LOGIN"Don't read it aloud. Hand it to me first."I say it before Caius can break the wax, and he stops with his thumbnail already under the red. Iris looks at me, and so does he, because there's no good reason for a man lying flat on a cot with stitches in his side to be giving orders about paper."Humor me," I say.Caius slides the packet across the blanket. The wax has been warmed and pressed back so neatly that the crack is a hair, nothing more, and I only found it because for eleven years I made my living holding other people's envelopes up to the light. I tilt it toward the window. Under the gray morning I can see the faint oval where a heated blade slipped beneath the flap and lifted it clean."Iris, is there a lamp lit anywhere nearby?"She brings the one from the table. I hold the flap just over the flame, not close enough to scorch, and the old adhesive shines wet and tacky along one edge. The seal on the other three sides stays dull. Somebody opened this once, read it, and glued
"Say it plainly, Iris. If you soften it, I'll sit up and count the heartbeats myself."My voice comes out thinner than I want. The infirmary ceiling swims above me, candlelight smeared into long gold streaks, and somewhere under my ribs a needle is pulling thread through skin that doesn't feel like mine. Iris doesn't answer. She has the little wooden horn pressed against my stomach and her eyes are closed, her whole face gone slack with listening.Caius stands at the foot of the cot. He hasn't let go of my hand since the dock. His grip has gone past comfort into something that hurts, and I let it, because the hurt gives me somewhere to put the fear.The room is so quiet I can hear the wick of the nearest candle hiss.Then Iris's mouth moves. A small, startled exhale, nearly a laugh. She lifts her head and opens her eyes, and they're wet."Strong," she says. "Fast, faster than I like, but strong. Like a little fist knocking on a door." She sets the horn aside and lets her hand rest on
"Put it down, Marcus."Caius's voice doesn't waver, but I see his hand tighten on the hilt of his blade, weighing distance, weighing risk, weighing a brother he's known his whole life against the small, glinting object raised in his fist."This?" Marcus turns the object slowly, and in the lantern light I finally see it clearly, a flint striker, the kind used to ignite oil soaked kindling fast. "This is insurance, brother. Ashworth's little warehouse is stacked with crates of lamp oil, conveniently positioned beneath every record that might ever implicate either of us. One spark, and six years of careful work disappears before anyone can read a single page.""Including whatever protects your own succession claim," Caius says. "You'd burn your own leverage.""I'd burn everything before I let you parade me through a tribunal," Marcus says, something unhinged edging into his voice now, the careful composure from earlier confrontations finally cracking under whatever pressure the last day
"You are not going alone."I say it before Caius can even finish lowering the letter, and the look he gives me is equal parts exhaustion and a stubbornness I'm already learning to recognize as useless against me."He's threatening to destroy the only physical evidence we have," Caius says. "If I bring guards, he burns it before we're close enough to stop him.""Then we don't bring guards who look like guards." I glance at Dominic, who's already straightening in his chair, some of the fear from earlier replaced by the same sharp purpose I saw in him poring over the ledgers. "We bring people he doesn't expect to be dangerous.""Rowan—""You can't fight me on every decision and expect me to keep trusting your judgment when it matters most," I say, meeting his eyes steadily. "I'm not asking to go in swinging a blade. I'm asking to be part of the plan instead of something you protect from a distance while the actual danger happens without me."Something shifts in his expression, reluctant
"Half the council. Say that again, slower, so I understand exactly how much danger we're actually standing in."Caius's voice is controlled, but I can hear the strain underneath it as we ride back toward the citadel, Reyne's carriage trailing behind ours under guard, the physician sitting stiff and silent across from her."Six names," Reyne says, not flinching from the question. "Three still sitting on the council. Two retired, but with family still holding influence. One, I'm sorry to say, close enough to your own household that you'll find it difficult to hear.""Say it anyway.""Councilman Ashworth isn't acting alone in protecting the forged confession," Reyne says. "He's been receiving payments to maintain that silence from someone inside your own staff, Lord Thorn. Someone with access to your private correspondence for years."I feel the carriage go colder somehow, though nothing about the air has changed. "Who."Reyne hesitates, and for the first time since this confrontation be
"Tell the physician he can turn that carriage around."Caius is already moving toward the sitting room door, and there's a particular calm in his voice I'm starting to recognize as more dangerous than shouting ever could be."You can't simply refuse a sitting councilwoman entry," Selene says, panic edging into her tone. "Not here. Not on my family's land. She'll take it as confirmation of exactly what she suspects.""Let her suspect," I say. "Suspicion isn't proof, and proof is the only thing that's hurt us so far."We meet Reyne in the estate's narrow entryway, her carriage still settling in the drive behind her, a thin, stooped man in physician's robes trailing a half step behind. She takes in the three of us standing shoulder to shoulder, and something flickers across her composed face, quick enough that I almost miss it. Recalculation."Lord Thorn," she says smoothly. "I confess I didn't expect you to accompany your consort on a family visit.""I confess I didn't expect you to cha


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