Cordus Thane counted his gold by candlelight, unaware that death counted with him.
The merchant's stubby fingers moved methodically across the coins, stacking them in precise columns of ten.
Outside his window, the capital city slept under a blanket of fog, its grand spires reaching like ghostly fingers toward the moon.
Three floors below, hidden in the shadows of an alley, Caelan watched the merchant's silhouette move across the window.
His arrival in the capital with Aldric had been unremarkable—just another minor noble come to answer the king's summons, lodged in modest quarters suitable to his diminished status.
No one connected the frail Lord Albrecht to the dark figure now studying Thane's heavily guarded mansion.
It had taken three nights of careful reconnaissance to reach this point.
Three nights of mapping guard rotations, identifying entrances, and testing the mansion's magical defenses from a distance.
"Patience," Caelan whispered to himself, an old habit from his life as Marcus Chen.
"Death comes to all who wait."
The memory crystal had shown him much about Thane's operation—his daily routines, his connection to House Fenn, his role in the Eclipsed Order.
What it hadn't fully revealed was the extent of magical protection surrounding the merchant's home. Wards glimmered faintly at every entrance, visible only to those trained to see them.
Alert spells formed an invisible net across the walls. Even the windows were etched with runes that would trigger alarms if breached.
No wonder three previous assassins had failed.
They had approached this as a physical challenge, not understanding the magical barriers they faced.
But Caelan had something they hadn't—Nullcraft knowledge, growing stronger each day since Madame Lissa had identified the marks forming beneath his skin.
In his hiding place, taking a deep breath, Caelan began the Nullcraft meditation, mentally drawing the symbols described in his ancestor's texts.
As he completed each pattern, his awareness of the magical defences sharpened.
No longer just faint glimmers, they now appeared as complex structures—webs of light and energy surrounding Thane's mansion.
More importantly, he could see the gaps between them.
The weaknesses.
The points where one spell failed to fully connect with another.
An ordinary thief or assassin would see an impenetrable defence.
Caelan saw a path.
Applying shadow salve to his exposed skin, he moved from his hiding place, crossing the street with the confident steps of someone who belonged there.
The first challenge would be the iron fence surrounding the property—charged with a shock spell triggered by unauthorized touch.
Caelan approached the section he'd identified as weakest, removing a small pouch of black powder from his belt.
He sprinkled it across the ironwork in a specific pattern, then waited as the powder absorbed the magical energy, temporarily creating a dead spot in the spell.
Climbing over quickly, he dropped into the garden beyond—a manicured space filled with exotic plants that served as both decoration and alarm system.
Memory from the crystal guided him—third row, fourth plant, a red blossom that screamed when touched by an intruder.
He skirted it carefully.
The next barrier was a ring of light surrounding the mansion itself—an illumination spell designed to expose anyone approaching.
Again, Nullcraft provided the answer.
Caelan traced symbols in the air with his fingers while mentally reciting the counter-spell.
The light didn't vanish—that would trigger alarms—but it failed to register his presence as he passed through it.
At the rear of the mansion, a servant's entrance offered the most accessible point of entry.
Its locks were physical rather than magical, easily picked with tools carried from his previous life's skills.
The door itself, however, bore wards of warning etched into its frame.
Here, Caelan had to take a risk.
Physical contact with the wards would trigger them instantly.
Instead, he placed his hands near the symbols and concentrated on drawing their power into himself—a dangerous but effective Nullcraft technique.
The black lines beneath his skin burned painfully as they absorbed the magical energy, but the wards dimmed, their power temporarily drained.
Inside, the mansion was quiet but not silent.
Servants moved about, preparing for the next day.
Guards patrolled in regular patterns.
Thane himself remained in his study on the third floor, still counting his wealth by candlelight.
Moving with the silent efficiency that had made Marcus Chen legendary, Caelan navigated the shadows between guard positions.
When needed, he used small, calculated distractions—a dropped coin here, a disturbed ornament there—to redirect attention away from his chosen path.
The stairs presented a particular challenge—each step was spelled to recognise the weight of authorised persons.
Anyone else would trigger a wailing alarm.
The memory crystal had shown Thane deactivating this defense with a spoken phrase, but that wasn't an option for Caelan.
Instead, he used another Nullcraft technique—extending the void within himself outward, creating a bubble of non-magic that moved with him.
Within this bubble, no spell could function.
He had to move quickly; maintaining the void drained his strength rapidly, causing the black lines on his skin to pulse painfully.
Reaching the third floor, Caelan paused to catch his breath.
The void technique had left him dizzy, his body protesting the unnatural absence of magic it created.
Three doors led from the landing—one to Thane's bedroom, one to a private library, and one to the study where the merchant still worked.
A thin line of light showed beneath the study door.
From within came the soft sounds of metal on wood—coins being stacked and counted.
Caelan approached the door, examining it carefully.
Unlike the others, this one bore no visible wards or spells.
That in itself was suspicious. It had to be protected by something more subtle.
Closing his eyes, Caelan extended his Nullcraft senses.
There—a pressure difference in the air, almost imperceptible.
An atmosphere spell, designed to detect changes in the room's air pressure when the door opened.
Clever and nearly impossible to counter by normal means.
Nearly, but not quite.
From his pouch, Caelan removed a slender tube containing a viscous black substance—shadow essence distilled into liquid form, one of the rare components purchased at the Shrouded Bazaar.
He applied it around the door's edges, where it seeped into the wood, creating micro-passages through which air could pass freely, equalizing pressure on both sides.
When he was confident the spell had been neutralized, Caelan turned the handle slowly and pushed the door open just enough to see inside.
Cordus Thane sat at a massive desk, his back to the door.
Before him lay stacks of gold coins, merchant ledgers, and several unrolled scrolls.
He was a corpulent man with thinning hair and expensive clothes that strained to contain his girth.
As Caelan watched, he took a sip from a crystal goblet, then returned to his counting.
The room itself revealed much about its owner.
Tapestries depicting merchant ships covered the walls.
Shelves held exotic curios from distant lands.
A large iron chest, clearly protected by multiple locks, stood in one corner.
Most tellingly, a small shrine to the Eclipsed Order occupied a discrete alcove—the half-eclipse symbol prominently displayed among black candles.
Caelan slipped inside, closing the door silently behind him.
Three steps would bring him within striking distance.
The crossbow at his belt, loaded with a poisoned bolt, would ensure a quick, quiet death.
Simple. Efficient.
The way Marcus Chen had always worked.
But something made him hesitate.
One of the scrolls on Thane's desk bore a familiar seal—the falcon of House Fenn pressed into green wax.
Beside it lay a ledger open to a page filled with names and numbers.
Curiosity overcame caution.
Moving with practised silence, Caelan circled to where he could see the ledger without alerting Thane.
What he saw made his blood freeze.
It was a manifest of human cargo.
Men, women, and children are listed by age, physical condition, and price.
A slave trading operation conducted under the guise of "indentured service contracts."
Next to each entry was a destination, mostly foreign lands where such practices remained legal.
And at the bottom of each page, the profits were carefully divided between "House F" and "The Order."
Thane suddenly stiffened, sensing something amiss.
He began to turn, one hand reaching beneath his desk—likely for a hidden weapon.
Caelan moved without hesitation.
The crossbow came up, the bolt flew true, and Thane collapsed forward onto his ledgers, death finding him amidst his profits.
A single shot to the base of the skull—quick, silent, and certain.
But Caelan's mission had changed.
This was no longer just an assassination contract for the Whisper.
It had become personal.
Working quickly, he gathered the ledgers and scrolls documenting the slave trade.
The Fenn correspondence went into a hidden pocket in his cloak.
The manifest would serve as evidence if needed.
As he collected the documents, another seal caught his eye—one he hadn't expected to find.
A golden sunburst crossed with a key—the mark of the royal treasurer.
The document bearing this seal was a letter of transit, authorizing the transportation of "special cargo" through royal checkpoints without inspection.
It was signed by Lord Baelen Kress, Royal Treasurer and member of the king's inner council.
The corruption reached higher than House Fenn.
It extended into the royal court itself.
Caelan's hands tightened on the document.
This changed everything.
His original plan—to eliminate Thane, return to his lodgings, and maintain his facade as the sickly Lord Albrecht attending court functions—now seemed inadequate.
The evidence he'd discovered demanded action, but using it required careful consideration.
A sound from the hallway interrupted his thoughts—a guard making his rounds.
Caelan quickly finished gathering the most damning evidence, then approached Thane's body. Following the Whisper's instructions, he placed a black feather on the dead merchant's chest—proof that the contract had been fulfilled.
But he added something else, a personal touch—one of the silver ravens from House Albrecht, placed in the merchant's dead hand.
A message to House Fenn that this wasn't just business.
It was retribution.
Escaping the mansion proved easier than entering it.
The Nullcraft techniques had disrupted rather than destroyed the magical defences, leaving them weakened but functional.
No alarms would sound until morning when the body was discovered.
By then, Lord Albrecht would be publicly attending court functions, far from suspicion.
Caelan removed a small vial of clear liquid from his cloak.
Three drops under his tongue, as the healer had instructed.
The liquid tasted of nothing, yet burned like fire as it travelled through his body.
Within moments, the black lines beneath his skin diminished slowly.
Caelan made his way through the foggy streets, the evidence secured beneath his cloak, the black lines beneath his skin fading as the Nullcraft energy dissipated.
He felt drained but satisfied—the assassination itself had gone perfectly.
But the discovery of the slave trading operation, and worse, the royal treasurer's involvement, weighed heavily on his mind.
Back in his modest lodgings, Aldric waited anxiously, his wounded shoulder still bandaged but healing well.
The old servant's eyes widened at the sight of the documents Caelan placed on the table.
"Was it done cleanly, my lord?" he asked softly.
"Yes," Caelan replied, removing the shadow salve from his face.
"But I found more than expected."
As he explained his discoveries, Aldric's expression grew increasingly grim.
"Slave trading," the old servant muttered.
"Even House Fenn shouldn't sink so low. And the royal treasurer's involvement..."
"Changes the game entirely," Caelan finished.
"We now have leverage not just against Fenn, but potentially against the crown itself."
"Dangerous leverage, my lord. Those who threaten the powerful rarely live to benefit from their threats."
Caelan nodded, spreading the documents across the table.
"Which is why we won't threaten openly. Instead, we'll use this knowledge strategically. Tomorrow, I'll make my first appearance at court as the sickly Lord Albrecht, beneath the notice of important men."
"While they unknowingly dance to your tune," Aldric said with a hint of admiration.
"Precisely."
Caelan held up the document bearing the royal treasurer's seal.
"Justice wears many masks, Aldric. Today, it wore mine."
As dawn approached, Caelan concealed the evidence in a hidden compartment beneath the floorboards of their lodgings.
Tomorrow would bring new challenges as he navigated the treacherous waters of court politics while carrying secrets that could destroy powerful men.
The royal conclave awaited.
And so did Lord Vaeron Fenn, still unaware that his pet merchant lay dead among his coins, clutching an Albrecht raven in his cold hand.
The game of nobles had truly begun.