Celestia's POV Five Years Later
I asked for information on Duke Ashford's grain shipments. Not excuses.
I kept my voice soft, but the merchant across from me went pale anyway. Good. In the five years since I'd crawled out of the Borderlands, I'd learned that fear was more valuable than gold in the Shadow Markets.
And I'd become very good at inspiring fear.
Please, Architect, he stammered, using the title everyone here knew me by. The Duke's security is tighter than ever. Getting access to his shipping records is nearly impossible
I didn't ask if it was impossible. I asked when you'd have them. I leaned forward slightly, letting shadows hide most of my face beneath my hood. You've had three weeks. That's generous, considering others have gotten less time for simpler tasks.
Two more days! Just give me two more days!
I considered it. Let him sweat. Let the silence stretch until he started to squirm.
One day, I said finally. If the information isn't on my desk by sunset tomorrow, I'll give the assignment to someone more capable. And everyone will know you failed.
His face crumbled. Yes, Architect. Thank you, Architect.
Marcus will show you out.
My second-in-command materialized from the corner, a former spy who'd been disgraced and discarded by the Empire three years ago. I'd given him purpose and loyalty. He'd given me his considerable skills.
This way, Marcus said, gesturing to the door.
The merchant scrambled out of the private room in my tavern, leaving me alone.
I pulled back my hood and breathed deeply.
The girl who'd been sold to Lord Harren would never recognize me now. That girl had been soft, trusting, desperate. I'd carved all that weakness out of myself with the same determination I'd used to survive six months of hell.
Lord Harren had died eventually—slowly, painfully, from the consumption that had been eating him alive. I'd inherited nothing but debts and a crumbling manor.
So I'd sold everything, paid the debts, and disappeared into the Shadow Markets with exactly thirty-seven gold pieces and a burning need for revenge.
Five years later, I controlled information networks across the Empire, owned businesses in every major city, and had half the noble houses in my debt without them knowing it.
I was The Architect, the most powerful person no one had ever seen.
And I was getting close. So close to having enough power to destroy everyone who'd destroyed me.
Another satisfied customer? Marcus closed the door and leaned against it.
He'll deliver tomorrow or be ruined. Either way works for me. I poured wine into two glasses. What else needs attention today?
The imperial summons.
My hand froze halfway to my lips. What summons?
Marcus pulled a cream envelope from his jacket, sealed with the imperial eagle in red wax. Arrived this morning. Royal courier. For The Architect specifically.
My heart started pounding—hard, painful beats that made my chest ache.
I hadn't heard from the palace in five years. Not since my father had witnessed my wedding night and left me in hell without looking back.
When did it arrive? I forced my voice to stay steady.
Dawn. The courier said it was urgent. Marcus held it out. Do you want to read it?
I stared at the envelope like it was a snake.
Five years of carefully built walls. Five years of turning pain into power. Five years of promising myself I'd never let them hurt me again.
And now they were reaching out.
Open it, I said. Read it to me.
Marcus broke the seal and unfolded the letter. His eyebrows rose.
Well? I demanded.
It's from Emperor Aldric, he said carefully.
The wine glass slipped from my fingers. I caught it just before it fell, but wine sloshed over the rim.
Emperor Aldric. Not Crown Prince anymore.
Which meant his father had died.
Read it, I commanded, my voice barely above a whisper.
Marcus cleared his throat:
To The Architect,
The Emperor is dead. The Empire faces threats from multiple noble houses attempting to seize power in the transition. Civil war is possible within months.
I request your immediate assistance in stabilizing the realm. Name your price—money, lands, titles, anything. I need the best political strategist in the Empire, and my sources say that's you.
Thousands of innocent lives depend on preventing this war.
Please come.
Emperor Aldric Valoreth
The room spun slightly. I gripped the table to steady myself.
Aldric needed me. The man who'd let me be sold to a monster. The man who'd chosen duty over love. The man who'd stood in that chapel and done nothing while they dragged me away.
He needed me now.
No, I said flatly. Absolutely not.
You didn't let me finish. Marcus continued reading: I understand you may have reasons to refuse. But this isn't about me. Innocent people will die if the Empire fractures. Children. Families. People who had nothing to do with palace politics.
He looked up. There's a postscript.
I don't want to hear it.
It's in different handwriting. Personal, not official. Marcus's voice softened. It says: 'I've been searching for Celestia Ashford for five years. Every lead, every rumor, every whisper. If you know where she is, if you have any information, please tell her I'm sorry. Tell her I never stopped looking. Tell her I'd give up this crown for one chance to explain.'
My throat closed up. I couldn't breathe.
Celestia? Marcus used my real name, which he only did in private. Are you alright?
I'm fine. My voice came out strangled. The answer is still no.
The Empire needs
I don't care what the Empire needs! I stood abruptly, sending my chair crashing backward. The Empire destroyed me! Let it burn!
And all the innocent people with it?
I wanted to scream that I was innocent too. That no one had saved me. That I'd suffered and survived and built myself back up from nothing, and now they wanted me to save them?
But Marcus's eyes were too knowing. Too gentle.
You've spent five years helping people the Empire forgot, he said quietly. The widows you gave jobs. The orphans you fed. The merchants you protected from corrupt nobles. You've built power specifically to protect innocent people from the games nobles play.
That's different.
How?
Because those people didn't betray me!
No. But they'll still die if you don't help. Marcus set the letter on the table. Civil war doesn't care who's innocent. It kills everyone.
I stared at the letter. At Aldric's handwriting. At the desperate postscript that made my chest ache.
He'd been searching for me.
For five years.
He didn't search hard enough, I whispered.
Or you hid too well, Marcus countered. You've spent five years making sure Celestia Ashford stayed dead. You changed your appearance, your voice, your name. You operate through proxies and shadows. Even I didn't know who you really were until you told me.
That was true. I'd dyed my hair darker, trained my voice lower, changed everything about myself. The girl Aldric had known was completely gone.
What do you think I should do? I asked.
I think you should go back. Marcus met my eyes steadily. Not for him. Not for revenge. For all the people who'll suffer if you don't. And maybe... He hesitated. Maybe to prove to yourself that you're stronger than what they did to you.
My hands trembled slightly. I clasped them together to hide it.
If I go back, I said slowly, I do it my way. Completely veiled. No one sees my face. No one knows who I am. I work anonymously with total control over every decision.
He'll never agree to those terms.
Then let his Empire fall. I picked up the letter and read it again. Aldric's handwriting was messier than I remembered. Desperate. Either he accepts my conditions, or I walk away forever.
Marcus pulled out fresh parchment. I'll draft the response.
I should have said no. Should have thrown the letter in the fire and never looked back.
But my hands were already reaching for the pen.
I wrote out my terms clearly:
The Architect accepts on the following non-negotiable conditions: Complete anonymity—I work veiled, identity protected. Total authority over all decisions. No questions about my methods or identity. Accept these terms or find someone else.
I sealed it and handed it to Marcus. Send this. If he refuses, we never speak of this again.
Two days later, the response arrived.
Marcus brought it to me while I was reviewing shipping manifests. His expression was unreadable.
Well? I demanded.
He accepted. All terms. No conditions. Marcus handed me the letter. He's desperate, Celestia. Really desperate.
I broke the seal with trembling fingers:
All conditions accepted. Come immediately. The Empire is collapsing faster than I thought possible. I'll give you anything you ask. Just please help me save them. -A.
Tucked inside was a second note, hastily written:
To The Architect—I don't know who you are, but my advisors say you're brilliant and ruthless. I need both. To Celestia, if somehow this reaches you—I'm sorry. I'm so desperately sorry. I know I don't deserve your forgiveness, but please know I never stopped loving you. I never stopped searching. And I'd burn this entire Empire down for one chance to see you again. Come home. Please. -Aldric
The paper crumpled in my fist.
When do we leave? Marcus asked quietly.
I looked at myself in the mirror across the room. Five years had changed everything. My hair was darker now, my face harder, my eyes colder. I wore expensive clothes instead of rags. I commanded respect instead of begging for mercy.
I wasn't Lady Celestia Ashford anymore.
I was The Architect. A weapon forged in pain and tempered in rage.
And I was going to use that weapon to cut down everyone who'd destroyed me.
Tonight, I said. We leave tonight. Prepare the heavy veils—the ones that hide everything. And Marcus?
Yes?
I smiled, and it wasn't kind.
Send word to Emperor Aldric that The Architect accepts his invitation. But warn him—once I enter that palace, everything changes. The Empire he knew is over.
And if he asks what that means?
Tell him he'll find out soon enough.
As I packed my things that night, I found myself standing in front of the small locked box I'd kept hidden for five years. Inside was the only thing I'd saved from my wedding day—my mother's tiara, the one Vivienne had placed on my head that morning.
The one I'd been wearing when they destroyed my life.
I'd sworn I'd never touch it again until I'd earned the right to wear it.
Until I'd taken back everything they'd stolen.
I left it in the box.
Not yet.
But soon.
The carriage rolled toward the capital that night, eating up miles in darkness. I stared out at the shadowed landscape, watching the Borderlands fade behind us.
Five years ago, I'd left the capital as a broken girl being dragged to hell.
Now I was returning as the most powerful person in the Empire that nobody knew about.
Let them welcome The Architect with open arms.
Let them trust her. Rely on her. Give her access to everything.
They had no idea they were inviting their own destruction through the palace gates.
I pressed my palm against the carriage window and whispered a promise to the girl I used to be:
I'm coming home. And this time, I'm the one holding all the power.
Let them tremble.
The Architect is here.