Page 22 of Silvercloak

Aspar grimaced as she went on. “Cutting-all-ties-to-the-Silvercloaks deep. Agonizingly, life-alteringly deep.”

Everything inside Saff went still.

“As I’m sure you know, we’ve been building a case against Lyrian Celadon for many years. Decades.”

The Bloodmoon kingpin.

Saff’s heart tightened in her chest.

“Every Silvercloak in Atherin knows that the Bloodmoons are the fount of most violent crime in this city, but their tendrils spread so far into our various institutions that bringing a case against them has been almost impossible. We were close last year, with evidence gathered by Marcel Vales—who sadly died in action—but Grand Arbiter Dematus refused to bring charges on behalf of the Crown.”

Frowning, Saff replied, “The Grand Arbiter is corrupt? Or just afraid for her life?”

“Again, that’s above your pay grade.”

“It’s what you’re implying.”

A meaningful stare. “You can interpret my words as you wish.”

If it was true, it was the scandal to end all scandals.

Grand Arbiter was arguably the most important position of power in Vallin—in comparison, the monarchs were mere figureheads. Voted in by several high-profile councils and governing bodies, the Grand Arbiter was responsible for the writing and abolishing of laws, the shaping of public policy, prosecuting major criminal cases on behalf of the state, and providing legal counsel to the royal family and the Vallish military.

And now Aspar was insinuating that the Grand Arbiter was in the Bloodmoons’ palm.

Was that why Dematus so staunchly resisted the introduction of truth elixir into the courts?

Saff’s mind was a beehive. She’d known for a long time that trying to secure Bloodmoon evidence was like trying to pin a dragonfly by its wing. Her parents’ murderers had never been found, despite the crude crescents charred into their cheeks. The Silvercloaks knew Bloodmoons were to blame, but not which ones or why. Forensic sorcerers were developing techniques to trace killing spells back to their casters, but progress was nowhere near fast or conclusive enough.

Slowly, everything slotted into place.

The prophecy—if that was indeed what it was—had shown Saff in a cloak of scarlet. A cloak of scarlet she would always associate with the smell of charred flesh, with the feeling of grief so raw and sharp she thought she’d die from the pain of it.

There was no other situation in which Saff would wear such a cloak.

“You want me to infiltrate the Bloodmoons.”

“Truthfully, I was on the fence.” Aspar massaged her own temple. “Your incomplete grasp on magic could well make you a liability. But, as you rightly pointed out, it could also make you an immense asset.”

“How so?”

Another grimace. “Do you know what the Bloodmoon initiation entails?”

“Plentiful torture, I’d imagine.”

Aspar nodded bleakly. “Torture, truth elixir—which we have established you’re immune to—and finally a loyalty brand. A round stamp burned right over your heart. It sears the flesh dark red, resembling a Bloodmoon. It’s how they got their name.”

Fear cut through Saff like a scythe through wheatgrass.

“The advanced dark magic causes the beholder to perish the moment they betray the Bloodmoons. Once upon a time they’d brand any civilian who fell into their debt, hoping to amass an army, but mages recruited by force usually took their own lives—and the dead are not profitable to an organization like theirs. So now they only brand those who enter their service willingly, in exchange for the wiping of debt. Every Bloodmoon who walks the streets in a scarlet cloak has a brand on their chest.

“With you … the burn would take, but the enchantment would not. These measures—the truth elixir and the loyalty brand—are the reason we’ve never been able to successfully send Silvercloaks undercover into the Bloodmoons. It’s why our evidence has always been peripheral, secondhand, easy to dismiss. We need evidence that nobody, not even a compromised Grand Arbiter, can sweep under the carpet.”

Enter Saff. The mage with broken magic and an old grudge.

“What kind of evidence?”

“Nothing that can be contained to one or two bad apples. It needsto be the whole tree, and it needs to be tied to the kingpin at the root if we’re going to rip the whole thing from the ground. And we also want to knowwhy.Why they’re so hell-bent on money and power, on vaults upon vaults of ascenite. What their end goal is.”

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