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Nothing stood out to her, but that could just as easily mean that the handler themselves would be biding their time. Or that the handler didn’t exist.

Ah, that was the problem with stupid idiots. One was liable to overthink basically any answer or possibility now, because the statement ‘surely they wouldn’t be so idiotic as to…’ could always turn out to, in fact, manifest such imbecilic things into reality. But a mausoleum was perhaps the smartest choice that they could’ve made, under such circumstances. Indeed, if Serenity was such a Goddess-spiting bastard, she would’ve used the mausoleum as a deadfall trap. Manipulated this Tyli into feeding old information to whomever she sought out help from. Lead any good-hearted knights into this crypt, baiting them with the sister’s cries. And, with befouled sorcery, collapsed the mausoleum upon them, adding more corpses to the graves.

It was a ploy that could work even if the assassination had been successful. And it was a ploy too, that still seemed to have too many unanswered questions. How much of everything was connected? How much planned? It was convenient enough for the Bandit King to have made a loud enough ruckus to draw out the Iron Rose from Aimlenn, but even in their absence, the Crown Knights should have remained vigilant, and that wasn’t even accounting for the Mages’ College. And a group of five, to be present in a graveyard that housed the bodies of nobles and royals, undetected? How much of this was due to cooperation, how much to incompetency?

Murmurs grew louder. Serenity’s ears caught the whispers that rippled outwards. Lady Veilena was quick to jump to her own defense, but her own proclamation was loud enough to be heard by the others.

Criminals hiding within the traitors’ graves.

Many of those present may be [i]insipid[/i], but none of them were uneducated. They could infer well enough, though they were blind to how prejudices colored such inferences. It lined together easily, conveniently. Who else could sneak a necromancer into the crypt of the Cazsts, if not their heir? And even if true answers could be divined from those tomb-dwellers, being exonerated by the law was not equal to being exonerated by society.

The assassin would hang, lest a precedence be set.

The sister was hopeless, her fate sealed either as hostage or corpse.

And as Knight, as Arcedeen, her path too was set. It mattered not, what ploys were in place, what traps were set, what evils lurked beneath. If it existed, she would challenge it. Dress or not. And so, she too stalked behind the staff leading to the armory, heels clacking against stone.

The gloom of the armory was inviting, the torchlight casting an amber hue over the armaments. It was standard-issue equipment, a full set worth less than her sword, but she took to it quickly anyways, waving off the staff that moved to offer her assistance. Gambeson and chainmail, tightened around her hips with a belt. A dagger was drawn against the side of her dress, slicing open the confining fabric to allow for wider movement of her legs. Heels swapped out for boots, gauntlets for her hands. A bascinet without a visor; wherever they were going would be dark, and a visor would render her wholly blind. As for armaments…

A round shield strapped to the left, and a flanged mace in the right. A shortsword for nimbler foes, and a set of daggers to accompany them. A hatchet, always.

[b]“Pants too.”[/b] Serenity spoke, though she wasn’t expecting the armory to have a wardrobe too. [b]“That would be good.”[/b]