The next morning felt like the calm before a hurricane. I followed my new routine with a detached, almost surreal sense of normalcy. I played with Rowan in the solarium, his delighted laughter echoing through the humid air as he chased a shimmering blue butterfly. I answered his endless questions about why some flowers had no scent and why the sun felt warm but not hot. For those few hours, I was just Mom. But beneath the surface, every nerve was alight with anticipation.
Rhyian was a ghost. He left a tray of breakfast outside our suite door but did not join us. It was a deliberate act of distance, honoring my request for space with Rowan. But I knew he was watching. The entire tower was his nervous system, and I was the focal point of its attention.
After I tucked Rowan in for his nap, I changed. I didn't put on my hunting gear. That would be too obvious. Instead, I chose a simple pair of jeans and a soft, unassuming grey sweater. I needed to look like Carys Corbin, the confused, frightened woman out of her depth. I needed to look like prey.
The only weapon I allowed myself was the burlap sack, which I clutched like a terrified woman holding evidence she didn't understand.
I took the elevator down to the 77th floor. The library was just as I had left it—silent, majestic, and empty. Joric had done his job well. The air felt sterile, sealed. The grand double doors that led to Silas's private quarters and the archives were closed. There were no guards posted outside. Rhyian was keeping his word.
I took a deep breath, marshaling my courage, and knocked.
For a long moment, there was no answer. Then, I heard the soft click of a lock being undone from the inside. The door opened a crack, and Silas's kind, worried face peered out.
"Carys," he said, his voice a hushed whisper. "What are you doing here? The Sovereign has placed me under quarantine. It is not safe for you." He looked genuinely concerned, playing his part to perfection.
"Silas, I had to see you," I said, forcing a tremor into my voice. I held up the sack. "Something happened. I... I don't know who else to trust."
His eyes widened slightly as he saw the sack. A flicker of something—triumph? anticipation?—crossed his features before being replaced by his mask of gentle concern.
"Come in, come in," he whispered, opening the door wider and quickly shutting it behind me. "Quickly. We must not be seen."
His private quarters were an extension of the library: cluttered, comfortable, and filled with books. A fire crackled in a stone hearth, and the air smelled of old paper and cinnamon. It was the picture of a harmless scholar's den.
"Now, tell me," he said, his voice full of paternal worry. "What has happened? You look terrified."
"I was sent on a mission," I began, my voice breathy and panicked as I recounted a carefully edited version of last night's events. "Rhyian sent me into the catacombs to meet an informant. But he was dead. And I was attacked."
"Attacked!" Silas gasped, placing a comforting hand on my arm. His touch was dry and papery. "By whom? The Coven?"
"I think so," I stammered. "There were... so many of them. I ran. I just grabbed this and ran." I placed the burlap sack on his desk and opened it, revealing the carved box and the gruesome, withered hand with his ring.
I backed away from the desk, wrapping my arms around myself, making myself look small and frightened.
"I don't understand, Silas. They were all fighting, and I just... I ran. When I got back, I looked inside the sack. This ring... it looks so familiar." I looked at him, my eyes wide with feigned, dawning horror. "Silas... it's yours."
He looked at the ring, then at me, and his face crumpled into a mask of theatrical grief.
"Oh, you poor, dear child," he sighed, shaking his head. "You have stumbled into the heart of a very ugly plot."
"What do you mean?" I asked, playing my part. "Is it a replica? Did they steal it from you?"
"Worse," he said, his voice dropping conspiratorially. "It was a plant. A deception. Someone is trying to frame me." He sank into his chair, the picture of a betrayed old man. "Someone who wants to remove me from the Sovereign's side. Someone who sees my... affection... for you as a threat."
I stared at him, feigning confusion.
"Someone? Who?"
He leaned forward, his kind eyes searching mine.
"Serafina," he whispered, the name a poisoned dart. "The Seneschal. She despises you. She sees you and the boy as a threat to her own power, a stain on the Dravos line. She would do anything to remove you. Including framing her oldest rival in the court—me."
It was a brilliant move. He was using my known enemy to deflect suspicion from himself. He was counting on me being too foolish and too frightened to see the double cross.
"Serafina?" I breathed. "But... Rhyian trusts her."
"Rhyian is blind," Silas said sadly. "Blinded by centuries of habit. He cannot see the viper at his own right hand. But now..." He looked at the box. "Now we have proof of her treachery."
"What is that box?" I asked, my voice a whisper.
"It contains an ancient relic, one the Coven has been seeking for years. Serafina arranged to have it delivered to them, using my signet to implicate me in the treason. She knew Rhyian would send a disposable asset—you—to the meeting. She hoped you would be killed in the crossfire, and I would be blamed for the leak. A perfect coup."
He had an answer for everything. A smooth, plausible narrative that painted him as the victim and me as the key to his salvation.
"What do we do?" I asked, my voice trembling. "We have to tell Rhyian!"
"No!" Silas said sharply, his voice losing its gentle edge for a second. He quickly softened it. "No, my dear. Not yet. Rhyian is compromised. If we go to him now, Serafina will twist the story. She will say we are co-conspirators. We need more proof. We need to catch her in the act."
He stood up and began to pace in front of the fireplace, his mind clearly working.
"The Coven was expecting this relic. Now that the delivery has failed, they will be desperate. They will contact their operative inside the tower again for a second attempt." He stopped and looked at me, a calculated, thoughtful expression on his face. "And you, my dear Carys, are the perfect bait to draw them out."
My blood ran cold. This was his move. The second stage of his plan.
"Me?" I gasped.
"Yes," he said, his eyes glittering. "Serafina and the Coven believe you are a weak, useless human. They will not see you as a threat. If you were to, say, attempt to smuggle the relic out of the tower, pretending to be a frightened girl trying to trade it for your own freedom... their inside man would surely be sent to intercept you. We could catch him, and he would lead us directly to Serafina."
He was trying to get me to take the fall for him. To be caught with the evidence, making his frame-job on Serafina complete.
"I... I can't," I stammered, backing away. "I'm not a spy. I'm terrified."
"You are stronger than you think, Carys," he said, his voice a soothing balm of poison. He came closer, placing his hands on my shoulders. "I will be with you. I will guide you. This is the only way to protect your son. The only way to expose the true threat in this tower."
He smiled his kind, grandfatherly smile. "You can trust me."
I looked into his gentle brown eyes, and all I could see was the cold, calculating mind of a master manipulator. He thought he was playing me like a fiddle.
He had no idea I was playing him right back.
"Okay," I whispered, letting a single, calculated tear roll down my cheek. "Okay, Silas. I'll do it. For Rowan."