The royal summons lay open on Caelan's desk next to the memory crystal from the Whisper.
One demanded his presence at court; the other contained instructions for an assassination.
Two paths leading to the same destination—the capital city, where enemies and opportunities awaited in equal measure.
"Have you examined it again, Lord?"
Aldric asked, entering the study with a tray of herbs for Caelan's morning tea.
"Yes," Caelan replied, taking up the small needle he'd found hidden in the royal scroll's handle.
"Definitely nightshade poison. Someone at court went to considerable trouble to ensure I never arrived."
"Or to send a message," Aldric suggested, brewing the tea.
"A warning that even the King's summons offers no protection."
"Either way, we leave tomorrow," Caelan decided.
"We need to reach the capital before Cordus Thane delivers his report to House Fenn."
Preparations for the journey had consumed the past three days.
The carriage—one of the few remaining possessions deemed too worthless for House Fenn to confiscate—had been subtly reinforced under Aldric's direction.
Hidden compartments were built beneath the seats and in the walls, allowing them to transport weapons and Nullcraft components without detection.
While Aldric supervised these preparations, Caelan had spent hours communing with the memory crystal, absorbing its strange contents.
Each session left him disoriented but filled with valuable knowledge—Thane's daily routines, the layout of his house in the capital's merchant district, and most importantly, the magical defences that had foiled previous assassination attempts.
"The eastern road remains our best option," Caelan said, studying the map spread before him.
"It's the most direct route."
"And the most dangerous," Aldric cautioned.
"Three noble carriages have been attacked there in the past month. The western route through the mountain passes would be safer."
"It would also take three days longer and attract more attention," Caelan countered.
"A sickly lord taking a difficult mountain route would raise questions.
Besides, we've received reports of House Fenn men watching both roads.
Better to face the threat we know is coming."
"As you wish, my lord."
Aldric's tone conveyed his reluctance.
"The carriage is ready. I've prepared your medicines and packed your formal attire for court."
"And the other preparations?"
"Complete. The compartments are well-hidden. To any inspector, we carry only what's expected for a noble attending the royal conclave."
Caelan nodded approval. "Good. We depart at dawn."
They left Albrecht Manor as the first light broke over the eastern horizon.
To observers, the carriage held only a frail young nobleman, his ageing servant, and a driver named Tomas—one of the few retainers who had remained loyal after House Albrecht's fall.
Caelan maintained his weak appearance, wrapped in blankets despite the pleasant weather.
At inns along the road, he allowed Aldric to help him inside, his steps faltering and his breathing laboured.
No one who saw him would connect this sickly noble to the shadowy figure who had decimated the bandits at Blackthorn Keep.
The attack came on the second day, at a narrow point of the road where ancient trees created a natural tunnel of branches overhead.
Perfect for an ambush.
"Riders approaching from behind, my lord," Tomas called down quietly from his driver's seat.
"Moving fast. Not wearing House colours."
Caelan exchanged a glance with Aldric.
"The trap springs," he murmured.
"How many?"
"Six that I can see," Tomas replied.
"Coming up both sides of the road."
"Not common bandits," Aldric observed, reaching beneath the seat for a small crossbow.
"Too organised. Professional killers."
"Good."
Caelan removed the jar of shadow salve from their hidden supplies, quickly applying it to his face and hands.
The familiar cold tingling spread across his skin as the substance took effect.
"Maintain speed, Tomas. Don't reveal that we've seen them."
"My lord, perhaps you should hide—" Aldric began.
"No," Caelan interrupted.
"The sickly Lord Albrecht must be seen to survive by luck, not skill. We follow the plan."
The first arrow struck the carriage roof moments later, followed by shouts as riders closed in from both sides.
Tomas cracked his whip, urging their horses to greater speed, but the road was too narrow for evasion.
"Now," Caelan whispered.
Aldric fired his crossbow through a small port concealed in the carriage wall.
A cry of pain confirmed his aim was true. The old servant quickly reloaded and fired again.
"Two down," he reported with grim satisfaction.
The carriage lurched violently as a rider pulled alongside, sword raised to strike Tomas.
Caelan was ready.
With the fluid precision that had made Marcus Chen feared in his former life, he cracked the door just enough to flick his wrist.
A thin throwing blade spun through the air, finding the attacker's throat. The rider fell without a sound.
The carriage swerved as Tomas fought to maintain control.
The remaining attackers closed in, one leaping from his horse onto the carriage roof with a heavy thud.
"Remember your role," Caelan warned Aldric before slumping against the seat in convincing terror.
The roof panel splintered as a sword thrust through it, narrowly missing Aldric's head.
The old servant shouted in genuine alarm, firing his crossbow wildly, deliberately missing to maintain their deception.
Above them, footsteps indicated the attacker was moving toward Tomas.
Caelan counted silently—one, two, three—then thrust upward with a dagger, piercing the roof where he calculated the man's foot would be.
A howl of pain confirmed his accuracy.
"Now!" Caelan hissed.
Aldric threw open the door and fired at one of the pursuing riders.
The bolt took the man in the chest, knocking him from his horse.
But the old servant didn't see the archer positioned in the trees ahead.
The arrow meant for Caelan struck Aldric in the shoulder instead, spinning him half-around.
Blood immediately soaked through his shirt.
"Aldric!" Genuine alarm replaced Caelan's calculated calm.
The old servant collapsed back into the carriage, grimacing in pain.
"I'll live, my lord. But the plan—"
"Changes," Caelan said firmly.
"Hold pressure on that wound."
Two attackers remained—the archer in the trees and one rider still pursuing.
Tomas was slumped forward, either dead or wounded. The horses, panicked and without guidance, pulled the carriage at a dangerous speed.
Caelan made a swift decision.
Grabbing a small pouch of flash powder from their supplies, he tossed it through the broken roof panel.
The explosion wasn't dangerous, but it created a blinding cloud of smoke that engulfed the carriage.
Under this cover, Caelan climbed onto the roof, staying low.
The pursuing rider, momentarily blinded by the flash, didn't see Caelan leap onto the back of his horse.
One quick movement—a garrote wire around the throat, pulled tight—and the rider slumped forward.
Caelan pushed the body from the saddle and turned the horse toward the trees where the archer waited.
The archer fired at the carriage again, not noticing Caelan's approach until too late.
As the man reached for another arrow, Caelan threw a weighted cord that wrapped around his legs. The archer fell from his perch with a startled cry.
This last attacker, Caelan left alive, though injured.
He struck the man with his dagger's hilt, knocking him unconscious but leaving him alive to report back.
Returning to the carriage, Caelan found Tomas had only been knocked unconscious by a glancing blow.
Aldric, however, was pale from blood loss, the arrow still embedded in his shoulder.
"We need to find help," Caelan said, tearing strips from his cloak to stabilise the wound.
"There's a village nearby—Millbrook. They'll have a healer."
"My lord," Aldric protested weakly, "the capital—your mission—"
"Means nothing if you die, old friend."
For the first time since awakening in this world, Marcus Chen's cold calculation yielded to genuine concern.
"I've lost enough. I won't lose you, too."
The village of Millbrook was little more than a cluster of buildings around a small square, but it possessed something valuable—a skilled healer named Madame Lissa.
"Arrow wound," Caelan explained as villagers helped carry Aldric into the healer's cottage.
"Bandits on the eastern road."
Madame Lissa was a white-haired woman with hands gnarled by age but movements precise with experience.
She assessed Aldric's wound with professional detachment.
"Clean through the muscle. No poison," she announced.
"He'll live, but the arrow must come out."
Caelan maintained his façade of the frightened, helpless noble as village men held Aldric down.
The old servant bit down on a leather strap as Madame Lissa extracted the arrow with practised efficiency.
Throughout his pain, Aldric never broke character, playing the role of the brave servant protecting his fragile master.
"You're fortunate," Madame Lissa told Caelan after bandaging Aldric's shoulder.
"An inch lower, and the arrow would have pierced his heart."
"It should have been me," Caelan said, and meant it.
While Aldric rested, Madame Lissa prepared herbal medicines.
Caelan watched her work, noting the similarities between her careful measurements and the Nullcraft preparations he'd studied.
"You have the look of your father," the old woman said suddenly.
Caelan tensed. "You knew Lord Magnus?"
"Many years ago. He came seeking remedies for your mother's condition."
The healer's eyes studied him with uncommon intensity.
"And later, for yours."
"I don't remember."
"You were very young."
Madame Lissa approached, her gnarled fingers reaching toward his face.
Before Caelan could react, she traced a line along his cheekbone. "Interesting."
"What is?"
"The marks beneath your skin. Black lines, like ink flowing through your veins. I've seen them before."
Caelan controlled his expression, though his mind raced.
"A symptom of my condition, perhaps."
"Not illness," the healer said, shaking her head.
"Magic. Suppressed, contained. Nullcraft marks."
Caelan's eyes widened slightly before he could stop himself.
"I possess no magical ability."
Madame Lissa smiled knowingly.
"Nullcraft isn't magic, young lord. It's the absence of magic. The void that draws power into itself. Very rare. Very dangerous."
"You're mistaken," Caelan insisted, falling back on his weak noble persona.
"House Albrecht's shadow magic died generations ago."
"Did it?"
The old woman turned away, returning to her medicines.
"Or did it simply change form?
The raven adapts, you know. It survives when other birds fall."
She handed him a small pouch of herbs.
"For your servant's pain. And this—" she pressed a tiny vial of clear liquid into his palm, "—is for you. When the marks begin to burn, three drops under your tongue will cool them."
"I don't understand."
"You will."
Madame Lissa's eyes held ancient knowledge.
"The Nullcraft is awakening in you, Lord Albrecht. Your ancestors would be pleased. And terrified."
That night, as Aldric slept deeply under the influence of the healer's medicines, Caelan examined his face in a small mirror.
At first, he saw nothing unusual.
But when he concentrated, focusing his mind as the Nullcraft texts instructed, faint black lines appeared beneath his skin—like veins filled with shadow instead of blood.
The marks of Nullcraft, visible only to those who knew how to see them.
Proof that his practice of the ancient techniques was changing him physically.
As he prepared for sleep, Caelan's gaze fell on Aldric's bandaged form.
The old servant had taken an arrow meant for him.
Had risked his life to maintain their deception.
Blood pays for blood, but whose?
The thought troubled him as he drifted toward sleep.
The game of nobles had nearly cost him his only true ally in this world.
And they had not yet even reached the capital, where greater dangers waited.
Including a merchant whose death Caelan had already promised.