THE FIFTH CLASP

Elaris’s POV

The pouch is removed from the outside of the chamber before any attempt is made to find anything else.

One guard seals the cloth into another container while the other marks the exact location where it was found. A third warrior is summoned to inspect the corridor.

I am ordered to stay on the bed.

I obey, but I keep watching.

The guards search the doorframe, the floorstones, the window bars, the underside of the table, even the fireplace. Beneath the bed and along the hinges on the chamber door they look.

Nothing.

No footprints.

No disturbed dust.

No hidden passage.

No discarded cloth.

No scent over powering enough to determine who had carried the pouch.

Again, nothing is found in the corridor.

The delivery has been executed with frightening precision.

One of the guards returns with the report.

“Nothing else was found.”

I look at the space outside my door.

“Then someone wanted us to find exactly that.”

The guard doesn’t answer.

He doesn’t have to.

The fifth clasp had already said enough.

The council had spent days tightening up this wing until every movement should have been visible.

Yet, somehow, a warning was slipped directly against the door.

A council representative arrives before the hour is out, bringing two more warriors and a medical examiner with him.

He doesn’t introduce himself as if this is an emergency.

He speaks as if delivering an administrative update.

“The object has been secured.”

“And the contents?”

“The plant material has been identified as wolfsbane.”

I wait.

“Does it match the previous samples?”

“Yes.”

The answer lands heavily.

Not similar.

Not possibly related.

Matching.

The representative looks down at the written report.

“The fifth clasp has also been acknowledged as consistent with the previous incidents.”

“Then you have another piece of evidence.”

“We have another security incident.”

I stare at him.

“That is not the same thing.”

His expression is as careful as ever.

“The council hasn’t established that the clasp proves who delivered the material.”

“No. But it establishes that someone is continuing the same pattern.”

“We are aware.”

“What will you do?”

“Additional guards will be posted. The east wing will remain restricted. The incident will be entered into the security record.”

I wait for the next sentence.

It never comes.

No order for questioning Virelle.

No renewed search of his wing.

No demand for a second interrogation of the night healer.

Nothing that suggested he was being pursued.

More guards.

I ask the question that he hopefully did not.

“Has Averic been informed?”

The representative folds the report.

“The Alpha will be notified in due course.”

Not immediately.

Not already.

In due course.

The remark seems to intrigue me more than his reply.

“Who decides when he is informed?”

“The council office coordinating the security response.”

“So information about an attack on me is no longer going directly to the Alpha.”

“It is being handled through proper channels.”

I almost laugh.

Proper channels.

The same ones that have kept the preliminary pregnancy finding from the public record.

The same ones that turned an attack into a security incident.

The same ones that moved the night healer away from the main corridors.

I take in the sealed evidence container.

“If someone wanted the Alpha not to know something happened here until later, could they do that?”

The representative stiffens.

“You are under protection.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

He gives me no answer.

That is an answer of its own.

Before leaving, he orders the guards to record every person entering or leaving the wing.

Then one final statement.

“No private communication is permitted without council approval.”

The door closes behind him.

They are not only controlling where I can go anymore.

They are controlling what reaches me.

The rest of the night passes beneath double watch.

Two warriors remain inside.

Two remain outside.

The pairs patrol the corridor at regular intervals.

Their presence should make me feel safer.

Instead, I am more aware of every movement.

One guard checks the latch every hour.

Another records the time each patrol passes.

They whisper to one another whenever footsteps pass from the other end of the corridor.

I do not sleep.

I sit against the wall with my knees slightly pulled upward and both hands over my stomach.

The child is quiet.

Too quiet for my liking.

I wait.

A faint movement answers beneath my palm.

Relief loosens something in my chest.

I begin counting the guards’ rotations again.

Not because I expect to escape.

Because patterns are information.

The person who delivered the pouch had to know the pattern as well.

That means either someone has been watching the guards…

or someone inside the security system has been helping.

Neither makes me feel better.

I close my eyes briefly.

The fifth clasp is no longer just a threat.

It is proof that someone has learned how to avoid the council’s precautions.

At first light, Averic is finally admitted for his ten minute visit.

The observer accompanying him is unfamiliar.

Younger than the previous man, but he wears himself with a stiffness that makes it clear he has been told not to allow even the smallest private exchange.

Averic enters.

One glance is enough.

He already knows.

His attention goes to the guards first, then to the evidence case on the table.

“The pouch?”

I nod.

“The clasp?”

“Secured.”

“Wolfsbane?”

“Confirmed as matching the previous samples.”

His expression hardens, but he says nothing for several seconds.

I ask, “When were you told?”Before dawn.”

“So they informed you eventually.”

His eyes flicker toward the observer.

“They did.”

I tell him about the search.

He listens without interrupting.

When I finish, he says, “The council is treating it as a security breach.”

“Not another attack?”

“They won’t use that language officially.”

“Why?”

“Because calling it another attack raises the question of who has been allowed to continue attacking you.”

The observer shifts.

Averic notices.

His next words are deliberately ordinary.

“Your additional guards will remain.”

I almost smile at the absurdity.

“They keep adding guards.”

“Yes.”

“And the person doing this keeps finding ways around them.”

He does not disagree.

The observer turns toward the doorway when another warrior passes outside.

Averic uses those few seconds.

His voice barely reaches me.

“They will not reopen the investigation.”

I stare at him.

“They won’t?”

“They are increasing the cage.”

The words are devoid of any political embellishment.

No careful wording.

No intent to make the council’s decision sound fair.

Just the facts.

I lower my voice as well.

“So what am I suppose to do?”

“Stay alive.”

“I was planning on it.”

His mouth almost curves, but it disappears quickly.

He continues.

“The fifth clasp will be examined. The wolfsbane will be documented. The security breach will be recorded. But they will not authorize another full search unless something new forces them.”

“Something new.”

“Yes.”

I look toward the door.

“Someone could die before that happens.”

Averic’s expression is unreadable.

“I know.”

The observer turns back.

Our private window is closed.

But his answer remains with me.

They are not hunting the person who wants me dead.

They are waiting for that person to make a mistake.

And the person behind this has already proven that they are willing to make other people disappear.

The ten minutes end.

Averic rises immediately when the observer allows him.

This time, he does not try to stretch the visit even a heartbeat.

He walks toward the door.

I understand why.

If he stays too long, the council will remove this little allowance.

Before leaving, he only says, “Three nights became two.”

I nod.

The door shuts behind him.

I remain where I am.

Two nights.

That is all.

Two nights until the examination that could expose Virelle’s claim.

Two nights until the council has to confront what the preliminary records already suggest.

Two nights until every excuse becomes harder to maintain.

And yet the person threatening me does not need to win the council hearing.

They only need to prevent me from reaching the shrine hall.

The fifth clasp sits inside its sealed container.

The evidence exists.

The protection exists.

The guards exist.

But none have prevented the attacks.

For once, I wonder whether the flaw isn’t the east wing.

It is the people deciding what happens inside it.

The day is longer than the one before.

Every meal is inspected twice.

The first guard examines the tray.

The second looks over the utensils.

A council medical attendant arrives with the water and waits until the I have drunk it.

I eat slowly.

Enough to keep my strength.

Not enough to make myself uncomfortable.

The child remains quieter than usual, though I feel movement from time to time.

I begin paying attention to that as well.

Not obsessively.

Practically.

If my body changes, I need to know when.

If my essence becomes weak, I need to recognize it before someone else can take it as natural.

I rest in short periods.

During one of them, I hear a group of warriors pass outside.

One says, “Nothing from the west wing.”

Another replies, “The orders were not to disturb it.”

I open my eyes.

The west wing.

The place connected to Virelle.

The place from which the night healer had supposedly been moved.

The place where earlier evidence had repeatedly appeared.

Why would the council specifically order the area not to be disturbed?

I sit upright.

The guards notice.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.”

I lie back down.

But I stop thinking of the extra guards as the whole problem.

Someone is deciding where they are allowed to look.

Mid-afternoon, a formal notice arrives.

The guard reads it aloud.

“By order of the council, due to the overnight security breach, all remaining private contact between Alpha Averic Thorne and Elaris Veyne shall be reduced to one supervised meeting of five minutes per day until completion of the blood-moon examinations.”

Five minutes.

I almost ask for the repetition.

Not because I didn’t hear.

Because I want to hear the number again.

Five minutes means Averic will barely have time to tell me whether Maevra is awake.

Enough to exchange information, but not enough to discuss a complication of any kind.

The notice continues.

“All communication outside scheduled visitation is prohibited unless authorized by the council.”

I take the paper from the guard.

My fingers are steady.

I read the last line.

“Any attempt to circumvent this order will constitute interference with council security measures.”

So even Averic’s attempt to protect me privately can now be claimed as interference.

I fold the notice.

“Understood.”

The guard takes it back.

The door closes.

I look toward the window.

Two nights.

Five minutes a day.

And an enemy who already knows how to exploit distance.

The math is becoming brutally simple.

Survive long enough to reach the examination.

Don’t give them a reason to stop it.

Don’t become the reason they claim it must be stopped.

Evening arrives slowly.

I spend the final hours conserving what little energy the confinement has not already drained.

I do not pace this time.

I sit near the window and stretch my legs, then rest.

The child moves again.

Stronger than before.

I place one hand over the action.

“That’s better.”

The words sound strange in the empty chamber.

I think about the first pregnancy.

How little control I had when everything went wrong.

How I had believed sacrifice was the only choice.

Now the choice is different.

No one is asking me to give my life.

They are trying to make sure I cannot keep it long enough to defend my child.

That distinction is important.

I will not confuse helplessness with surrender.

I begin mentally reconstructing the next two days.

Food.

Water.

Visits.

Guard changes.

Medical checks.

The examination.

Nothing more.

No confrontation.

No accusations without evidence.

No reckless attempt to escape.

Every action has to serve one purpose.

Reaching the blood moon alive.

Outside, boots stop before my door.

I wait.

A guard announces the evening visit.

Five minutes.

Averic enters with two observers this time.

Two, the change is deliberate.

There is barely room for conversation before the first observer signals that the visit has begun.

Averic does not sit.

“Maevra is still holding.”

I nod.

“The examination site remains unchanged.”

“Good.”

The observer checks the clock.

I ask, “The night healer?”

Averic pauses.

The observer immediately says, “That matter is outside today’s approved discussion.”

My stomach falls.

Averic looks at me.

There is something in his expression I cannot read.

He only says, “Her situation is being handled.”

That answer is worse than silence.

“By whom?”

The second observer interrupts.

“Time.”

Averic turns toward me.

For a second, I think he might disobey.

He does not.

He walks toward the door.

I understand why.

The council has turned five minutes into another form of restraint.

Averic stops before leaving.

“The shrine hall remains sealed.”

I nod.

Then he is gone.

The door closes.

Five minutes.

No mention of the night healer.

No discussion of the fifth clasp.

No explanation for why the council suddenly refuses to say anything aloud.

I remain standing beside the bed.

Something has changed.

I just don’t know what yet.

Several minutes pass.

The guards resume their positions.

The chamber returns to its controlled routine.

Then one of the inner guards moves toward the window.

He checks the bars.

He tests the latch.

I watch him without speaking.

He takes another step toward me.

“Lady Elaris.”

His voice is barely audible.

I turn my head.

He keeps his eyes on the window.

“The night healer is dead.”

For a heartbeat, I do not understand the sentence.

“What?”

He does not look at me.

“They’re saying it was the draft she was given for questioning.”

My stomach drops.

The child moves sharply beneath my hand.

I lower my voice.

“You don’t believe them?”

His fingers tighten around the edge of the window frame.

“It was not the draft.”

The words are almost soundless.

Then he moves away from me.

His posture changes immediately.

His face becomes blank again.

The other guard turns from the door.

Neither of them says anything.

I remain beside the bed.

The fifth clasp.

The wolfsbane.

The night healer.

Three nights.

Then two.

And now the only medical witness who could connect the attacks to their source is dead.

I look toward the sealed door.

Someone is not merely trying to prevent me from reaching the blood moon.

They are eliminating everyone who might help me reach it.