The secret tunnels beneath the palace were damp, smelling of ancient earth and the copper tang of the city's plumbing. Livius carried Vaelin to a safe house in the Under-City, a hidden chamber beneath the clock tower that served as the headquarters for Nexus.
Grog was there, waiting with a bowl of medicinal broth and a look of genuine shock. He had never seen his "Master" carry anyone before. "Who's the old bird, boss?"
"The only man who knows who I am," Livius said, laying Vaelin on a cot. The record keeper was unconscious, his neck bruised a deep purple from Kaelen's grip. "Guard him with your life, Grog. If a single hair is harmed, I will dismantle Nexus and start again with your bones as the foundation."
Grog gulped and nodded frantically.
Livius walked to the center of the room, where a massive map of the Empire was spread across a stone table. It was covered in pins—black for Nexus agents, red for the First Prince's loyalists, and blue for the Third Prince's mercenaries.
"The Emperor hasn't even been dead for six hours, and they're already tearing the capital apart," Livius remarked, his eyes tracing the red and blue lines clashing near the Treasury. "The Guardian family has retreated to their fortress. The Dukes are sealing their borders. They're waiting for a victor."
"And what do we do, Master?" a young Web-Walker asked from the corner.
Livius picked up a black pin and placed it directly on the Imperial Palace. "We let them bleed. The more they fight, the more secrets they reveal. Every time a noble switches sides, we record it. Every time a commander takes a bribe, we document it. We are not soldiers in this war. We are the vultures waiting for the feast."
He looked at the locket around his neck, containing his grandmother's ashes. He had lost everything that tied him to the "Livius" of the North Wing. He was now truly a ghost. He took the portrait Vaelin had painted and laid it on the table. In the dim light of the Under-City, the golden eyes of the painting seemed to watch him with an expectant, heavy gaze.
"I will give them five years," Livius whispered.
"Five years to destroy themselves. And then, I will come for the pieces."