Soren felt something twist in his chest that had nothing to do with the shard's cold presence. Veyr was defending him, publicly, deliberately, placing his own standing at risk. For what? A street rat elevated to house Blade? A liability who had brought the Church's wrath upon them?

The Inquisitors exchanged glances, a silent communication passing between them. The leader's marble features remained impassive, but something shifted in his posture, not retreat, but recalculation.

"Then let House Velrane speak for him, in the Cathedral," he finally said, voice carrying new inflection. "If your loyalty is so strong, Lord Veyr, you will stand beside your Blade as witness. Before Solmir's light, the truth will burn clear."

It wasn't concession. It was escalation. Soren recognized the trap even as it closed around them both, not just the accused now, but his defender as well, both to be questioned under circumstances where the Church controlled every aspect of the proceeding.

The two Inquisitors moved forward again with their strange chains, the glowing script pulsing brighter as they approached. One set for Soren. One set for Veyr.

"These are not necessary," Veyr said, eyeing the chains with obvious distaste.

"They are," the lead Inquisitor countered. "Standard protocol for those who enter the Cathedral's Inner Sanctum. For your protection as much as ours." The slight emphasis on 'protection' carried an unmistakable threat.

Soren's hands curled into fists as the first Inquisitor approached with the chains. Every instinct screamed to fight, to run, to resist this final humiliation. The shard against his chest pulsed with violent cold, Valenna's presence surging forward with unexpected urgency.

'To resist now is to die,' she whispered, her voice cutting through the chaos of his thoughts. 'To go is to learn.'

The metal felt wrong against his skin as the Inquisitor locked the manacles around his wrists. Not just cold, but something else, a sensation like spiders crawling beneath his flesh, a muting of something he hadn't realized was there until it dimmed.

The shard's presence receded, Valenna's voice fading to the faintest whisper as the chains' script flared brighter.

Across from him, Veyr extended his hands with calm dignity that belied the gravity of the moment. The Inquisitor hesitated, clearly surprised that a Velrane heir would submit to such indignity without further protest.

"Then let us both be bound," Veyr said, his voice carrying clearly across the silent hall.

Lord Callen's face betrayed emotion for the first time, a momentary tightening around the eyes, quickly masked but unmistakable. Not anger. Something closer to calculation, or perhaps even approval, though Soren couldn't imagine why.

The second set of chains locked into place with a sound like distant bells. Veyr's expression remained carefully neutral, though something flickered in his eyes as the metal touched his skin, recognition, perhaps, or confirmation of something long suspected.

"The accused will be escorted to the Cathedral immediately," the lead Inquisitor declared. "Lord Veyr will accompany as witness and advocate. The questioning will begin at dawn."

They were led from the hall like criminals, black-robed figures surrounding them as they moved toward the main doors where carriages waited, not Velrane's elegant conveyances, but heavy, windowless boxes meant for transporting those who might not wish to be seen.

As they passed through the grand foyer, Soren glanced up to see Ayren watching from the upper balcony, those amethyst eyes gleaming in the torchlight. Unlike his father's careful blankness or the servants' fearful avoidance, Ayren's perfect mouth curved in a thin smile that suggested he found the entire spectacle tremendously entertaining.

"Their Blade and one of their sons, both seized in the same night," someone whispered as they passed. "What will become of House Velrane now?"

The night air hit Soren's face like a slap as they emerged into the courtyard. Torches lined the path to the waiting carriages, their flames casting twisted shadows across the perfect gravel. House guards stood at rigid attention, their expressions carefully blank as their lord's heir and Blade were marched past in chains.

Soren was pushed into the first carriage, the metal shackles weighing heavier than any armor he'd ever worn. The interior was cramped and stifling, with only a single barred window high on the opposite wall.

Veyr followed moments later, settling onto the narrow bench across from him with careful movements that favored his injured leg.

The carriage lurched into motion before either could speak, wheels grinding against gravel as they rolled toward Northaven's heart, and the Cathedral that dominated its center like a great stone fist thrust skyward.

Soren tested the chains binding his wrists, feeling that strange crawling sensation intensify wherever the metal touched his skin. The glowing script pulsed in rhythm with something he couldn't identify, each flare making his vision blur at the edges. Whatever power these bindings held, they were more than simple restraints.

"Stop fighting them," Veyr said quietly, his voice pitched to carry no further than the carriage's confines. "The more you struggle, the tighter they bind."

Soren forced his hands to stillness, though every instinct screamed against passive acceptance. "Why?" The word came out rougher than intended. "Why did you—"

"Speak for you?" Veyr's pale eyes found his in the dim light filtering through the window. "Because leaving you to face them alone would have been wasteful. And House Velrane does not waste valuable resources."

The clinical assessment stung worse than any insult might have. Even in defending him, Veyr reduced him to a tool, an asset to be preserved rather than a person to be protected.

"Besides," Veyr continued, adjusting his position as the carriage hit a particularly deep rut, "the Church overreaches. They've grown too bold, seizing house retainers without proper consultation. Someone needs to remind them of the old courtesies."

His voice carried an edge that Soren had never heard before, not anger exactly, but something colder. More calculating. As if this confrontation served purposes beyond simple loyalty to a sworn Blade.

The carriage's wheels changed pitch as they rolled from gravel onto stone, the sound echoing off close walls. Through the barred window, Soren caught glimpses of Northaven's inner district, tall buildings pressed together like watchful sentinels, their windows dark save for the occasional flicker of candlelight.

The city slept, unaware that two of its residents were being transported to face charges that could end in purification by fire.

"What will they do to us?" Soren asked, the question scraping against his throat like broken glass.

Veyr was quiet for a long moment, his pale features thoughtful in the shifting light. "The questioning comes first. Under Solmir's sacred flame, they claim, lies cannot survive." He touched the chains around his own wrists with clinical interest. "These bindings are meant to prevent... interference with that process."

The way he said 'interference' sent fresh chills down Soren's spine.

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