Chapter 8 – The Mirror of Coin
Morning light spilled across the Tower of Coin like melted gold, catching on the polished ledgers that lined the walls. To most, the room smelled of parchment and ink.
To Aden Holt, it smelled of opportunity.
He had spent the night constructing a quiet trap — a falsified line item buried within the lower city expense reports. Nothing grand, just a shipment of stone tiles that didn't exist, approved under a fictitious craftsman's name. If anyone acted on it, he'd know who was skimming from Littlefinger's accounts without permission.
It was a test.
His first real one.
By midday, he'd already checked the ledgers twice. The entry remained untouched. Patience, he reminded himself. In his old life, numbers revealed truth slowly — over weeks, months, quarters. But in King's Landing, greed worked faster than interest.
He waited.
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By evening, the Tower had emptied, leaving only the hiss of candles burning down to their bases. Aden returned to his desk, flipping open the secondary account book.
His heart gave a quiet leap — the false transaction was gone. Someone had erased it. Cleanly, completely, as if it had never been there.
He froze. Not because the deception failed — but because only two men had clearance to edit that section: himself and the Master of Coin.
Footsteps echoed behind him.
Petyr Baelish's voice came soft and amused.
"Stone tiles, was it? You're either very clever, Master Holt… or very foolish."
Aden didn't turn. "A necessary test, my lord. I wanted to see if anyone tampered with the ledgers."
Baelish's laughter was almost kind. "Oh, they were tampered with. Just not by who you think."
A pause — long enough for the silence to sting.
"You see, I erased your entry myself."
Aden finally turned, his expression unreadable. "Then the test worked."
"Did it?" Baelish stepped closer, his smile never reaching his eyes. "You learned that I know every mark made in this tower — every figure, every falsified record, every man who thinks he's being clever. What did I learn about you, I wonder?"
The candlelight flickered between them, painting Baelish's face in soft gold and shadow.
"That I'm loyal enough to check for weaknesses," Aden said carefully.
"Or ambitious enough to hide them," Baelish replied. "Either way, you've shown me something important — that you understand risk."
He turned to leave, but stopped at the door.
"Next time you wish to test the Game, Master Holt, don't play it in my house. The board extends far beyond these walls."
When Baelish's steps faded, Aden exhaled. Slowly. His pulse still beat hard against his ribs.
He erased the remaining traces of his false entry, locked the ledger, and stared at the blank page before him.
Lesson learned.
In King's Landing, even lies had owners. And the man who claimed them first always won.
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