The Templar Castle of Montesa, for all its grandiosity, was mostly empty.

  They were the only living souls, from what he could see.

  The halls were large and decorated lavishly with artworks and tapestries that dated back centuries. Huge paintings of morose looking men wearing expressions of utmost importance. They all wore the same little red cross on their chests.

  Wesley felt rather annoyed by it all.

  Mostly because it reminded him so much of his own family’s house. Before it had been burnt to a crisp, of course.

  To his chagrin, Godfrey led them down through twisting halls until the decorations became more pallid and the upkeep seemed to be slipping.

  “I get the feeling we aren’t staying in the guest house,” Wesley said as they approached what looked to be an elevator.

  “No,” Godfrey said, hitting a gold button. It was one of the old-fashioned elevators with the metal door you had to pull up on. “We’ll have to keep you in the dungeon until the trial.”

  Wesley grunted. “And my father?”

  “He’s there too.”

  The elevator dinged and Godfrey flicked his wand up, making the door open. Then he held out his hand. “I’ll need your wand.”

  Begrudgingly, he handed it over. He was protected under the White Flag. It was a literal binding magical spell. But it didn’t mean they couldn’t skirt the boundaries.

  As soon as the elevator doors closed, Wesley turned to the man. “What did you mean?”

  Godfrey looked like he didn’t understand.

  “You told me–”

  “There are ears everywhere here,” he said, casually but forcefully. “Be wary of what you say to me. Save it for the Trial.”

  Wesley studied the man’s face, but it gave away nothing.

  “When is the Trial?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  The elevator hummed and shook as it came to a stop. The doors opened, wafting a stale air stench onto them. The light turned from electric bulbs to dim lanterns. They began down a narrow hallway lined with cells.

  Wesley looked into the cells with unease. “Where is Cece?”

  “Ms. Harewood is being cared for by our physicians. Her injuries are more severe than we thought,” Godfrey said.

  “How bad?” Wesley asked slowly. Esther had said nothing of this.

  “She’s suffering from an Acute Magical Hemorrhage.”

  “What?”

  “She was exposed to too much raw magic.”

  Wesley tried not to curse the big man out. “I know what it is. What kind of magic?”

  “Foreign magic,” was all Godfrey said.

  Avalonian, then. Something else had happened on that island. He would have to ask Esther for the truth when she woke.

  When finally they reached the end of the hall, they came to a large circular room lined with cells that were twice the size of those in the hall. And they had carpets and proper beds. Little side rooms that he guessed were toilets.

  Godfrey opened the nearest empty one, with a half-moon effigy carved onto its center plate, and said, “The vampire goes in here.”

  Wesley set Esther down gently on the bed and made sure he still felt her breath. It was cool but existent.

  Exiting her cell, he froze, staring at the cell opposite. His father sat there, on his bed, in a frayed gray tunic and an old pair of worn khakis, staring up at the ceiling.

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  “Father,” Wesley called. “Father!”

  He didn’t respond. He didn’t so much as move.

  “He has been catatonic since we brought him back.”

  Godfrey was opening another cell.

  “What happened?”

  “He fought the Nocturne is what happened.”

  Wesley watched his father’s still, upright form. “And he lost?”

  Godfrey grunted. “They tied.”

  That made Wesley freeze again, looking up at the big man. “You have the Nocturne?”

  He nodded.

  “Is he alive?”

  “For now.”

  Wesley stepped into his cell and sat on his bed, the old wood frame groaning beneath him. If they had the Nocturne here in the castle, then there was only one reason: he wanted to be there.

  Then the lock clicked into place a second later.

  “He is standing Trial with us?”

  Godfrey nodded, giving a meaningful look. “Then you are understanding the gravity of your situation.”

  Indeed, Wesley was beginning to understand it. Not only were there a cabal of power-hungry Templars within reach of Avalon, there was also the single most powerful being Wesley had ever come across within reaching distance of his goal. It felt like…like..,

  “He planned this,” Wesley said. “I don’t know how. But he did.”

  Godfrey opened his mouth, then closed it. “You will be brought food in an hour. The trial begins at sunrise. I suggest you get some rest.”

  Wesley listened to the heavy footfalls as they echoed in the dungeon. Something vile was settling in his stomach and the creeping suspicion that he’d made a terrible mistake was beginning to eat at him.

  Esther was going to chew him a new one when she woke. If, she woke. He really wasn’t sure what that dagger had done to her or if she required some…sustenance to recuperate.

  Wesley waited till the sounds of the elevator were gone and he rose, going to the bars of his cell. “Father,” he called. “It's time for us to speak of what happened the night mother died.”

  Something about those words, Wesley knew, would have an effect. Even if a little one.

  He was right.

  His father blinked, very slowly, at first, then more quickly.

  Wesley had seen this before. After battle, no matter how large or small, people would get a form of shellshock. He was surprised that his father had it, for all the action he’d seen in his lifetime. But this was the Nocturne he’d fought. And it sounds like he’d damn near beat him.

  Or come close, even if it was all a part of the Nocturne’s games.

  “You can hear me,” he said. “I know you can.”

  His father began to blink more quickly, her eyes slowly losing their haze.

  “You need to tell me what happened. Was there another person there that night?”

  Wesley waited, finding his seat again, watching patiently as his father came back to himself.

  It was nearing an hour when he finally said, “Wesley…”

  “I’m here,” Wesley replied, rising. “How do you feel?”

  His father scrunched his face, frowning. “Odd. Like I can’t hang onto any thoughts…”

  “It’ll wear off. Just focus on talking, the rest of it will catch up.” But Wesley wasn’t going to let him be silent. He wanted the truth. And if that meant taking advantage of this…momentary lapse, then he would. “Tell me about the night mother died,” he urged.

  He watched his father's face contort in anguish. “No…”

  “Was there another person there?” he yelled, his knuckles white on the bars, sudden anger taking him. “Was there?”

  The raised voice made his father put his hands over his head. It pained Wesley to see him like this, but he had to push.

  “Was there? Did you tell me the truth? Was it truly the Nocturne? Or was it…”

  “Stop,” his father cried.

  “Tell me the truth!”

  The words finally got the result he wanted. His father snapped his eyes shut and began muttering.

  “Louder,” Wesley told him.

  “You don’t understand,” he said pleadingly. “She was…your mother…” Tears streamed down his cheeks. “Your mother was sick,” he sobbed.

  The last word took the wind out of Wesley’s sails, and he felt his knees go weak. His grasp on the bars was the only thing that kept him standing.

  “What?” he asked, his voice a strained whisper.

  “She was sick, and we’d exhausted every avenue. There were no treatments, and she was getting worse.” He cupped his face in his hands. “I just–”

  “Sick with what?”

  “Some magical poisoning from when she was a kid. A spell gone wrong.” He shook his head. “But it wasn’t…it was just…”

  A nauseating realization struck Wesley. “You were trying to heal her.”

  His father confirmed his suspicion by letting out another sob.

  Wesley was connecting the dots. “Did you invite the Nocturne to the house that night?”

  The nod his father gave was almost imperceptible.

  “Because you knew he was trying to reach Avalon. You thought…you thought a cure might be had there.” Wesley rubbed the bridge of his nose. “What happened that night?”

  His father took a deep, ragged breath before beginning. “I reached out to him, telling him I’d give him the Hilt if he’d take us with him. But…something went wrong. We summoned something wicked. A creature from the Beyond.” His voice shook more now. “It wanted our lives as tribute. I…I thought the Nocturne had done it. It told me it had. You don’t understand. This…thing was inside my head. It wanted power. It liked this world and wanted to stay.”

  “It killed mother?”

  He nodded. “It did. And in the confusion, I fought the Nocturne, injured him badly, and he fled.”

  “How did you get rid of the creature?”

  “It was distracted by your mother. It had…feasted on her life force and was momentarily stunned.” He shrugged. “I banished it back to whence it had come.”

  Wesley let his hands drop from the bars of his cell. His feet, as if on their own volition, walked him to the small bed. He fell onto it and forced his eyes shut.

  The scene from the Nocturne’s memory was playing like a bad movie in his mind.

  With his father’s desperate whispered apologies in the background, he wept silently, the dungeon’s wall closing around him like a curtain call.

  His father’s shame felt like a blanket on the both of them. It had created this great chasm between them. Both time and distance had furthered it. Years and years. Guilt beyond measure.

  Wesley’s chest shook, and in his agony, he wished he’d never gone to that tower and began this wretched tale.