Who knew that each side had a secret? Secrets that could change the tides of war in an instant. They played against the balance--the push and pull of power--invisible to all as the Kinsmen continued to push forward.
Two years had passed since that f...
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Nagan's head shot to the door as a firm knock resonated from it, his arm frozen almost comically in the air still holding his damp towel. It was well past midnight by the time Nagan returned to his room to wash up and go to bed, and it wasn't as if Carvolier's "no one is allowed into the opposite gender's dormitory" rule applied at this moment, but...technically he still wasn't supposed to be in the women's quarters either. Did the nightwatch catch him sneaking back?
Another knock sounded, this time more urgent than before and almost pounding. He could practically hear the hinges rattling. Not wanting to know what would happen if he didn't answer the door—assuming it was indeed the nightwatch, and he mentally prepared for a class-one beratement—he tossed the towel over the opened window's sill, hurrying over the door. A rude quip sat on the tip of his tongue as he opened the door, but his jaw fell open when he saw who it was.
"What—Qentor? What are you doing—"
Qentor shoved his way through before shutting the door behind him, causing Nagan to nearly stumble back in the process. Nagan didn't notice the silencing barrier before, but he felt it now as it flushed passed him, most likely expanding to the walls of the room. Before he could object to any of this—or even ask what the hell was going on—Qentor marched forward with a stern expression, forcing Nagan to backtrack even further from the door before he finally planted himself in the middle of the room. Only a foot remained between them.
"You are in grave danger."
Nagan tensed. "I-I'm aware."
"No, not your trial. There's more than that. Tomorrow, Darro Faen will retrieve you again. The Council has liberated a mine in Hecatite, but the residents are less than pleased with this. They did not need saving." Qentor paused as he looked over his shoulder to the door. A vague set of footsteps passed through the hall outside the door, but it faded as quickly as it appeared. Qentor turned his attention back on Nagan. "They have decided to go through with some form of peace negotiations. That's why they want you there."
"Why?" Nagan asked dubiously. "You'd think they'd know by now that I'm not the most tactful when it comes to speech."
"Not to talk, but to listen. They want more of those who can speak Hecat to hear the conversations they may not want to be heard. But that is not why I'm here. My sources—" Qentor coughed, "may be incorrect, but there are rumors of a rebellion brewing there. You will be disadvantaged while there no matter what you do. If you fight, you could be accused of breaking your terms of freedom, but if you do not, you may end up worse than the last attempt."
"Hold on, what do you mean 'attempt'?"
"I mean exactly what I said. You have more enemies than you think, Nagan, in the one place you thought you were safe."
Nagan shoved his hands into the pockets of his loose pants, pushing down the urge to cross his arms over his bare chest. He had no problem training without a shirt—especially in the summer heat—so he didn't understand why he felt uneasy now. Perhaps it was the news Qentor brought and the implications it came with.
