The heavy oak doors shut behind the last of the Lords. Candles burned low, casting flickers across a table lined with strained faces. King Isis sat at the head, fingers laced, expression carved from stone.
"Report," he said.
Lord Maeven cleared his throat. "The last shipment of water from the Shem border arrived at dawn, fifty-five gallons. Rationed, it may last us a month. But only just."
"And the cost?" Isis asked, voice sharp.
"They're charging double. They smell weakness," Lord Waydell said with a sneer.
"Sixty-three dead, Majesty," Lord Hugh added. "Serfs. Most from the outer territories. They ignored the edicts and drank straight from the wells and streams."
"There's panic in the villages," another lord muttered. "Some believe we cursed them ourselves."
Isis's gaze shifted to Kael, who hadn't spoken. He sat reclined, a coiled snake idly slithering along his arm.
"I trust you have something useful to add, Kael."
Kael straightened.
"Your Majesty," Kael began, with slow precision. "One of my own fell yesterday. A pureblood. During training, he merely rinsed a shallow wound with water from the barracks well. Within seconds, he collapsed, his veins blackened, heart stopped. No time to call a medic. No time to even speak."
The room shifted uneasily. Even the ever-composed Lord Maeven narrowed his eyes.
Kael continued, gaze fixed on the King. "This contamination is no longer just a threat to your serfs and cattle. It touches our kind. Vampiric blood is resilient, yet it couldn't withstand whatever filth runs through our sources now. If the alchemists are correct, and cyanide or worse has seeped in then whoever is behind this seeks to bring the whole realm to its knees."
Lord Cassian scoffed. "What lunatic would poison both man and monster? This is suicidal."
Lord Hugh muttered, "Or strategic…"
Lord Zen, veiled and expressionless, simply nodded once.
Kael turned slightly to the gathered Lords.
"I strongly advise that none of our kind drink directly from human-run wells or open streams until we trace the contamination's source. Even blood from livestock fed with this water may be tainted."
Isis leaned back, brows drawn. "And the alchemists?"
"They have found no cure. Only speculation," Kael replied. "They believe the poison is magical in origin—laced with mundane compounds. Alchemy alone cannot undo it."
Tension thickened.
Lord Cassian snapped, "Then we must close the outer villages and quarantine the sick. Bleeding hearts be damned."
But Lord Hugh countered, "Close the villages and we invite revolt. The people already riot over taxes, they say we hoard water. They curse you, Your Majesty."
Isis exhaled slowly, tapping a finger on the armrest.
"Then," he said darkly, "it is time to separate those loyal… from those who would see us fall."
He stood.
"We shall host a royal ball. All vassals, allies, and courtiers will attend. Those who refuse will mark themselves by absence. Let wine and music uncover plots better than blades can."
The Lords bowed, some eager, others wary. The storm beneath the crown was building.
***
Eugene entered the room quietly, balancing a towering stack of parchment in his arms. Without warning, he stumbled, and the papers cascaded down with a loud rustle right in front of Sapphire.
Her eyes widened in shock as she stared at the sprawling mess. "All this... you got it from where?" she asked, disbelief heavy in her voice.
"From the archives founded by Lord Typhon," Eugene replied calmly, kneeling to gather the parchments. "Previous outbreaks, their causes, treatments, all carefully recorded here. If anyone can find a clue, it's in these pages."
"If I were you, I'd better start now," Eugene said, his voice low but firm.
Sapphire straightened, brushing dust off her sleeves as she glanced back at the scattered parchments. The weight of responsibility pressed heavily on her shoulders.
"There's no time to waste," she murmured.
Eugene nodded toward the heavy wooden door. "Lord Typhon expects progress. He's not known for his patience."
She gave a small, determined smile. "Neither am I."
Together, they bent over the sprawling documents, ready to unravel the secrets hidden within the fragile pages.
"I guess English wasn't the writer's forte," Sapphire muttered, frowning at the parchment covered in thick Latin script. She ran a hand through her hair in frustration.
"Archemedes… they're all in Latin. I only know a few words—Latin was never my strong suit."
Eugene said nothing for a moment as he silently began to gather the scattered parchment. His eyes scanned the faded ink, his expression unreadable. Sapphire could tell he recognized some of it, his gaze lingered a second too long on certain lines.
"These came from the archives?" she asked, glancing at him.
A quiet nod. "They once belonged to the Lord's mother."
Sapphire blinked. "She wrote them?"
"She compiled and annotated most," Eugene said simply, still not meeting her gaze.
She studied him a moment, curious about what he wasn't saying. Then he spoke, still calm, still formal.
"Do you need help, milady?"
Sapphire's brows rose. "I didn't expect you to offer."
"I'm free today," he replied, setting the last scroll into place. "The Lord is away on business."
She gave him a faint smile. "Then I'd be foolish to say no."