The Warlord’s herald pressed the side of the scroll with her thumb. It snapped open, unfurling, the parchment dotted with the black glyphs of the Holy Anocracy’s script signed in red by the Warlord and marked with his sigil. I tossed the video message I had received five minutes ago onto the screens. The scroll was for House Meer, the proof of an official order. The video message was for everyone.

A massive older vampire in ornate armor stared at House Meer. Menace and authority radiated from him in equal parts. This was just a recording, but there was so much power and dominance in his eyes, I felt an urge to bow my head just so I wouldn’t have to hold that gaze.

“House Meer,” the Warlord intoned. It sounded like an accusation.

House Meer collectively flinched.

“Hasten to the High Castle, so you may witness the executions of your preceptor and your marshal while I ponder the fate of your house.”

The screens went dark.

The vampires didn’t blush and typically didn’t pale. But Bestata’s face turned an odd ashen shade, as if she had instantly become deathly ill.

“She’s doomed her uncle and her aunt,” Karat whispered in awe.

“Surely she bears no responsibility?” Dagorkun said. “Her house sent her here. She was ordered to do this.”

“You don’t understand.” Karat’s face turned sad and mournful. “House Meer refused to fight on Nexus. Cowardice is a sin, therefore they were judged by the Hierophant for that transgression. She is merciful, so she excommunicated them and hoped they would heed her warning. Instead, House Meer sent Bestata here with that ridiculous demand. That is treason, and traitors are judged by the Warlord. One does not look to the Warlord for mercy. He is not a forgiving man. He watched them, and as soon as Bestata and her knights entered the inn and had their communications stopped, the Warlord must’ve seized the marshal and the preceptor of their house. Nobody could warn her. If only she knew what had happened, she could have asked for something else, and her aunt and uncle might have lived. When she uttered those inane words demanding a pact, she swung the sword that will behead them.”

The herald retracted the scroll. “Join us in our journey to High Castle.”

It didn’t sound like a request.

“Can she request sanctuary?” Dagorkun asked.

Karat shook her head. “She won’t. The fate of their marshal and preceptor is sealed, but there is still a slim chance that her house might endure. She will go to High Castle to beg for the lives of her people on her knees.”

The herald’s knights parted, forming two lines.

Bestata turned toward Sean and Kosandion. Her lips were bloodless. “Thank you for your hospitality, innkeeper.”

Sean nodded.