---
Chapter 65 – Into the Vaults
Dawn broke pale and cold over the keep, the kind of morning where frost clung to the ramparts even though the sun was up. Elira moved through the halls with deliberate calm, every step rehearsed, every glance carefully placed. If Lysander was watching—and she was sure he was—he would see nothing out of place.
Kairo had given her no formal orders in public. He hadn't needed to. Their entire conversation from last night had been conducted in looks and silence.
By mid‑morning, Lysander made his move. He sent word to Kairo through a junior scribe: an inspection of the eastern vaults was "necessary" to confirm there were no breaches. Kairo agreed with no hesitation—almost too readily.
When Lysander descended toward the cellars, Elira followed at a measured distance, dressed like any other attendant carrying messages between wings of the keep. She let two guards pass between them to avoid drawing attention, then slipped down a side stair that met the main corridor further below.
The vault entrance loomed ahead, a heavy door of iron‑bound oak. Lysander was already inside. Two guards waited outside, bored but alert. Elira stepped back into an alcove, waiting until a servant appeared from another passage to distract them. Then she slid through the door silently before it closed.
The air inside was colder, tinged with dust and oil. Faint torchlight lit the vaulted ceiling, casting long, broken shadows. Elira pressed against the wall, listening.
"…nothing here," Lysander's voice drifted from deeper within the chamber. Calm. Careless. "But I'll finish the inspection myself. You two wait outside."
Footsteps retreated. The door clanged shut again—leaving him alone. Or so he thought.
Elira crept forward, keeping to the shadows between the stacked crates. The emblem was everywhere now—the wolf and vine burned into the wood. Some crates were sealed. Others already open, showing rows of black‑glass vials.
Lysander crouched near one of the open crates, inspecting its contents. His back was turned, but his tone shifted—lower, sharper. "You can come out now, Elira."
Her breath froze.
She didn't move, hoping to trick him into second‑guessing himself. But he continued without turning around. "You followed me last night. You followed me again this morning. You're quick, I'll give you that. But you're not invisible."
Elira stayed in the shadows, her dagger loose in her hand.
Lysander stood slowly, closing the crate with deliberate calm. "Do you think Kairo will believe whatever story you take to him? That I'm the traitor? He's known me longer than he's known you."
"I heard you," Elira said coldly, stepping out from behind the crates. "I know who you're working with."
"And yet here you are alone," Lysander replied, almost amused. "Brave—or foolish."
The torches guttered slightly as a draft swept through the vault. Somewhere behind her, Elira heard the faint scrape of boots. She glanced back—too late. A second man stepped from the shadows, the scarred one from the cellar meeting, blade already drawn.
Lysander spread his hands lightly. "You really should have stayed upstairs."
---
Elira spun toward the scarred man just as he lunged. Steel flashed in the dim torchlight; she sidestepped, dragging her dagger up in a sharp arc that deflected his blade. The clash rang through the vault, echoing off the stone.
Lysander didn't move to stop it. He simply watched, calm and steady, as though evaluating her skill.
The scarred man came again, heavier and faster than before. Elira ducked low, rolled between two stacked crates, and came up with her back to the wall. "You'll have to do better than sending someone else to kill me," she snapped, breathing hard.
"Kill you?" Lysander finally stepped closer, tone almost amused. "If I wanted you dead, I wouldn't waste time talking."
The scarred man slashed again, forcing Elira back toward the center of the vault. She feinted left, then drove her dagger into a seam of one crate, splitting the lid. Black‑glass vials clattered to the floor and rolled across the stone.
The man cursed, stepping over them to avoid shattering any. That hesitation gave Elira an opening—she kicked one vial hard toward the torches. It struck the wall and burst with a sharp hiss, releasing a bitter, acrid smoke.
Lysander's eyes narrowed. "Careful. You have no idea what's in those."
"Then you shouldn't have brought them here," Elira shot back. She darted sideways, slashing at another crate to keep them both off‑balance.
The scarred man lunged again, but before his blade connected, a deep voice cut through the vault.
"Enough."
Kairo stepped from the shadows of the doorway, flanked by two of his personal guards with crossbows leveled. His coat was open, his expression carved from stone.
"Step away from her," Kairo ordered.
The scarred man froze, blade still raised. Lysander, infuriatingly composed, only arched an eyebrow. "You've been busy, my lord. Spying on your own men now?"
"I could ask the same of you," Kairo replied coldly. "What are these shipments, Lysander? Who do they belong to?"
Lysander smiled faintly. "If you have to ask, you're already behind."
One of the guards shifted nervously, crossbow creaking. The vault smelled of scorched chemicals and dust, the tension thick enough to choke.
Elira stepped closer to Kairo's side, dagger still in hand. "He's working with Vale's people—or worse."
"Careful," Lysander said softly, his calm voice cutting through the charged air. "Accusations without proof are dangerous things. Especially when you're standing in a vault full of contraband."
Kairo's gaze didn't leave Lysander. "You're coming with me. Now."
For the first time, Lysander's composure cracked just slightly—a flicker in his eyes. Then he raised his hands as though in surrender, though his tone remained smooth. "If you insist."
The scarred man lowered his blade slowly, but Elira could see his weight shift, muscles tensing to strike.
The scarred man moved first. His blade came up in a blur, aimed not at Elira but at the nearest guard. Kairo shouted an order, and the vault erupted in motion—steel flashing, boots pounding on stone.
Elira ducked low as the scarred man's strike missed its mark by inches. She slashed at his side, forcing him back, while Kairo surged forward, grabbing Lysander by the collar and slamming him against a crate.
"Stand down!" Kairo barked.
But Lysander wasn't finished. In one smooth motion, he twisted free and smashed an elbow into Kairo's ribs, driving him back a step. The scarred man seized the opening, kicking over one of the crates. Glass vials shattered on the floor, releasing a bitter, choking smoke that rolled through the vault like fog.
"Cover your mouth!" Elira coughed, yanking her cloak over her face. One of Kairo's guards collapsed to one knee, hacking violently. The acrid vapor stung her eyes and blurred the edges of the room.
Through the haze, Lysander's voice carried, still maddeningly calm. "You should've stayed out of this, Kairo. You too, Elira."
She lunged toward his silhouette, but Lysander was already moving—fast and sure, as though he knew every corner of this vault better than anyone else. The scarred man covered his retreat, swinging wildly to drive Elira and the remaining guard back.
"Don't let him out!" Kairo snarled, tearing his coat sleeve and tying it over his mouth. He vaulted a toppled crate, catching Lysander just as he reached the rear wall. For an instant, the two men grappled—Kairo's strength against Lysander's speed.
Then Lysander slammed his palm against a hidden stone panel. A section of wall groaned open, revealing a narrow escape passage. He slipped through, shoving Kairo off balance long enough to vanish into the dark.
The scarred man bolted after him, leaving behind the wrecked vault, the smoke, and chaos. By the time Elira and Kairo reached the hidden door, it was already swinging shut.
Kairo cursed under his breath, driving his shoulder against the stone. It didn't budge.
"Trap," Elira said hoarsely, coughing against the lingering smoke. "This was all staged—to get you down here, to get me down here—"
"And to clear out the evidence," Kairo added grimly, glancing at the shattered vials spilling their contents across the floor. Whatever had been in those crates was now ruined or gone.
Boots thundered in the hall outside. Reinforcements burst in, dragging the choking guard to safety.
Kairo didn't look at them. His eyes were locked on the sealed passage, fury banked but burning hot. "He's not running far. Not in my keep."
Elira sheathed her dagger, her breath ragged. "What if he's not running at all? What if this was meant to lead us somewhere worse?"
Kairo straightened slowly, eyes cold as tempered steel. "Then we follow. But this time on my terms."
---