The Kladis mansion shone on the hill like an infected tumor wrapped in golden silk.
From the main entrance, the light of hundreds of oil lamps and beeswax candles spilled onto the cobblestones, illuminating the procession of arriving carriages. String music floated in the night air, a sweet, cloying melody designed to drown out the sound of the dirty deals being struck in the dark corners.
Kael watched the spectacle from the coachman's box, seated next to Marcus. His servant's tunic itched, and the smell of dust he had rubbed into his hair tickled his nose.
"Too much light," Marcus muttered, gripping the reins with sweaty hands.
"Too many guards."
"It's a stage, Marcus," Kael replied without moving his lips, keeping his head down as befitted his feigned rank.
"And on a stage, everyone looks at the main actors."
The carriage stopped in front of the marble steps. A uniformed lackey opened the door.
Donal stepped out first. His face was pale, waxy under the torchlight, but he stood tall. He offered his hand to Elara.
When she descended, there was an appreciative murmur among the waiting guests. The blue dress, modest but elegant, made her look like a martyred saint or a queen in exile. Her hair was pulled back, her neck exposed.
And she smiled.
It was the smile Kael had forced her to practice. Timid. Submissive. The smile of a woman who has accepted her place.
Aldric descended last. He looked dirty, big, and dangerous. His leather armor creaked, and his hand rested casually on the pommel of a sword that looked like it had seen too many street fights. He placed himself behind Elara, a menacing shadow that contrasted with the elegance of the party.
"Stick to the plan," Kael whispered as he jumped from the coachman's box to help with the nonexistent luggage and mingle with the stream of servants entering through the side.
Marcus nodded imperceptibly and moved the carriage toward the waiting area.
Kael slipped into the shadows of the service wing. No one stopped him. No one looked at him. He was a boy in grey clothes carrying an empty box. To the guards at the door, he was less than a ghost.
The interior of the mansion was an assault on the senses.
The main ballroom was vast, with vaulted ceilings painted with scenes of commerce and prosperity that seemed to mock the reality of Arven. Crystal chandeliers hung like frozen tears, and the polished marble floor reflected the guests' shoes.
Elara felt like she was walking on thin ice. Each step resonated in her ears louder than the music.
"Smile," her father whispered to her, his arm trembling slightly beneath hers.
"They are watching us."
And they were. Fat merchants with jeweled wives, minor nobles seeking loans, bought-off guard captains. All eyes were on Daemon Kladis's fiancée.
"Ah! Our guests of honor!"
The voice boomed from the center of the room. Nikolas Kladis approached, forcing his way through the crowd like an icebreaker ship.
He was a short, wide man, with a shiny face and small, dark eyes that gleamed with greed. He wore red velvet, too hot for the season, and his fingers were laden with rings.
By his side, Daemon.
Elara felt bile rise in her throat. Daemon held a wine glass in his hand, and he was already swaying slightly. His clothes were impeccable, but his smile was twisted, predatory.
"You are late. We thought shyness had held you back."
"We had... mishaps on the way,"
"The important thing is that you are here," Nikolas focused on Elara's dress. His eyes scanned her like someone evaluating his prey.
"And you, my dear... you look acceptable. Modest. I like it. Daemon needs a modest woman to balance his... spirit."
"Lord Kladis," Elara said, making a deep curtsy.
"It is an honor."
Daemon stepped forward, invading her personal space. The smell of sweet wine and stale sweat hit her.
"Elara," he slurred the words.
"You look delicious. That blue... it almost makes me forget how difficult you were on the journey."
He extended a hand and stroked her cheek. His fingers were moist.
Elara froze. Her instinct screamed run, hit him, scream.
She remembered Kael's grey eyes. You are a trap.
She forced her muscles to relax. She tilted her head towards his hand, like a cat seeking a caress.
"I was scared, Daemon," she whispered, loud enough for those nearby to hear.
"I didn't understand... my duties. But now I understand. I am yours."
Daemon blinked, surprised. He expected resistance. He expected fear. The submission caught him off guard, and then, excited him. His smile widened, becoming obscene.
"Wow," he laughed, looking at his father.
"See? She just needed a little discipline."
"Good," Nikolas grunted.
"Enjoy the party. At midnight we will make the official announcement. I want everyone to know that House Voss now belongs to House Kladis."
They walked away toward other guests. Aldric, who had remained two steps away, let out a breath through his nose.
"Hold on, girl," the knight murmured, maintaining his bored mercenary posture.
"You're doing well."
"I feel dirty," Elara whispered, keeping the frozen smile on her face.
Kael moved through the service hallways like a rat in a known maze.
The kitchen was a chaos of shouting, steam, and the smell of roasting meat. Kael passed through the middle carrying a tray of empty glasses he had stolen from a side table. No one paid him any attention.
"You! Boy!" a sweaty cook shouted.
"Take that to the east lounge! Quick!"
"Yes, sir," Kael said.
He left the kitchen for the east wing service hall. According to Nia's map, the back stairs were behind the wine pantry.
He reached the pantry door. It was ajar.
He slipped inside.
"Psst."
The sound came from behind a beer barrel.
Nia peeked her head out. She was covered in dust and cobwebs, but her eyes shone in the darkness.
"You're late," the girl whispered.
"Kitchen traffic was heavy," Kael replied, putting the tray on the floor. "Is it clear?"
"Two guards in the main hallway on the second floor," Nia reported with military efficiency.
"But the service stairs are empty. The cook went up ten minutes ago with dinner for the guards upstairs. They should be eating now."
"Perfect."
"Here," Nia handed him something small and metallic.
"I stole it from Dad years ago. It's a master lock pick for the interior doors. The locks in this house are old."
Kael took the tool.
"Stay here. If anyone comes, make rodent noises."
"I can make a very convincing squeak," Nia assured him.
Kael climbed the spiral staircase. The wooden steps creaked, but he knew how to step: on the edges, where the wood was supported by the stone.
He reached the landing on the second floor. He partially opened the door.
The hallway was carpeted, muffling the sounds. At the end, two guards were sitting in chairs, with plates of stew on their laps, laughing and conversing softly.
Nikolas's study was halfway between the stairs and the guards.
Kael calculated the distance. Ten meters. Light from gas lamps on the wall. Shadows between the decorative columns.
He waited.
One of the guards got up to stretch his legs, turning his back to the hall to look out the window toward the garden.
"What a party," he commented.
"The wine smells good from here."
"Shut up and eat," the other replied.
"If the old man catches us distracted, he'll cut our pay."
It was the moment.
Kael slipped out of the stairwell. He didn't run; running attracts attention. He moved smoothly, hugging the wall, taking advantage of the shadows of the columns.
One step. Two. Three.
The guard by the window turned around.
Kael froze behind a marble statue of some forgotten god.
"Did you hear something?"
"Must be an animal. This house is full of them."
The guard sat down again.
Kael reached the study door. The bronze lion heads looked at him with empty eyes. He tried the handle. Locked.
He took out Nia's lock pick. He knelt down.
'Three tumblers. Simple mechanism. Nikolas trusts his guards too much.'
Click. Click.
Clack.
The door yielded. Kael entered and closed it gently behind him.
The study smelled of expensive tobacco and leather. It was an ostentatious room, designed to intimidate. A massive desk, shelves full of books that had probably never been read, and a black iron safe in the corner.
Kael ignored the safe for now. Too much time to open. Nikolas was a man of habits. Frequently used documents, active contracts, would be on the desk.
He went there. He began to check the drawers.
Locked.
He used the lock pick again. He opened the first one.
Fake ledgers. Inflated revenues to show partners. Trash.
Second drawer. Letters from minor creditors. Empty threats.
Third drawer. False bottom.
Kael smiled.
He lifted the wooden panel. Beneath it was a package of scrolls tied with black ribbon.
He took them out and unrolled them on the desk, using the moonlight coming through the window.
His eyes quickly scanned the lines of ink.
"Route rights cession contract... Voss Family... Transfer clause upon marriage..."
It was the marriage contract. Brutal in its simplicity. Elara was not a wife in this paper; she was a liquidatable asset.
He kept reading.
"Promissory note to House Torren... Gambling debt... Exchange of favors... Iron monopoly in the southern district..."
There it was. The connection.
Nikolas owed a fortune to Lord Torren. Torren had forgiven the interest in exchange for Nikolas using his dirty methods to acquire the Voss routes.
But Kael frowned.
He kept searching. Personal letters. Notes.
"Metal... speculations... unconfirmed rumors..."
Kael stopped.
He read a note written in Nikolas's hurried handwriting.
'Jerek Torren insists on the metal. Says his spies saw heavy shipments. Believes the Vosses found a vein in the mountains or are smuggling star steel. Idiot. Voss doesn't have the capacity. But as long as Torren pays, I'll chase the ghost.'
Kael let out a silent sigh.
It was true. There was no metal. The Torrens were paranoid and greedy, chasing a shadow. And Nikolas knew it, but he was using that paranoia to save his own skin.
Kael put the documents inside his tunic.
'I have proof of extortion. I have proof of Nikolas's debt. I have proof that the Torrens are manipulating the market.'
But he stopped. He looked at the safe.
Something was missing.
These papers would prove they were criminals, yes. But in Vaeloria, and in Arven, nobles committed financial crimes all the time. A good lawyer and a bribe to the judge could kill it.
He needed something that would destroy them now. Something that would make it so not even the Torrens could defend Nikolas.
He approached the safe. It was an old imperial model. No combination, just a key and... Aether.
Kael placed his hand on the cold metal. He felt the internal mechanism. A basic Apprentice seal.
'I can break it. But it will make noise.'
He looked toward the door. The guards were still outside.
'I have enough to start the war. I can't risk being caught now.'
He decided not to open it. Greed broke the sack. He already had ammunition.
He turned to leave.
And then he heard heavy footsteps approaching the door.
"I'm going to get more wine," said the voice of one of the guards.
"The boss has a special bottle on the desk."
Kael froze.
There was nowhere to hide. The desk did not have a closed front. The curtains were transparent.
He looked up.
Wooden beams. High. Dark.
He jumped onto the desk, and from there, with an impulse of Aether in his legs, he launched himself toward the nearest beam. His fingers closed over the dusty wood. He hoisted himself into the shadows of the ceiling just as the door opened.
The guard entered. He was a corpulent man, his face red from alcohol.
He walked toward the desk, humming.
Kael watched him from above, holding his breath. A drop of sweat ran down his nose. If he fell...
The guard opened the drawer where the wine was. He took out a bottle.
Then he looked at the messy papers on the desk. Kael hadn't had time to make everything perfect.
The guard frowned.
"What the devil...?"
He moved closer to the papers.
Kael calculated the fall. He could drop onto him. Break his neck. But the noise would alert the other guard.
The guard touched the papers.
And then, from the hallway, there was a crash. A sharp, inhuman shriek, followed by the sound of breaking glass.
"Rats!"
the other guard shouted from outside.
"They've knocked over the vase!"
The guard in the study turned, forgetting the papers.
"That vase cost more than your life, idiot!"
He ran out of the study, slamming the door shut.
Kael exhaled.
Nia. The bright little Nia.
He dropped to the floor with feline softness. He wasted no time. He left the study, closed the door—the lock no longer mattered—and ran toward the service staircase.
Nia was waiting for him below, with a triumphant smile and a cut on her hand where she had hurt herself breaking a bottle of oil to simulate the accident.
"Let's go," Kael said.
"I have what we need."
Back in the ballroom, the atmosphere had changed.
Alcohol flowed freely. The laughter was louder, more strident. The orchestra played a fast piece.
Elara was in a corner, surrounded by a group of young nobles who were laughing at a joke she hadn't heard. Her smile was beginning to fracture at the edges. Her face hurt.
Daemon appeared by her side, stumbling. He had been drinking heavily. His eyes were glassy and full of dark intent.
"Elara," he growled, grabbing her arm.
"I'm bored. All these people... they're boring."
"The party is wonderful, Daemon," she said, trying to gently pull away.
"Your father will be..."
"To hell with my father," Daemon pulled her toward him, pressing his body against hers.
"I want my gift. Now."
"Daemon, please... not here. People..."
"Let them watch," he whispered in her ear, his breath hot and stinking.
"Let them see what's mine. Let's go upstairs. To my room. I'll show you my collection of... art."
Aldric stepped forward.
"Lord Kladis should wait," he said in his mercenary's voice, grave and rasping.
"The lady is tired."
Daemon turned toward Aldric, his eyes bloodshot.
"Who are you? Ah, the cheap guard dog. Shut up or I'll have you whipped."
He pulled Elara again, this time violently.
"Let's go."
Elara stumbled. Panic erupted in her chest. Kael had said to wait for the signal, but Daemon wasn't going to wait. He was dragging her toward the main staircase.
"No!" Elara shouted.
"Let go of me!"
The music stopped. Some heads turned.
Nikolas Kladis, from across the room, frowned.
Daemon, enraged by the public resistance, raised his hand and slapped Elara.
The sound was dry, crisp.
Elara fell to the floor, holding her red cheek.
The silence in the ballroom was complete.
Daemon looked at his hand, then at Elara, and his expression contorted into fury.
"Don't embarrass me, you bitch!" he screamed, raising his hand again.
It was the moment.
Elara looked at Aldric. She didn't have to say anything.
Aldric moved. Not like a clumsy mercenary. Like a siege tank.
He caught Daemon's wrist in the air before he could strike again. There was a crunch of bone.
"AAAAH!" Daemon screamed, falling to his knees.
"The lady said no," Aldric growled.
Then, with a fluid motion, he punched Daemon in the face. Not a slap. A strike from reinforced knuckles that broke the Kladis heir's nose and sent him unconscious onto the marbled floor.
Chaos erupted.
"Guards!" Nikolas shouted, running toward them.
"Kill that man! Kill them all!"
Aldric lifted Elara from the floor as if she were a doll.
"Run!" he yelled at her.
Kael appeared out of nowhere, emerging from behind a curtain, with Nia grasping his hand. He was no longer pretending to be a humble servant.
"To the side exit!" Kael ordered.
Aldric unsheathed his cheap sword.
Three house guards charged at them.
Aldric blocked the first blow, kicked the second guard in the chest, sending him into a buffet table, and hit the third with the pommel of his sword on the temple.
Brutal efficiency.
"Let's go!"
They ran.
Guests screamed and backed away, creating a corridor of panic. Glasses fell, tables overturned.
They reached the side door to the garden. Marcus was there with the carriage, the horses nervous. He had heard the screams.
Aldric threw Elara inside. Nia jumped after her.
Kael climbed in last, just as a crossbow bolt lodged in the wood of the door frame, centimeters from his head.
"Giddy-up!" Kael shouted.
Marcus whipped the horses. The carriage shot out, the wheels skidding on the gravel, crushing the Kladis's manicured hedges.
Behind them, at the entrance, Nikolas Kladis screamed orders at his men, his face purple with rage, while his son bled on the ballroom floor.
Inside the carriage, the air was a mix of gasps and adrenaline.
Elara touched her cheek, crying silently, but her eyes were alive. Nia was laughing, a hysterical laugh of relief.
Aldric wiped his knuckles, breathing heavily.
Kael reached into his tunic and pulled out the bundle of papers.
He looked at them under the moonlight coming through the window.
Contracts. Debts. Proof of the connection with Torren.
But there was nothing illegal. Nothing an imperial judge would consider a capital crime. It was usury, yes. It was immoral. But it was business.
The definitive letter was missing. The proof of smuggling, or murder, or treason against the empire was missing.
Kael gripped the papers.
He looked at Elara, at her swollen cheek.
"Are you alright?" he asked.
Elara nodded, wiping away her tears.
"You hit him," she said, looking at Aldric.
"Yes"
"Yes," Elara smiled, a broken but real smile.
"He deserved it."
Kael looked back, toward the mansion that was receding. The lights were still shining, but the party was over.
"This is not over," Kael said.
'Now they will come for us. With everything they have.'
The carriage disappeared into the night of Arven, carrying four fugitives and a secret that could start a war, or end their lives before dawn.