Chapter 9: Midnight Betrayal

The temple rose before him like a memory made of light. Golden domes caught brightness that came from nowhere, and bells hung quiet in tall towers. Between stone pillars, people in white robes moved slowly, their faces hidden behind glowing mist.He stood at the entrance, bare feet on stones that felt warm and alive. Inside, someone was singing. The voice made no words, just pure sound that reached into his chest and pulled at something deep. The song spoke of emptiness, of chairs left empty, of something precious that had gone away.

A person knelt at the altar, shoulders shaking. When they turned, Vencian saw only darkness where a face should be, and tears that fell up instead of down like drops of silver. The singing stopped. In the quiet, a whisper called a name, the sound breaking apart until only "...ian" remained before the temple cracked apart like broken glass, leaving just stone and candle smoke.

A bell rang once, far away. Then everything went silent.

"...ucian."

"Lucian."

The voice was barely audible, a brush against his ear. He didn’t open his eyes right away. Something in him knew it was still night.

"Lucian, wake up."

He blinked into the dimness of the guest cell, heart already rising.

Quenya hovered near the shuttered window, pale as frostlight. She wasn’t speaking loudly, but her eyes were wide. Alert.

"Who is Lucian?" he whispered.

"Well, I couldn’t figure out which name to use. So I combined Luke and Vencian. Lucian. Better, right?"

He exhaled through his nose, then nodded once. "Do what you like."

The silence stretched, until a thought surfaced sharply.

"What is it?" he asked, turning to her. "Why did you wake me up?"

"Something’s wrong," she murmured. "I’ve been flying around... watching. There are men awake. Talking in corners. Carrying weapons under their robes. They’re not monks."

He sat up slowly. The blanket slipped from his shoulders. The candle on the table had burned low, its wax puddled like spilled bones.

Then his gaze landed on the untouched food from last night. He’d forgot to eat it and had fell asleep talking with Quenya. The bread had fallen apart slightly. Something small — a beetle or mouse — was curled up beside the plate, stiff and lifeless. Its body lay half in a crust of bread.

His blood ran cold. A wave of nausea swept through him that had nothing to do with poison, just the bitter taste of understanding. His hands trembled as he stared at the small corpse, and for a moment he couldn’t breathe.

"The food," he said under his breath.

"Yes," Quenya murmured. "You didn’t eat. That may have saved you."

Vencian pushed the blanket aside and swung his legs over the edge of the cot.

He stared again at the small dead thing beside the bread. The monastery’s stones were thick. It wasn’t uncommon for a rodent or insect to slip into a guest chamber. But for it to die like this, so neatly beside his untouched meal, it wasn’t coincidence.

The words didn’t hit him all at once. They layered themselves, one atop the other, until they became a shape he recognized: betrayal.

His first instinct was to deny it. To believe he was being paranoid. To imagine that Quenya was wrong, that the sense of wrongness was just fatigue. But deep inside, something had already shifted.

What triggered this action?

The answer came to him quickly. The letter. What if it had been intercepted? After all, he had used the monastery’s communication device. There was a chance it never reached his mother but was intercepted beforehand.

They were going to sedate me. Not kill me. Capture. The betrayal cut deeper than he’d expected. He’d wanted to believe in something pure, something untainted by the politics. Instead, he’d found corruption wearing monk’s robes.

"Vencian," Quenya said softly, now behind him. "We need to go. Now."

He stood, brushing a hand through his hair, thinking fast.

"Larik and Talor—"

"Still asleep. Or unconscious. I don’t know. But there’s movement outside. Two men walked past your door. Not monks. Not even trying to look like them."

"Then we don’t have time."

He crossed to the small cabinet where his belt and boots had been placed. The sword was where he’d left it. Untampered.

He dressed quickly, his movements sharpened by adrenaline.

"Which room is Talor in?"

"Two doors left from yours. Larik is just across the hall."

Vencian stepped to the door, placing his ear against the wood. The silence felt wrong.

"Can you check the corridor?" he asked.

Quenya vanished. A moment later, she returned, her voice low and urgent.

"Two men at the far corner. Waiting. They’re armed, and not in monk robes."

"If they were going to storm in, they’d have done it by now," he muttered. "They want to take me alive, quietly. Which means they’ll move only when I try to leave."

He cracked the door open half an inch. Cold air swept in from the corridor. Candlelight flickered low in a distant alcove, but most of the hallway lay in shadows. He slid out silently, feet soft on the stone, and crossed to Larik’s door.

Larik’s door creaked faintly as Vencian eased it open. Inside, the room was dark except for the dim glow of moonlight through the high window.

"Larik," he said quietly. "Get up."

There was a beat of silence. If Larik had received the same drugged food and had eaten it...

Before his fear could materialize, the man groaned from his cot. "You’d make a terrible ghost, my lord. Far too polite."

Relief washed him but he hid it. The veteran knight’s training showed - he’d woken instantly at the first sound, alert and ready despite the late hour. "Now, Larik."

That cut through the sleep in his voice. Vencian heard a shuffle, then the rasp of leather as Larik reached for his belt.

"What’s going on?"

"We’re in danger. Poisoned food. Armed men. We need to move quietly."

"Poisoned food?" Larik slid out of bed, already alert. "Well. Talor owes me an apology. I told him the monastery’s stew had the consistency of regret."

"Get your boots on. Meet me at Talor’s door. Quietly."

Larik gave a nod, all amusement gone from his eyes now, though his mouth twitched faintly. "Aye, my lord."

Vencian was already moving, slipping across the hall. Talor’s door was locked with a simple wooden latch. He tapped once. Then again.

"Talor," he hissed.

A muffled grunt. Then silence.

"Talor, open up. It’s Vencian."

Another pause, followed by the scrape of the latch. Like Larik, the veteran knight had roused immediately, his military instincts intact even in sleep. Talor’s broad frame filled the doorframe, hair disheveled, and eyes bloodshot.

"What in the pits of—"

"Keep your voice down," Vencian said sharply. "We’re in danger. We need to move."

Talor stared at him, then looked at Larik, who had just arrived and was grinning faintly.

"I’m telling you, Talor," Larik said quietly, "that stew didn’t just offend the tongue. It tried to kill us."

"I knew something was off," Talor muttered, already pulling on his boots. "Used the last of my dried rations instead."

"Same," Larik said cheerfully. "Monastery food’s no match for Larik’s Campfire Cured Sausage™."

"You made that up just now."

"Don’t ruin the brand."

"Shut up."

"Enough," Vencian said, keeping his voice low. "We’re being watched. I don’t know how many men, but at least two outside my door. They’re not monks. Not even pretending to be."

"How do you know they’re not just hired guards?" Talor asked.

"Because they drugged the food," Vencian said. "And I don’t think they’re meant to kill me. Not yet. Just... disappear me. Hold me long enough that no one asks the wrong questions about the abbot."

That made both men freeze for a moment.

"You think this is tied to that Sebastian fellow?" Larik asked.

"I do."

"Hells," Talor muttered. "We should’ve left yesterday."

"We didn’t," Vencian said. "So now we have to get out quietly, fast, and without giving them a clean shot at us."

"You want to sneak through a monastery filled with conspirators and out the gates in the middle of the night," Larik said. "Simple enough."

"Stable route," Talor said. "North path. We saw it during arrival."

"Service gate behind the orchard," Vencian added. "Unwatched, if we’re lucky."

"We’re not." Talor grunted.

"Still worth trying," Larik said with a grin. "Better than waking up in a cell."

Larik’s grin didn’t reach his eyes. He knew, Vencian realized, just how bad this could get.

Talor nodded, tightening his cloak. "Let’s move."

Vencian waited another moment, keeping his hand on his sword handle. The hallway in front of him was filled with moving shadows from torchlight, and the stone floor felt unusually cold under his boots.

They tried to drug me. Silence me.

He clenched his jaw.

Whoever’s behind this... I’ll find them. And I’ll make them pay.