"So," Ronald actually pried his gaze away from Ranni for a second. "What are you two doing today?"
"We were just about to head over to—"
Mark tuned the two of them out, his mind churning out thoughts and possibilities.
'Ronald is a member of Ironhold? That explains the espionage…'
The Ironhold were the secret police of the Father's Church. The hidden blade of the Church is made up of a few, only known by a few—overseen by the wicked Cardinal.
Ronald wasn't ever mentioned as a member in the original novel, despite the novel going quite in-depth and fleshing out the Ironhold as a significant faction of intermediaries between the force of Law and the force of Evil.
'They're a religious death squad. Scary. Even worse I'm now involved with them. The question is why.'
What did the Ironhold have to do with Mark?
'Something to do with membership in the Church of the Father? Don't tell me I'm a rogue Ironhold member…'
End wouldn't do something so disgustingly evil and neglectful like that, right?
As for answers, Mark didn't really have any. He had to learn more—and to that end, he needed to confront Ronald head-on rather than entertain this cat-and-mouse game anymore.
"Mind if I accompany you? Think it's about time I expand my wardrobe," Ronald smiled as he asked politely.
'Say yes.'
"My apologies, but we're still on official Luikots business, despite our casual appearance," Ranni apologized as she declined his offer.
"I understand," Ronald replied, not skipping a single beat as he gave a curt bow. "Until next time."
He adjusted his glasses and began to walk forward, taking his leave.
But as he walked passed Mark, his mouth opened.
"Avis vocat," Ronald whispered, a hint of snarky anger in his hushed voice.
Mark stood frozen, watching Ronald's figure slowly grow more and more distant. He even looked back to meet Mark's eyes, a slight smirk growing on his face.
'A bird calls….'
Turning back around, Mark returned to a walking pace at Ranni's side.
"What happened?" she asked.
"It's nothing."
Ranni looked confused, obviously not buying it. Her Insight was great enough to hear the exchange of words take place, but not enough to interpret it.
But she didn't seem interested in pressing the matter. Ranni didn't suspect Ronald as being part of Mark's troubles; the two of them had a history pre-dating the Academy, though more at a close acquaintance level.
In reality, their underlying connection was deeper, only known between the two of them and their Churches. Ranni pushed it to the back of her mind, as the mere remembrance of such a decision soured her mood.
Regardless, the pair continued onward toward the underground, upper-class mall within the Glass Tower District.
'It's starting to come together.'
Even just from that brief catchphrase, Mark was able to extrapolate enough information to start to form a decision. A choice.
A bird called. The bird—a Cardinal. The Ironhold summoned him, yet he had no way to heed their calls.
Still, he had a choice. He could either skirt the Ironhold or take them head-on—throwing himself in the deep end as a result.
"What of our pursuant?" Mark asked. "Anyone still watching?"
"Doesn't seem like it," Ranni muttered as she squinted around. "There's a faint feeling, but it could be a placebo for all I know."
'They're still here.'
Every fiber of his being yelled to run. He wasn't safe. They were coming for him.
The Luikots Guild wasn't too far—with Alexander's help, he could have protection from them. Alex could even push back against them, perhaps even guarantee his safety thereafter—if he hid well enough.
That didn't seem likely. And if it was likely, it was wrong.
Yet, Mark was filled with fear. Filled with the unknown. Scared of the things he didn't know or understand.
But he had enough. He had enough information—enough courage—to take the plunge.
Mark simply had to make a choice.
And when he put it into such terms, the choice was easy.
***
Mark stood tentatively behind Ranni as she went through a rack of extremely expensive suits.
"It's a particular shade of grey," she explained, her attention focused on the suits. "And a particular type of fabric. An in-between of cotton and linen. The tailoring will make sure it's a slim fit, but you need to find one with the proper color and lapel. Peak lapel in particular. Can't forget the double vent either…"
"Grey is grey," Mark replied.
"No. Use your eyes. They're different. Everyone in aristocratic society will spot the difference instantly."
"Whatever."
"Since you won't be able to do it obviously, why don't you go get a proper fitting dress shirt?" Ranni practically commanded.
"Sure."
Mark walked off as Ranni focused on the suits entirely, determined to pick out the exact shade that suited the Luikots Guild brand.
Quickly, Mark grabbed a few dress shirts and entered the nearby changing rooms.
Ranni still remained engrossed in her search.
But had she actually focused on her surroundings, she may have noticed a crucial detail.
Mark was gone. Totally.
His presence had disappeared the moment he entered the changing room.
…
The moment Mark stepped foot inside, the walls turned black, and interweaving steel-like tendrils sealed the door, forcing Mark into a small metal box of a room.
It was no pocket dimension. Everything felt the same—just silent.
Emerging from the walls were two masked figures dressed in dark robes, the grey metal substance peeling off them and returning to seal the walls.
Their masks were made of metal scales—the eye slits were simple horizontal rectangles, while the mouth slit was in the shape of a sword.
It was Ironhold.
One of the figures was shorter, a thinner frame led Mark to believe that it was a woman—she emanated a feeling of strength despite that.
The other figure was tall and stout. Likely a man.
More telling was the fact that even now, the taller man pushed his mask back onto his face at the brow ridge.
'It's Ronald… what a fucking idiot.'
Now it was the three of them, standing in total silence, their gazes lording over Mark, who could just barely contain his fear.
"Can I help you?" Mark broke the eery silence.
"Fool!"
The taller man seized his hands around his neck, squeezing with all his might as Mark slammed into the wall behind him.
Mark's worst fears began to actualize. His will slowly crumbled.
But then his mind was cleansed of all useless thoughts. His hearing drained of a seething man's rage.
Everything was calm. The courage to make mistakes—it returned.
And that was when Mark's fist struck Ronald's metal mask.