Tarian threw the doors open and marched into the makeshift lab. The cracked table bore the white-fleshed creature. He pointed at the milky corpse as he pulled the scientist closer. “What can you tell me about this thing on your slab?”

Francis stepped away from his work and glanced around the room at his colleagues. When he saw everyone else glance elsewhere, he cleared his throat. “We’ve found nothing definitive.”

Tarian’s fist clenched as he looked at each of the scientists. When his gaze fell back on Francis, he licked his lips. “You’ve had this body for a week. Keldon told you I needed answers.”

“He did,” Francis hedged.

“Then why have you been dragging your heels?” Tarian inquired as he took a step towards Francis. While Tarian loomed over the scientist, he prodded the corpse’s abdomen and his finger slid into the creature. With a shudder, he pulled it out. “Rotting or not, I need answers.”

“If our most sensitive equipment still worked, we’d have given you the intelligence already.” Francis wrung his hands, avoiding Tarian’s glare.

Tarian wiped the frustration off his face as he backed up, licking his lips. “We don’t have that luxury.”

Francis’s gaze drifted toward Tarian, the corner of his eye twitching as he tugged his collar. “Well, we triggered its flesh into changing.”

“How?”

“What we might’ve seen was nothing more than a twitch...

“My army surrendered!?” Namen slammed his fist against his throne, the wood shuddering beneath the blow, and snarled. “What did my cowardly force do after they laid down their weapons to these rebels?”

The messenger’s hands trembled behind his back as his stoic face locked onto the King’s ornate chair. He bowed, spreading his arms like a bird in flight. “I wasn’t there to witness the results, sire. I carried only the message I was dispatched with. Do you want me to discover the fallout of the surrender?”

“No, there’s nothing you can accomplish,” the King grumbled as he crumpled the missive in his fist. He flung the wadded paper at the messenger’s face. “Kameron will locate these traitors!”

The messenger ducked the parchment projectile, while an advisor sitting close to the King interlaced her fingers and cleared her throat. “Your Majesty, I believe it would be best to collect any information that Baxter has before deciding on how to deal with these deserters. Consider the cost of dispatching another battalion to a captured keep.”

The King’s eyes narrowed as his lips trembled. He lifted his fingers from the ornately inlaid armrest of his throne, glancing toward the ceiling, as if the spymaster could overhear him. “Baxter is troublesome enough during peaceful times. But when it comes to war, his riddles are unbearable.”

“Baxter is unique.” The advisor smiled and leaned toward the King. “But he’s the best spymaster we’ve ever had.”

“I’m aware, Kerri!” Namen struck his chair with both meaty fists. “But I won’t deal with him if he’s communicating with his spies. Go discover everything he’s learned about these rebels and traitors.”

Kerri rose, inclining her head, and flowed across the floor. She grabbed the messenger’s arm and guided him from the meeting hall. When the door closed, she spun the fool around and slapped his face. “Why did you deliver that message straight to Namen?”

“It’s my job. Last I checked, you’re just an advisor, with no authority.” The messenger’s gaze sharpened to a knife’s edge as his fingers explored his reddening cheek. After a moment, he shoved his hands behind his back. “How would Namen react if he learned you struck one of his messengers? I believe he’s ordered protection for those carrying his commands.”

“True,” Kerri flicked the messenger’s nose as her lips parted, displaying her canines. She thumped his chest with two fingers. “Unfortunately for you, Namen never gave you the protection of a command. Never forget who your friends are, messenger.”

Kerri spun on her heels and stormed down the hall. When she reached the nearest stairwell, she sighed and flew up the stairs.

Upon reaching the door to the roof, she flung it open and stared at the man standing on the ledge, obscured by flapping butterflies, wings etched with heavy secrets, their markings whispering burdens. One landed atop an outstretched fingertip. He pulled it to his ear. She cleared her throat and marched toward him. “Baxter, I need your counsel...

Tarian sat in solitary silence, taking in the emptiness of the meeting hall. The crack ran the entire length of the conference table, and the sneering crevasse mocked him. He gripped the hilt of his dagger with white knuckles. Tarian lifted the tip of the blade and rammed it into the pockmarked slab. He twisted the knife, enlarging the hole as he took a deep breath. As the seconds ticked away, he stabbed its point into the table several times.

Between strikes, the door swung inward. Keldon stepped inside, eyeing his friend’s assault on the ruined furniture before letting out a sigh. Tarian drove the blade into the wood again, and Keldon claimed an empty seat. He waited for his friend to stop, but the knife didn’t cease. He cleared his throat as he leaned toward his friend. “If everything were normal, I wouldn’t butt into your affairs.”

“Why are you starting the habit?” Tarian asked as he drove the dagger into the table.

Keldon lifted two fingers. “Two reasons. First, sitting here and wallowing over what’s happened for weeks isn’t healthy...