. By Ban-Keren.'

With a thin smile and a cold zeal glinting in his eyes, the dark Priest of Druvari raised his hood over his head and disappeared swiftly down the passageway, heading towards the main staircase that would lead him to the black gates of the Highguard compound.

Juda remained at one with the shadows, as The Grim raged curses that echoed harshly off the black rock of the chamber. With a final howl of fury that would rival a whole pack of Dreynian mountain wolves, he stalked from the room, following the same path taken by Lord Dageor, leaving Juda to ease the tension out of his shoulders, his spine softening.

When he decided no one lurked within the undercroft, he crept from his hiding place, entering the chamber Dageor and The Grim had lingered just moments before.

Now only the dead remained.

Wrapped in cloth drenched in embalming vinegar and fireroot spice shoved into their nostrils, ears and mouths, and smeared over their skin, the sharp tang was enough to water the eyes and sting the throat, but Juda could withstand worse.

Ignoring Bo-Dreven's corpse, Juda stepped closer to Zar-Kuron, his gaze drawn to the black skeletal patterns that now marked his skin like permanent etchings. His bloated body strained still against the binds; his mouth barely able to contain his thickened, black tongue. By the dead gods, the poisoned waters of the Setelah had worked their sorcery upon him.

Juda leant down, his face hovering just inches above Zar-Kuron's, his eyes wide with awe.

'Goodness, Luca,' he whispered. 'What a work of art you have become. Who'd have thought someone as ugly as you could look so very beautiful? Death has made a painting of your skin worthy to hang on the wall of the great Ban-Keren himself.'

He grinned at the dead man, marvelling at how the waters had mottled his flesh.

'Was it agony, dear Luca? As the waters took you down into their embrace? I hope so. I really do. Now, you get to lay side by side with your noble cousin here.' Juda sniffed. 'At least you are not alone in death, huh? We cannot all be so fortunate. I will leave you both now to your eternal rest, Zar-Kuron. I wish, by the dead gods, that wherever your spirits now languish, that your pain is endless and your screams forever unheard. Fair eventide to you, you piece of shit.'

With one final glance at them both, Juda gave silent thanks to whichever slum rat had managed to murder Luca Zar-Kuron. They must be very skilled indeed. To end someone's life in the Setalah without endangering yourself took some doing.

Good work, slum-rat, but a darkness is coming to your streets now. I only hope you can outrun it.

But, until then, Juda had his own concerns to deal with.

Roth Vi-Garran was waiting for him. And he wasn't terrified of Juda Vikaris one little bit.

Their end goal, after all, was the same.