The map was spread across the stone floor of the cathedral, its edges weighted down with small stones. Leximus had traced its lines so many times over the past weeks that the paper had grown soft at the folds, the ink smudged where his finger had lingered. The palace was a maze—corridors within corridors, rooms within rooms, layers of security added by every monarch for the past three centuries. Eugene's intelligence had come from decades of observation, from servants who owed the cult favors, from guards who had been turned or bribed or blackmailed. But even Eugene admitted the map was incomplete.
"The eastern wing," Leximus said, pointing to a section near the kitchens. "This is where the servants' corridors run closest to the banquet hall. The walls here are thin—old construction, never updated. You can hear conversations on the other side."
Mira crouched beside him, her eyes following his finger. "That's where we position ourselves?"
"One of us. The others spread out. We need eyes on every entrance, every exit, every corridor that leads to the banquet hall."
Alex stood by the wall, his arms crossed, his face unreadable. He had been studying the map for hours, memorizing routes, counting doors, calculating the distance between guard posts. "The outer perimeter has twelve checkpoints," he said. "Regular soldiers, two per post, rotating every four hours. The rotation happens at midnight, four in the morning, eight, noon, four in the afternoon, and eight at night. The banquet starts at seven. The first rotation after that is at midnight."
"That's our window," Leximus said.
"The inner perimeter is tighter." Alex pointed to a ring of marks inside the outer checkpoints. "Avatar guards, one per corridor intersection. They don't rotate. They stay in place for the entire event. Eight of them, by Eugene's count."
"Eight Avatars," Mira said. "Fire, Water, Earth, Air?"
"A mix. The Crown likes to show off. They'll have representatives from each Church."
Leximus studied the marks. Eight Avatars. Twelve checkpoints. Dozens of servants moving through the corridors, carrying food and wine and messages. The palace would be crowded, chaotic, loud. That was the point of the banquet—to display wealth and power, to remind the lesser houses of their place. But chaos cut both ways. It hid the Crown's movements. It could also hide theirs.
Dylan sat at the edge of the circle, his legs crossed, his hands resting on his knees. He had been quiet for most of the planning, listening, learning. The baptism had changed him—not just his eyes, but his patience. He could sit for hours now without moving, without speaking, without seeming to breathe.
"The servants," he said. "The cult has three people in the palace. A maid in the eastern wing, a footman in the grand hall, and a cook's assistant in the kitchens. They've been there for years. They've never been asked to do anything but watch."
"Until now?" Leximus said.
"Until now." Dylan reached into his coat and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "Their schedules. Their routes. The times when they're alone."
Leximus took the paper and scanned it. The maid, Alice—different from the clerk at the Ministry—worked the eastern corridor from seven in the evening until midnight. The footman, Thomas, was stationed at the grand hall entrance, where he opened doors for arriving nobles. The cook's assistant, Marta—another Marta, not the old woman from the Drown—worked in the kitchens from four in the afternoon until the last course was served.
"The maid can get us uniforms," Dylan said. "The footman can signal when the King arrives. The cook's assistant can tell us when the food is being served—that's when the guards are most distracted."
"Distracted how?"
"They eat. Not all at once, but in rotation. The cook's assistant knows the schedule."
Leximus nodded. This was the kind of detail that made the difference between success and failure. Not grand plans, not heroic gestures. Small things. Schedules. Routines. The moments when people stopped paying attention.
Mira traced a route through the servant corridors, her finger moving from the kitchens to the eastern wing to the grand hall and back again.
"We enter through the service entrance here," she said, tapping a door at the rear of the palace. "The lock is old, the guard is a regular soldier who's been bribed by Alex's contact. He'll look the other way for thirty seconds—just long enough for us to slip inside."
"Then what?" Alex asked.
"Then we split up. Leximus takes the eastern corridor. I take the western. Dylan takes the kitchens. Alex stays near the service entrance as our exit."
"Why me at the exit?"
"Because you know the soldier. If something goes wrong, you can talk your way past him."
Alex didn't argue. He had been in the service before, years ago, before his wife died. He knew how soldiers thought, how they reacted under pressure, how to sound like he belonged.
"Communication," Leximus said. "We need a way to signal each other without speaking."
Dylan reached into his coat again and pulled out a small leather pouch. He untied the cord and poured the contents onto the map—four small stones, each one carved with a symbol Leximus didn't recognize.
"Echo-stones," Dylan said. "The cult has been collecting them for years. They're paired—two sets of two. Squeeze one, and the other grows warm. No sound. No light. Just heat."
"How far?"
"Across the palace. Maybe further. The cult hasn't tested the range."
Leximus picked up one of the stones. It was smooth, cool, lighter than it looked. He squeezed it. A moment later, the stone in Mira's hand grew warm.
"We use these for emergencies only," he said. "One squeeze for 'proceed.' Two for 'abort.' Three for 'help.'"
"And if someone loses their stone?"
"Then they're on their own. We can't risk going back for them."
Mira's jaw tightened, but she didn't argue.
The plan took shape over the next hour.
Entry. Routes. Signals. Exits. Contingencies for the contingencies. Leximus had learned to plan this way during his time with the Nightcrawlers—Sirius had been obsessive about preparation, about having a backup for every backup. The man was a monster, but he had been a good teacher.
"The banquet starts at seven," Leximus said. "The nobles will arrive between six and eight. The King will arrive at eight, with the Prince and the betrothed. That's when the hall will be fullest."
"That's when we watch," Mira said.
"That's when we count. How many guards. How many Avatars. Where they're positioned. Who looks tired. Who looks bored. Who looks like they might look the other way."
"And then?"
"Then we leave. We compare notes. We build a better plan."
Alex frowned. "All this for one night of watching?"
"All this for one night of watching." Leximus looked at him. "We only get one chance at the extraction. If we go in blind, we die. If we go in prepared, we might live."
Alex held his gaze for a long moment. Then he nodded.
The meeting ended.
Mira and Alex left first, their footsteps fading into the darkness beyond the altar. Dylan lingered, his eyes still on the map.
"The servants," Leximus said. "The maid, the footman, the cook's assistant. They're taking a risk helping us."
"They know the risk."
"Do they know what happens if they're caught?"
Dylan was quiet for a moment. "They know."
Leximus folded the map and tucked it into his coat. The echo-stones went into a separate pocket, wrapped in cloth to keep them from rubbing against each other.
"You should rest," Dylan said. "The banquet is in two weeks. You'll need your strength."
"I don't rest."
"Yes." Dylan stood. "You do and should."
He walked away, his footsteps silent on the stone.
Leximus knelt alone in the cathedral, the void-altar pulsing in the distance. The cold inside him was steady, patient.
Two weeks, he thought. Two weeks until I see her again.
He didn't know if that thought was hope or dread. He couldn't remember the difference anymore.