The palace guardhouse was never silent. Men were at the ready, night and day, patrolling halls or cleaning arms and armor, vigilant, prepared. But as the evening waned into night, the clamor of men on a mission dulled to a quiet hum. Most left posts to repose by a warm fire with a tankard of honey mead or engage in a game of Gall’s Gambit, testing their skills at strategy and misdirection against their comrades.

The night guard patrolled the barracks grounds with two stationed at its massive oak doors. And another two stood at relaxed attention outside the doors of the Sentinel’s Hall, which had been relieved of all of its occupants, save one.

Kellen stood over the map that he and the captains had been scrutinizing mere hours before. His hands rested on the table as he leaned over it and stared unseeing at its surface. The position of the blue pins had not changed. The topography and routes that had been scouted, checked, and rechecked by Cyrea’s greatest military minds had not changed. Every detail was as close to perfect for the High Prince’s arrival as one could expect, and yet…

And yet, it felt as if in the last two hours, everything had changed.

Someone had nearly taken Aiyana. Someone had gotten close enough to recognize her white hair and violet eyes under her thin disguise. This was no attempt by an opportunist out to take a random small child, for there were hundreds in the streets of Almontera and there’d been no reports of any going missing. No, this was targeted. This was deliberate. And it had almost been successful.

Kellen’s hands pressed so hard into the edge of the table that his fingertips turned bright red as he scowled down at the rough sketch of the city. Who would target her? And why? Was it an attempt to disrupt the royal arrival? A simple ransom plot?

With a growl, he pushed away from the table and paced with deliberation before the fire, his mind running through the possibilities. Captain Cheven and his men had not yet returned from nor sent word of their search of the city’s streets and back alleys, and Kellen worked to keep his mind from running over the possibilities of what they might find. It was futile, a waste of his time and energy to imagine all that was not. Best to wait and find out what was, as only then could he take the steps necessary to protect his family.

As if sensing the train of his thoughts, a knock resounded on the door leading to the chamber and without missing a step, he barked out, “Enter.”

A single door swung open and Edric, one of Cheven’s lieutenants, entered. “Sire.” He ducked his head in deference, not wasting time with a bow, as he raised his eyes to meet those of his prince. “The captain sent me. We’ve not found the men, but we have found where they were staying. We’ve secured the location, but they’ve clearly abandoned it. Still, the captain thought…”

“He thought right,” Kellen interjected. “Take me to it.”

At the mouth of a cramped alley, a small cluster of Cyrean guards with torches in hand snapped to attention as the sound of horse’s hooves came to a clattering halt and their prince dismounted in their midst. Without an exchange of words, the highest ranking among them turned and Kellen followed him. The cobblestone paths in this part of town were covered in layers of dirt and grime that left unpleasant traces on his boots as the soldier led the prince to a dark, wooden door that stood partly open. The guard bowed his head as he said, “The Captain is inside, sire.”

The entry itself was dark, but Kellen could see the traces of torchlight further ahead as he stepped inside what appeared to be a store room. As his foot struck something small, but solid, on the ground, he turned back to the soldier and said, “Bring me a light.” Moments later, the soldier joined him, holding a lantern that cast a warm glow across the room.

The floor was littered with empty wooden crates and broken pieces of wooden furniture, whether from the men they were seeking, or previous inhabitants, Kellen could not tell. In the corners where light fell, he could see layers of dust and cobwebs.

Stepping over the debris in his path, he moved through a cramped hallway toward the torchlight and voices emanating from another room. Four men turned and stood at attention as he entered to take in the scene. The captain broke from where he had been talking to the other four and approached as the prince’s eyes darted from the table with overturned chairs, where a half-eaten loaf of bread and nearly empty tankards stood, as if abandoned mid-meal. A fire smoldered in the hearth on the opposite side of the room and along the wall to his right a door stood open to a room that must have served as sleeping quarters, its contents haphazardly strewn about.

“Clearly, they left in a hurry,” he said, breaking the silence at last. Turning his gaze to Cheven, he asked, “What have you discovered so far?”

“There appear to have been three men. The shopkeepers who rented them the space said they spoke like Elarians, but had faint accents that marked them as potential foreigners. They have been living here for the past three months and kept mostly to themselves, paid on time in silver, and appeared to have no trade or occupation. They certainly weren’t interested in opening this place as a shop and kept the front windows shuttered.”

Kellen looked around the room, once again taking in its appearance, and asked, “Did they leave anything identifiable behind?”

Cheven took a deep breath, as if bracing himself, then said, “Nothing personal that we’ve found, but…” He paused and motioned to the men with his head, and they quickly exited to the sleeping quarters, torches in hand, as if they were going to search them again. “There is one thing I thought you should see. It’s outside.”

Kellen arched a white eyebrow. “Outside?” He’d just been outside and it looked utterly unremarkable. But he trusted Cheven’s judgement and followed the captain through the cluttered storeroom and back into the alleyway.

“May I see your lantern, sire?” Kellen handed it over and the captain raised the light to illuminate the frame of the door they’d just passed through. The light revealed etchings carved deep into the wood, runic symbols as old as time. And as Cheven halted the lantern at the center of the door frame, Kellen felt his blood run cold.

Teeth clenched, he stared at the symbol of the locust that had been carved into the wood and filled with bronze. As the light of the torch flickered, it appeared as if the metal moved, a molten liquid in the light.

Kellen’s hand moved of its own accord to the blade at his side and he drew it in an instant, raising it in a flash to slash through the center of the locust, as if dissecting it. He heard the slight hiss, whether from his own lips or the cursed creature, he could not tell as his blade finished the work. But tendrils of smoke rose from the edge of the silver dagger as he cast it to the ground.

His eyes met Cheven’s and when he spoke, it was a with a deep growl, his expression furious. “I want this place searched, top to bottom. Leave no stone, no floorboard, nothing unturned. And when the search is complete, I want it torn to the ground, stone by stone. Leave nothing standing, and then burn them all.”

A look of surprise flickered briefly over Cheven’s usually measured countenance before he replied, “Yes, sire. And the owners? The shops who share their walls?”

“Compensate them. Whatever the cost. I want this place destroyed.” His voice dipped to a dangerous whisper. “The locust touched my sister. I want every trace of him wiped from this city, do you hear me?”

“Aye, sire.”

Kellen turned away from the building and strode toward his horse. He called over his shoulder, “And find those men. Whatever it takes. Find them.”

As the sound of the prince’s retreating horse faded into the night, Cheven bent down to pick up the dagger his liege had discarded. But as he lifted it to the light, he saw that the blade had melted away, leaving only the hilt, and he looked up at the scarred carving of the locust, which still appeared to writhe in the lamplight.

The locust had returned to Elaris.