"Aren't you afraid of traveling at night?" Radion asked, sprawled out in the back of the wagon, watching the moon through the tangle of branches overhead. His voice sounded a little muffled, as if losing that blackjack game was still weighing on him.
"Sir…" Thornheaven replied automatically, eyes never leaving the road.
"Aren't–sir– you afraid of traveling at night?" A stupid grin crept onto Radion's face, impossible to hide.
"You just couldn't help yourself, could you?" the driver said, glancing back at him with a faintly amused look.
"Nope. Sorry," Radion laughed, finally released from the effort of holding the joke in.
When the laughter faded and the sound of hooves in the mud and creaking wheels filled the silence, Thornheaven picked the topic back up.
"Why would I be afraid?"
"What do you mean, why?" Radion pushed himself up into a seated position. "Night's when all the weird things come out. Bandits, cultists, Vorloks, for one."
"Have you ever seen a Vorlok out here?" Thornheaven raised an eyebrow.
"Not exactly a live one…"
"A lone one?" he pressed. The wagon rocked as it hit a rut in the road.
"Well. Yeah."
"Then I could just as easily run into them anywhere else, at any time of day."
"How so? Even in the capital?" Radion asked, genuinely surprised.
Thornheaven shot him a quick, puzzled look, then understanding slid onto his face.
"Ah. Right. No city has technology that can suppress transformation," he went on, only to be met with even deeper confusion from Radion.
"You really mean to tell me Vorloks show up even in cities? People would be talking about it constantly."
"How often do you visit Ericus, Radion?"
"Didn't your informants tell you?" Radion joked on reflex—but Thornheaven's sympathetic glance told him they had. "From time to time. Lately, no more than two or three days at a stretch. Why? And what does that have to do with Vorloks?"
"When we get to the capital, keep your eyes open. You should understand what I mean then." He let the matter drop at the same moment a bat swept silently over their heads.
"But I still don't get it," Radion cut into the quiet, impatience bleeding through. "Why would the Minister of Finance not be afraid of traveling alone at night? If you're counting on me acting as a bodyguard, I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you."
"I used to lecture at Boundary," Thornheaven said. "I'm surprised you didn't know that."
Radion's eyes went wide.
"Some branch of law, right?" he asked nervously, clearly on edge.
"I taught resonance and trained future seekers," he replied calmly.
"Did…" Radion hesitated. The driver adjusted the reins.
"Yes. My graduates are still looking for your father," Thornheaven answered before the question could form. "But that's no concern of mine. I no longer work for the Consortium, and I wish your father no harm."
The silence that followed made the nearby owls sound as loud as the midday bells in the heart of Ericus. Radion stared up at the sky, tracing lines between the stars, turning them into constellations of his own making—clearly trying to chase away certain thoughts.
How many years has it been since I last saw you? How can fate be this unfair? Of all the gifts a progenitor could inherit…
Radion pulled the wrapped sword closer to his chest, fingers tightening around the fabric until his knuckles went white. Thornheaven, focused on the road ahead, couldn't see the discomfort tightening the young man's features. Wanting to loosen the knot in his own chest, the young gambler tried to steer the conversation elsewhere.
Maybe he'll give me a better shot at finding you.
"So why did you change careers?" he asked, a bit unsure. "And why become a politician of all things?"
Thornheaven thought for a moment before answering.
"What do you think will happen when my goal is achieved?"
"Well… things will definitely change."
"Exactly. I'm sick of watching the Empire shine like a lighthouse in the dark when it was built on a mountain of corpses, with more piling up at its base every year. Cronyism, lies, manipulation. I want to tear it all down. As a minister, I have access to first-hand information and resources the Consortium would never grant me."
"And what about your brother?" Radion pressed. "From the way you talk, I'd guess your relationship isn't great, but still—he's family."
"Cassius is an old fool," Thornheaven replied. "The power he wields as an archbishop is terrifying—especially because he's the Archbishop of the Holy Scales."
"Yuraz was just named the Empire's patron god recently, right?" Radion cut in.
"My dear brother's propaganda," Thornheaven sighed. "Publicly, the Empire swears there will never be a single state religion. But Cassius's actions drag us closer to that outcome every day."
"And what's so bad about that? The Old Gods were under Jorath's rule anyway." Radion loosened his grip on the sword.
"What's bad," Thornheaven said, tilting his head from side to side to ease the stiffness in his neck, "is that he'll gladly unleash his hounds on other temples and anyone who worships anything but those miserable Scales. And once that happens, he no longer has to worry about answering for it."
"What kind of mindset does it take to fall into that sort of obsession?" Radion asked, genuinely curious.
"Mother always said she dropped Cassius once and he landed on his head," Thornheaven replied, eyes never leaving the road. "So I doubt there's much left inside."
Radion stared at him. After a beat of intense thought, his expression slowly brightened, and a wide smile began spreading across his face.
"Sir, did you just… try to make a joke?" he asked, practically vibrating with excitement.
"If you tell anyone about this, even my graduates won't be able to find you," the carriage-driver–comedian answered evenly.
"That knowledge might be worth more than most vaults," Radion said with mock gravity. "I'll treat it like a collector's item and keep it to myself." He gave a conspiratorial nod.
When their laughter faded, and the squelch of mud under the wheels crept back into focus, Radion asked:
"So how am I supposed to deal with him, then? How's a small-time gambler like me meant to stand up to a militarized church?"
"We're not in a hurry, Radion," Thornheaven said. "You'll be working with other progenitors. Your job will be to get rid of the hounds I mentioned—those charming lieutenants of the imperial army."
"But I'm not a progenitor," Radion blurted, thrown. "Did your informants finally get something wrong?"
A moment of silence followed. The wind was the only thing keeping those few seconds from becoming painful.
"You possess an unusual set of skills," the minister said at last, breaking the quiet, "one that will help bring my plans to fruition. If that weren't the case, I wouldn't have dragged myself all the way out to the frontier just to recruit you in person." He glanced back over his shoulder, offering a soothing smile. "Those titles I told you to use—sir, boss, teacher, mentor—they're not just old habits from Boundary. I'll be training you all regularly, keeping a close eye on your progress. I'll make sure you're properly prepared. I know you might not have much motivation yet to follow through on this mission, and that's exactly why I respect you honoring our wager as honestly as you did. But I'm hoping that once you really take a good look at the capital, you'll want to tear the Empire down as much as I do."
He held Radion's gaze, waiting for an answer. Radion hesitated for a heartbeat.
"All right," the young mage said at last. "I'll… try to keep an open mind."
Thornheaven gave a small nod and turned his eyes back to the road.
"I'm glad we've come to an understanding, Radion."