Malachi tapped Josiri on the shoulder and nodded towards the knot of hearthguard waiting nearby. “Go. I won’t be long. And, Josiri? Don’t be downhearted. You and I are going to change things. I promise.”

Josiri withdrew with a weariness Malachi himself felt all too keenly after long hours in the company of Ebigail Kiradin.

Malachi forced a smile and grasped Elzar’s proffered hand. “High Proctor. I’m afraid I’ve little progress to report on your . . . inventory issues.”

Reports aired only hours before had made it clear that the joint patrols of constabulary and seconded hearthguard had turned up only the pettiest of criminals. No stolen kraikons, no crowmarketeers, and no consensus in council as to how to proceed. Hadon had been all for widening the search, but Ebigail debated the issue with scarcely contained boredom – a stance Malachi would have found more detestable if he’d not felt similar apathy. A man had only so much attention to invest.

Elzar took his arm and steered him to an alcove sporting a stern marble bust of Konor Belenzo.

“I heard Viktor’s been taken by the provosts,” he muttered. “Is it true?”

Relief and renewed disappointment mingled in Malachi’s veins. “Shouldn’t I be asking you, high proctor?”

“We both know my colleagues are bound to a certain . . . secrecy of action. Just as we both know it’s poor manners to evade an honest question.”

“My apologies. I’ve spent much of the day in council – some of it failing to secure Viktor’s release.”

Salt and pepper brows knotted. Elzar’s face wrinkled. “You must find a way.”

“I know. A provost’s inquisition never ends in acquittal. Innocence is only proven in death.”

“You misunderstand.” Elzar dropped his voice another notch. “They’ll not kill him for what he is not, but for what he is.”

Malachi glanced hurriedly about. “You can’t be serious. Elzar, do you know what you’re saying?”

“Better than you, my lord.”

“You’re telling me Viktor deserves this!”

Wrinkles reknitted into a scowl. “Do you believe that?”

Malachi’s thoughts raced. Yes. No. Viktor. A witch. An abomination in Lumestra’s sight. His friend. It was too much to take in. He felt dizzy with it. “I don’t know.”

“I told you before. A gift is a gift. It’s the use that separates wicked from divine. Darkness. Light. They’re excuses. Or do you hold all proctors to be paragons of virtue simply because we wield the light?” He gave a sharp smile. “The archimandrite, perhaps, for his unwavering faith?”

“What do you want me to do?” Malachi hissed. “I can’t storm into the vaults and demand his release, not without the backing of the Council. And even Viktor’s own father won’t lend his support.”

“No, I suppose not. Forgive me, my lord. I’ve spoken out of turn.”