Chapter 13: Whispers from the Grave

Wren

The world shattered in a deafening roar of iron chains and exploding crystal.

The central chandelier crashed onto the mahogany table between us, splitting the wood down the middle. Hot wax splashed across the white linen as the candles caught the spilled wine.

Smoke surged into the air.

Lautaro reacted instantly.

He threw himself backward, his boots skidding across the marble as his broadsword cleared its sheath.

“Guards!” he bellowed.

I didn’t wait.

The moment the iron frame struck the table, the bone-handled spike was in my right hand. I dropped beneath the black haze, my silk skirts pooling around me.

The dining hall doors burst open as the outer guards rushed inside.

“Secure the windows! Check the doors!” Lautaro shouted.

Through the smoke, a dark shape moved near the shattered hearth.

Not a guard.

Not Lautaro.

A cold, calloused hand wrapped around my wrist, right where the silver-and-red weave burned against my skin.

I whipped the spike around, aiming for the figure’s throat.

“Easy, little bird.”

My breath caught.

The voice was rough and gravelly.

It wasn’t Kaelen.

It wasn’t my father.

The man crouching beside the broken chimney was old, his weathered face marked by a deep scar running from his left eyebrow to his jaw.

He wore the dark coat of the High Council’s shadow guard, bearing the crest of the Valdivieso family.

Beltrán.

My uncle.

The man my father had claimed died in the Silk Exchange massacre.

The man who had taught me to read maps before I could read words.

“Beltrán…”

The name burned my throat.

“You’re dead.”

“Not yet.”

He forced my hand down, hiding the spike beneath my dress.

His eyes flicked toward Lautaro, who was barking orders through the smoke.

“We have less than thirty seconds before the Commander realizes the chain didn’t snap by accident.”

“Kaelen”

“The doctor is alive,” Beltrán cut in. “He’s in the lower drain shafts, holding off the Silk Guild’s executioners. But he won’t survive the night if you stay here.”

Tears burned my eyes.

My father had risen from the dead.

Now my uncle had too.

Everything I had believed was turning into smoke.

“Why are you here?” I whispered. “Where were you when they locked me in the dark? Where were you when they poisoned me?”

Beltrán’s expression remained cold.

“I was building the blade you are holding.”

He pressed something into my left palm.

My fingers closed around it.

An obsidian signet ring.

The double-headed hawk of the true Sterling lineage.

My father’s ring.

“Your father sold the family name to Lautaro’s line to buy his own survival,” Beltrán whispered. “He didn’t save you out of love, Wren. He saved you because the vault beneath the Guild Hall requires two living Sterling bloodlines to open.”

My stomach dropped.

“He built you into a key.”

The sugar pills.

The secret passage.

The wedding gown.

It was never a rescue.

It was an extraction of a tool.

“And once Lautaro puts that ring on your finger at the altar tomorrow,” Beltrán continued, “your father will kill you both and claim the Don’s seat for himself.”

“He… he wouldn’t.”

Even as I spoke, I knew the truth was already taking root.

“He already has,” Beltrán snapped. “Lautaro thinks he’s playing the Don, but your father is the one holding the board.”

His fingers tightened around my shoulder.

“If you want to save the doctor, if you want to walk out of this fortress alive, you don’t run.”

He leaned closer.

“You don’t fight the marriage.”

His breath brushed my ear.

“You execute the Don.”

My heart hammered.

“Lautaro?”

“No.”

Beltrán’s gaze shifted toward the far end of the hall.

“The man who gave you life, and then traded it away.”

The massive oak doors had just been kicked open.

My father walked into the dining hall.

He moved calmly through the smoke, four armed guards surrounding him. His velvet cloak was untouched by the ash.

His cold gray eyes swept across the ruined chandelier, Lautaro’s drawn sword, and finally settled on me.

“Beltrán,” Father said softly.

He sounded almost pleased.

“I wondered how long you would hide in the catacombs.”

Beltrán slowly stood, pulling me up with him.

“Alistair,” he murmured, reaching beneath his coat. “It ends tonight.”

“It ended three years ago.”

My father raised one finger.

Before Beltrán could draw his weapon, a sharp THWACK echoed from the rafters.

A heavy iron-tipped crossbow bolt tore through the smoke.

It struck Beltrán directly in the chest.

He gasped.

Blood spilled across my white-and-red bridal gown as he stumbled backward.

“No!”

I caught him as his knees gave way.

We crashed onto the cold marble.

Beltrán clutched my collar, dragging me closer until his mouth reached my ear.

“The ledger…”

Blood bubbled over his lips.

“The ledger has… the real dosages…”

His grip weakened.

“Page thirty-four…”

His eyes struggled to remain open.

“Kill… the Don…”

His hand went limp.

His eyes stared blankly toward the vaulted ceiling.

Silence descended over the room.

I sat there covered in my uncle’s blood, the obsidian ring burning in my left hand and the bone spike clenched in my right.

My father walked slowly across the shattered room.

His boots crunched over broken glass.

He stopped beside Beltrán’s body and looked down at him with mild disappointment.

“A shame.”

He shook his head.

“He was always too emotional for politics.”

Then he extended a pale, clean hand toward me.

“Come, Wren. The seamstresses need to clean your dress before dawn.”

I stared at him.

The tears in my eyes had burned away.

Something colder had taken their place.

I reached out and took his hand.

He pulled me to my feet.

The instant I stood, the silver-and-red thread around my waist snapped violently taut.

A white-hot surge tore through my lower back.

I gasped.

Then I heard it.

From deep beneath the floorboards, directly beneath my feet, came a massive rhythmic pounding.

Three heavy thuds.

BANG.

BANG.

BANG.

My father froze.

The marble beneath his boots cracked.

A thin line of brilliant crimson light erupted through the fissures.

The floor trembled violently.

Somewhere beneath us, the catacombs began to collapse.

And whatever was buried beneath the Guild Hall was finally breaking free.