"We got company. Inquisitors," Jamie explained. "But our goal remains the same."

He took a deep breath. "Let's move."

His words hung in the air, but the five stayed in the same place, their eyes locked on the castle's gate. Soldiers poured out, their boots thumping on the stone path, running toward the plantation. They waited until the right moment. Right after, the last Inquisitor crossed the wooden bridge. As his steps faded, Jamie hissed, "Now."

They sprinted across the bridge, boards groaning under their weight. While everyone was focused on something else, they slipped through the gate into the castle's patio. The central courtyard buzzed with chaos.

Everywhere they looked, servants and guards were running in every direction. Some were shouting orders, while others were trying to help. Yet most had their faces pale with panic. Jamie's group blended in, moving fast, heads down, mimicking the frantic pace of the crowd.

The bard stayed close to his companions as they reached the main door. It led to the castle's inner halls. He paused, his gaze sharp, and spoke low.

"Thomas and Holz. You go after the prisoners. Find your wife and return to the rendezvous point," Jamie commanded.

Thomas and Holz nodded and headed toward the east wing of the castle.

"Thyra, Alonzo," Jamie continued, "hunt for any noble or paper tying others to the Bastille and Lucius."

Thyra grabbed Alonzo's arm, her eyes fierce, and pulled him toward the west wing. They vanished into one of the many rooms lining the first floor, the door clicking shut behind them.

Jamie stood alone, staring at the grand staircase ahead. Its stone steps, worn smooth by centuries, spiraled up into shadow. He climbed, each step echoing in the vast hall. His mind raced, comparing this fortress to Frostwatch, the only castle he'd known before. Frostwatch, with its wooden beams and low walls, felt small next to Bastille's towering stone. This place was a maze of cold gray blocks, its outer walls thick enough to withstand a siege.

'Where are they?' Jamie thought, his hand brushing the iron guardrail, its chill biting into his skin. 'In their chambers? An office? Where do I strike first?'

He reached the second floor, moving through corridors lined with art. Stone statues, their faces stern and unfamiliar, stared from alcoves. Paintings of grim lords and ladies hung on the walls, their eyes seeming to follow him. The air smelled of dust and old wax, and the faint clink of armor echoed somewhere below. Jamie's heart thudded, but his steps stayed soft, his dagger ready at his side.

"If I find them, I can use them as hostages to escape from here," Jamie thought. "However, I won't have time to try…" Jamie froze, trying to listen to the sounds around him. "To 'acquire' something."

He moved on, slipping in and out of rooms. The first door swung open to a wide chamber, its air thick with the smell of sweat and leather. Soldiers sprawled across narrow beds, their snores mingling with the creak of wooden frames. A few turned, their eyes narrowing at the stranger in their midst.

Jamie tugged his hood back, his face bold under their stares. He'd been spotted, but he could turn this. "What are you lot doing?" he barked, his voice sharp as a whip.

A soldier with a scruffy beard sat up, rubbing his eyes. "Taking our rest. It's our break."

"Rest?" Jamie slammed his foot against the floor, the thud echoing. "You didn't hear the screams? The fields are burning!"

"But—" another soldier started, his voice thick with sleep.

"Imagine the lord's face when he hears his men sat idle while the harvest turned to ash," Jamie snapped, stepping back from the door. "Move!"

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The soldiers groaned, their faces sour. Even so, they rushed to put their boots and helmets back on. As they moved toward the exit, several of them grumbled about what they would do to Jamie.

"Curse him," one muttered, his voice low and bitter.

"Get his name later," another growled, their steps heavy on the stairs.

"I'll tell the captain," a third hissed, his words fading as they descended.

Jamie let out a shaky breath, relief washing over him.

He pressed on, weaving through corridors, dipping into rooms. A library greeted him with rows of dusty books, their spines cracked and worn. A gaming hall followed, its tables scattered with dice and cards, the air heavy with spilled wine.

Servants scurried past, their arms full of linens or trays. Jamie kept his chin high, his stride firm, exuding command. They barely glanced his way, too caught up in their own rush.

In Hafenstadt, Jamie's face had some fame. But in Bastille, he was like everybody else. To these strangers, he was only a face. Handsome, of course, but unknown. And that was his shield.

Jamie paused at the end of the dim corridor. Only one door remained, yet it had two soldiers standing guard. Their eyes, half-hidden behind steel helmets, tracked his every step.

'Guards mean something worth protecting,' Jamie thought, his pulse quickening.

He raised a hand, forcing a casual wave, and shuffled closer. The soldiers' gazes hardened, their hands tightening on spear shafts. Jamie's cloak brushed the stone wall as he stopped short, keeping his voice light. "Sorry, I got turned around in this maze of a castle."

The taller soldier tilted his head, his expression hidden but cold. "Stay back," he growled, his voice rough.

Two arm's lengths away, the second soldier jabbed his spear forward, its tip glinting. Jamie raised his hands, palms open. "Easy, easy. I only need a quick question."

His lips moved, silent and swift, weaving a spell.

[Cause Fear]

The air shimmered faintly around the taller soldier, whose eyes widened, his spear trembling. In the same heartbeat, Jamie flicked his wrist. A dagger flashed from his sleeve, sinking into the second soldier's throat with a wet thud. Blood sprayed, warm and sharp.

Jamie lunged at the first, clamping one hand over the man's mouth, muffling a scream. His other hand drove a second dagger deep into the soldier's eye. The guard's body jerked, then slumped, heavy in Jamie's grip.

Both men lay still, their blood pooling on the stone floor. The corridor remained quiet, with no shouts or footsteps breaking the silence.

Jamie's chest heaved, but a wry smile tugged at his lips. 'Jay would've hated this,' he thought, picturing the cat's voice whining about nightmares for weeks. He couldn't imagine if they had told him before that he would miss the damned cat.

He dragged the bodies into an empty room nearby, their armor scraping softly against the floor. Dust swirled in the air, tickling his nose as he propped them against a wall, out of sight. Back at the door, he steadied his breath and rapped twice, sharp and quick.

"What do you want?" a voice snapped from inside, rich and haughty, like a noble used to being obeyed.

Jamie deepened his voice, mimicking a soldier's gruff tone. "Milord, the fire is raging out of control. What should we do?"

Footsteps shuffled fast behind the heavy door, sharp and frantic. A voice snapped through the wood, thick with scorn. "I'll tell you what to do. You're all useless."

Jamie's grip tightened on his dagger as the doorknob rattled. The door creaked open, and he moved like a shadow, blade flashing. Before the noble could blink, the cold steel pressed against his throat.

Franco's eyes widened, his breath catching hard. "You—" he choked, words dying under the dagger's edge.

"Inside. We'll talk there," Jamie said, his voice low and firm, shoving Franco back into the room.

The door swung wide, revealing a broad office. The rainy wind gusted through open windows, stirring papers on a wide desk at the far end. Two plush sofas faced each other, their cushions worn but rich. The air smelled of damp stone and ink.

Sprawled across one sofa was a figure Jamie could only call vile. The man was thin as a starved hound, his long arms and legs dangling like twisted branches. His eyes sank deep into his skull, black and empty. His face looked hollow, cheeks sunken, yet his fine silk tunic, stitched with gold, told another tale.

"You must be Lucius," Jamie said, his tone sharp, eyes locked on the man.

Lucius sprang up, his movements quick and unnatural, like a spider unfolding. "And you're the bard, I take it?" His voice slithered, cold and smooth.

"I met your son... or should I say spawn?" Jamie shot back, his hand steady on the dagger.

Lucius flicked his wrist, and an invisible force slammed into Jamie's chest. It yanked him backward, hurling him against the wall with a bone-rattling crash.

"Not again!" Jamie growled.

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