Page 1 of Honorable Convictions
Chapter 1
1905 AD
Order of the Fallen Knights Training Facility
Everything was dark as he adjusted to his new body. Information flowed through his brain, and he was reassured by each element catalogued with care. Resurrected to protect and defend the Council of Sorcery and Shifters, he was a fallen knight. It was a noble purpose, and he rejoiced in his new immortality. Something shifted at his side, and his senses told him it was a sentinel. They were elite assassins who, like him, had been brought to life by necromancers. Flexing his fingers, he forced his heavy eyelids up and found the sentinel watching him.
“Do you wish for a drink or something to settle your stomach?”
His tongue was thick, and it took great effort to open his mouth to speak. “I am well.”
A bespectacled sorcerer with frizzy brown hair strode over, and the wisdom in his pewter gaze gained his immediate respect. “Are you sure you do not need anything?”
“No, thank you, Arch Lich. Have you selected my name yet?” he asked the leader of the Order of Necromancia. Arch Lich Chander Daray not only ruled his people but had created the Order of the Fallen Knights and had personally cast the spell to pull each man and woman’s spirit from across the veil. Without memory of his previous existence, his knowledge wasn’t complete, but the Arch Lich used his talents to choose souls who’d once been warriors of some kind.
“You are Fallen Knight, Rank 1 Mitchell Brooks.”
The corners of Mitchell’s mouth turned up into a tiny smile. Ambitious, he would not remain at that low of a rank for long. “Please allow me to express my gratitude for this opportunity to serve the Council.”
The Arch Lich returned his grin. “It was my pleasure. Would you like to try sitting up?”
“I would.” To his surprise, the sentinel grasped his arm. The data imparted in his mind told him that the assassins rarely, if ever, laid a hand on someone, and he was distracted by the knowledge that it was unknown how they reacted to their mates. In the thousands of years of history he was granted, there wasn’t a singular instance of them finding their other half. Fate was supposed to pair up every shifter and sorcerer—or anyone else imbued with her gifts—with someone who was their perfect match. Why then were sentinels kept in a compound that denied them the opportunity to seek out their partner?
“Are you all right?” the sentinel asked, and Mitchell understood his query. Frozen in place, he was trying to understand why the necromancers would hurt sentinels in that way. There was no fairness in the decision.
“I apologize, I was distracted.” It was not for Mitchell to question the leader of the necromancers and the former ruler of the Council, so he had no choice but to set aside the puzzling question and concentrate on slowly lifting himself from the soft blanket of the cot beneath him. With some help from the sentinel, Mitchell managed to swing his legs to the floor. The room spun, and he regretted his movements. “Might I have that water now?”
“Of course,” the Arch Lich responded.
His sentinel quickly poured him a glass. Mitchell graciously accepted it and concentrated on his black boots in order to balance his equilibrium.
“A biscuit might help,” the sentinel remarked, and a small plate came into Mitchell’s view. Not wanting to be rude, he accepted one of the crisp discs and was pleasantly surprised by the taste.
“You have helped me, and yet I do not know your name,” Mitchell ventured after swallowing the entire treat.
“I’m Benton Daray. You can call me Benton or Ben.”
Mitchell lifted his head and wondered how he’d failed to miss the glowing daggers floating at Benton’s hips. The curved blades were barely obscured by the green poison that shifted as he watched. Although there was nothing capable of penetrating Mitchell’s skin—barring the temporary knives the Arch Lich had created to allow fallen knights to bleed long enough to unite with their mates fully—he was still slightly intimidated by the deadly weapons. Briefly, he wondered if they stood out more because the sentinel wore charcoal-gray clothing from head to toe, but he doubted any color would make them blend in.
“Thank you, Benton. The biscuit has settled my stomach,” Mitchell said and hoped it forever cured his desire to vomit, as it was a most unpleasant sensation.
The door swung open, and a blond man with a bright smile sauntered in. “Good morning. How are you feeling?” he asked Mitchell.
Inside of him was a war. Venerable Knight Vann Ruarc was his superior, and he wanted to get to his feet to greet him properly, but his body warned him that he wasn’t ready for it. His brows furrowed, and his muscles tightened. Curling his fingers around the edge of the cot, he lifted but was less than an inch off it when a hand landed on his shoulder.
“Don’t try to get up yet; it’s not necessary,” the Arch Lich assured him.
“Definitely not,” one of the two men who were second in command of the Order of the Fallen Knights added. Although it felt wrong not to acknowledge one of his bosses, Mitchell allowed himself to relax when he noted that VK Ruarc was still wearing his friendly grin.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, VK Ruarc,” he offered.
“The pleasure is mine. Relax and take your time. You’re the first one resurrected this morning, so you get first pick of the rooms, but take as long as you need to feel comfortable to get around. I’m sorry I wasn’t here to help you, but the Arch Lich started earlier than I thought he would.”
With a shrug, the Arch Lich crossed his arms. “I couldn’t sleep, so I decided there was no point in waiting.”
“You tell me that every year, but I swear you get here earlier on purpose so Ben can brag that he got to help our first recruit,” VK Ruarc said, then turned to Mitchell. “Did the Arch Lich give you your name yet?”
“Yes, I am FK1 Mitchell Brooks.”
