The Last Sin

"You were invited where?!"

Isla paced across the ornate rug of the Pit's master suite. Castille laid over the sheets of the suite’s oversized mattress in a red silk robe. I sat in the side table chair, and Dugan stood against the wall near the door. Castille convinced Cassandra to upgrade us to the best rooms in the inn. I fixated on a stag's head mounted over the bed, and as Isla wrung her hands, I wondered what strange sights it had seen over the years.

"Isla! Calm down. This is good for us. Cassandra told me that the cartels have the Brimspoke Mountains locked down. If we want to investigate the curse, we’ll need one of them backing us," Castille said.

The woman was glowing.

Was the Pit also a spa?

"Yes, let's just lie to the Dahlgeshi cartel leaders' faces."

She was more tightly wound than usual, but that was understandable. We were in the belly of the beast with two Dahlgeshi mages freely using their abilities when we could not.

"If it's any consolation, I'll be doing the lying," I said.

Isla stopped pacing and exhaled.

"Sorry, it's just… Dahlgeshi mages on Luskainian soil… Do you think they're foulborn?"

I blinked at her.

Why hadn’t I thought of that? There was no way the Dahlgeshi would let nobles invade Luskainian land and flaunt their identities so openly. I nodded my head.

"Yes, that’s what I assumed," I lied.

Isla's face flashed with disgust and then pity.

"We should go to the Sanctifier Guildhall."

"What! Why?" I asked.

"If we’re going to do this, I need access to their historical records to narrow down who could be behind the curse."

"And they'll just let you walk in?"

"Yes, of course. Nobles always check the Sanctifier’s historical records when researching potential marriages. Understanding genealogy is an important part of Landbound Magic.”

"Oh..."

I furrowed my eyebrows to keep the embarrassment off my face.

"Besides, if we talk to the local Guildhall before the inquisitor arrives, they may be able to stop him from taking our heads. Now that I think of it, we should have gone to them as soon as we entered Steeltown," Isla said.

I had already shown Isla the Sanctifier messages about the Miller’s Hill incident, yet she was willing to walk right into their jaws. Maybe it was a noble’s arrogance, but she was right. My distaste for the Sanctifiers and fear of their inquisitor made me want to avoid the organization when I should be using them like they wanted to use me.

"OK, fine. Do you want to go now?" I asked.

Isla turned to look out the room's window. It would be evening soon.

"How about first thing tomorrow? I don't want to be caught outside at night."

Castille clapped her hands together.

"It’s a plan then. We’ll go to the Sanctifier Guildhall tomorrow and then split into two teams: the boys will go to the Lagos brothers’ party, and the rest of us will spend the day looking through old records.

She hopped off the bed, walked to the door and tousled Dugan’s hair.

"I'm going to eat. I had a tiring day."

“I bet.”

“You sound jealous, Jacob,” Castille said.

My face flushed.

“I-I’m not?!”

“Good! It’s not like I haven’t tried to set you up. What’s the saying, Dugan? You can lead a horse to water but can’t get it to drink.”

She flashed me a painfully sweet smile as she left the room with Dugan and Thor in tow.

“What was that about?” Isla asked; she looked at me with a quirked eyebrow.

My face flushed a deeper shade of red.

“Ah… I’m going to check out our room.”

That night, I slept on the floor, dreaming of a fire that did not burn.

# # #

The next morning, we made the short trek across the street to the Sanctifier Guild. The austere grey building brought up bad memories—waking up bound and gagged, selling away my freedom and the sight of Alden’s punchable face.

Castille rapped on the black wooden door. We waited a minute before a heavy bolt jostled, and the door creaked open.

A man with sandy brown hair and sunken cheeks looked through the narrow gap.

"Y-Yes?"

I walked to Castille's side to listen to their conversation. The man's eyes widened as he caught sight of me.

"S-Sorry, sir, we've been expecting you."

He disappeared behind the door as Castille and I exchanged looks.

The opening widened as the feeble man struggled to pull the door open. Once the gap was big enough, the man hopped before us and flashed a nervous smile.

"Please, come in."

He gestured down a short hallway that led to another door, more fortified than the last.

Castille looked up, shrugged and walked forward. The rest of us advanced with more hesitation.

Upon entering the building, I was struck by the increased fortification compared to the Guildhall in the capital. The hallway we entered was two stories, with slick grey stone walls on the first story and rectangular murder holes for shooting arrows and throwing projectiles from the second story. We had just walked into a kill box.

After a few minutes of struggling to close the front door, the servant scampered past us. He rapped on the second door with an uneven rhythm—a secret knock. A moment later, what sounded like a wooden crossbeam lifted from the door. The second set of doors opened faster as two armed guards in black and silvery livery blocked the entrance. Their hands went to their swords as they saw Castille and Dugan's weapons.

"Wait! Wait!"

A man in black robes ran into view, waving his arms. He had a familiar punchable face.

"They're guests!"

"Guests?" I asked.

I didn’t like where this was going.

"Yes, I'm Dew Able."

"I see the family resemblance."

I wasn't lying; he was the spitting image of Alden Able, twenty years younger.

He blushed.

"To be compared to my older brother… Ah, please, follow me to the second floor. I have refreshments."

Dew Able escorted us as his guards followed a few steps behind. Lanterns lit the windowless hall with ghostly white fire, adding to the tension charging the air.

“This is a bad idea,” I whispered. “We need to leave. Now.”

“Put some steel in your spine, Jacob. We’ll be fine.” Castille said.

Where did she get her confidence?

We walked past mostly empty black benches, with more armed guards standing at attention along the grey walls. A handful of similarly black-robed clerks read and scribbled on paper near the benches at the back. Dew Able ushered us up a staircase on the left, leading us past shelves of thick tomes that lined the wall to the door of his private office.

"We were wondering when you would arrive, Jacob Sin."

He opened the door to reveal a large room furnished with black wood and gold leaf. A woman in a tailored black uniform sat on a white cushioned sofa.

"May I introduce Special Inquisitor Jennifer Reed."